Page 101 of Freestyle
“I—I didn’t mean—” I start to backpedal, but his hand tightens around mine gently, grounding me.
“I said I would,” he whispers. “So did Nix. We both did.”
My voice is softer now. “I didn’t know anyone meant it like that.”
Gray leans in, his forehead brushing mine, breath warm and steady.
“We did. We do. It wasn’t a promise out of panic. It was real the second you walked into our lives, and we started choosing you without realizing we already had.”
I swallow hard. The tears burn again, but this time they don’t fall from fear. They fall because it’s the first time in a long time I truly believe I’m worth fighting for.
“He could’ve killed you,” I whisper.
His answer is immediate. “And I’d have taken that shot a thousand times if it meant you’d be here now. Breathing. Healing.Mine.”
I reach for the hand not holding mine, threading our fingers with slow, deliberate care, and say the only thing left in my chest. “I’m yours. Both of yours.”
Nix pulls himself from the couch with a small wince and strides over to the other side of my bed.
“And we’re yours, sunshine.Always.”
I hear them before I see them, Fallon’s soft knock followed by Lyndsy’s not-so-subtle, “If you’re decent, we’re coming in.”
The door creaks open and in they come, a two-person hurricane of dry shampoo, oversized hoodies, and concern barely contained beneath sarcasm.
Lyndsy marches straight to my bedside, her jaw tight and eyes scanning every inch of me like she’s trying to memorize the damage. “Okay, I officially hate hospitals,” she mutters, arms crossed. “Why do you look like a ghost and still manage to be hotter than me?”
Fallon slips in behind her, quieter but no less present. Her eyes land on mine, and when I see the shine there, barely restrained emotion, I feel the tears threaten again.
“Hey, Row,” she says, her voice gentler than I’m used to. “You scared the hell out of us.”
They don’t try to sit, not yet. They just hover. I imagine this is what it looks like when people don’t know whether hugging you will make you stronger or break you completely.
“I’m okay,” I lie, voice scratchy and barely above a whisper.
Lyndsy gives me the patented sister-stare Gray must’ve taught her, equal parts skeptical and unyielding. “You’re not okay. You’re in a hospital bed with IVs and battle wounds, and a look in your eye like you just saw the underside of hell.”
Fallon drops her bag onto the chair near the window and finally makes her way to the opposite side of my bed. “But you’re alive, and that counts for something.”
The tension coils in my chest like barbed wire, and I don’t even realize I’m crying until Fallon’s fingers are brushing the tears from my cheek.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly.
Lyndsy exhales, softer now, like the fight in her has made room for something else. “Gray didn’t tell me everything. He couldn’t, but he said he thought he lost you. And I—” Her voice cracks. “You’re my sister, Row. Maybe not by blood, but definitely by choice, and I wouldn’t have survived if…”
I reach out, grabbing both of their hands, mine shaky and pale in theirs.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I whisper.
Fallon scoffs, eyes shimmering. “Then you’re dumber than you look. You could be almost frozen to death and I’d still show up. Okay, bad metaphor, but you get it.”
Lyndsy squeezes my fingers. “You are not alone in this. Not in healing, not in grieving. Not in loving the people you do.”
Her eyes flick toward the door, probably thinking of Gray. Of Nix.
Lyndsy isn’t even pretending to play it cool anymore. She’s perched on the edge of the bed, knees tucked under her chin, her eyes red-rimmed but blazing.
“You didn’t have to go through this alone, Row.”
