Page 162 of Yearn
Rage flared hot in my chest. After everything he'd done—the cheating, the gaslighting, the fucking court order forcing himself back into my life—he thought he deserved honesty?
“Focus on yourself.” I rolled my eyes. "You look like death."
"F-feel like. . .it too." He tried to laugh but it came out as a wet cough.
“Stay here, Scott. I’m going to get the—”
“No. . .no. . .please. . .don’t leave me alone.”
“I’ll be right back—”
“I’m dying. . .”
“You’re not.”
“I. . .am. . .” Sweat dripped from his hairline, running in rivulets down his temples. His skin had gone gray—the color of old newspaper. He tightened his grip on my arm. “P-lease. . .”
What if Dominic gave him too much?
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as a tingling sensation spread through my body.
Please, God. Don’t let him die tonight.
The police would check his system and know someone gave him a sedative that was not prescribed.
“P-please. . .let me go. . .with you. . .”
"Can you climb up the stairs?" I moved to his other side, trying not to breathe in his scent, trying not to feel the wrongness of touching him when Dominic's fingerprints were still branded on my skin.
“I can. . .go. . .” Scott nodded, but when he took a step, his knees buckled.
I caught him.
Barely.
A minute later, we staggered toward the stairs together, a grotesque parody of intimacy. His arm draped over my shoulders. My hand braced against his ribs. Any observer would think we were lovers, not strangers bound by children, legal documents, and the ghost of a marriage neither of us could quite bury.
“I-it smelled like. . .sex. . .in his apartment. D-did you—”
"The kids," I hissed as we reached the staircase. "Keep your voice down. They're sleeping."
He nodded, but every step up groaned under our combined weight.
The house settled around us—old bones creaking, pipes humming their midnight song.
Somehow, we climbed higher.
Through the banister, I could see J's door, slightly ajar.
Further away, Oliver's nightlight threw soft shapes across the hallway.
My babies. Sleeping peacefully while their world crumbled in slow motion around them.
Scott stumbled again, almost dragging me down with him.
My hands tightened around his arm, not out of love but survival. If he fell, I’d fall too—and the boys would hear.
J would come running, brave and small, thinking they could save me.
