Chapter 5

Afterward, Preston lit a cigarette.

I coughed. He killed it almost immediately, dropping it into a water bottle, then looked at me with a flash of guilt.

"I'm sorry."

But the guilt didn't stay. He pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Bath? I can carry you."

I stared at him. "Preston. I cheated on you."

His color went a shade lighter.

"I know."

"Then why are you—" I stopped. "Shouldn't you think I'm—"

He looked at me steadily. Slowly, his expression went soft.

"Dirty?" he said. "You? You're my Nora."

He carried me to the bathroom. Sat on the edge of the tub, one hand trailing in the water, the other holding mine.

"I won't pretend it doesn't hurt," he said. "But I can't pretend I don't love you."

My chest felt flooded with something I didn't have a word for. Guilt. Gratitude. And underneath it — something that was undeniably love.

I tightened my hand around his.

There was so much I wanted to say. I'm sorry. I love you. Let's fix this together.

But before I could say any of it—

His phone rang.

A sharp, desperate ringtone.

And then Margaret's voice, panicked, barely coherent: "Preston, where are you? You need to come to the hospital. Now."

Cole.

The concussion from Preston's beating had developed into a second traumatic injury. And at the same time — the pancreatitis had come back.

By the time we reached the hospital, he'd already been transferred to the ICU.

Margaret was standing in the corridor, shaking. "How does this happen? He was fine — he was going to be fine — how is this—"

No one answered her.

The ICU doors kept swinging open and shut as staff moved in and out.

We waited.

Finally, someone came out to tell us: Cole was awake, but refusing to cooperate with treatment. Wouldn't let them put in the IV. Without it, the pancreatitis could turn fatal.

Then another update, faster than the first: he'd lost consciousness again.

Margaret made a sound that didn't seem human. She grabbed Preston's arm and sobbed. "I can't lose him again. We almost lost him before, and now—"

Preston stood very still. He said nothing. His face was impossible to read.

Then the door opened again, and a nurse came out at something close to a run.

"Family of Cole Harrington? He's asking for — he keeps asking for—" She looked around desperately. "He wants his sister. He said sister. Does anyone—"

Margaret spun toward me.

She all but threw herself at me. "Is it you? Nora — is it you he means? Please — please just—"

I looked at Preston.

For just a moment, something in him collapsed — just slightly, just at the edges. His eyes were red. He looked at me and said my name.

"Nora."

I pressed my hands flat against my sides.

Breathed.

"It's me," I said. "I'll go."

The door closed behind me.

Cole was in the bed at the far end of the unit. His eyes were open — quiet, glassy, staring at nothing.

"Cole."

No response.

"Cole."

Still nothing.

On the third try, something shifted in his gaze. He turned toward me slowly. And then his face lit up.

"Nora." He barely mouthed it.

"Why won't you let them treat you?" I asked.

His expression fell again, slow and heavy. "No one's here," he said. "No one cares. There's no point." A pause, voice ragged. "I'm sorry. I'm bothering you again."

He shut his eyes.

His lashes were wet.

I moved closer and took his hand.

"You need to let them take care of you," I said. "Okay?"

He didn't respond.

"Everyone here is worried about you," I said. "We're all your family. You're not alone in this."

His lashes trembled. Harder and harder.

"Your mom is outside," I said. "Your dad. And Preston is waiting for you."

"Preston?" he asked. His voice cracked on it.

"He's right outside," I said. "He's been here the whole time."

Cole's throat worked. "Can I— can I see him?"

"You have to let them put in the IV first."

A beat.

Then: "Okay."

He nodded. Small. Certain.

I walked back out.

Preston was still standing where I'd left him. I caught his eye.

"He wants you," I said quietly.

Something moved across Preston's face — too fast to name. Then he straightened, spoke to the nurse, and pushed open the ICU door.

He walked in alone.

The door closed.

Margaret had been crying so long her eyes had swollen nearly shut. She sat down heavily.

I stood in the corridor, and I wasn't entirely sure who I was more worried about — the brother in the ICU or the one who'd just walked through those doors to face him alone.

Time moved strangely. One minute at a time.

Then the ICU doors opened and Preston stepped out. He gave us a small nod.

Margaret exhaled so hard she shuddered.

Preston looked at me.

And then deliberately looked away.

"Preston?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Cole has a request," he said. "He wants each of us to take a shift — one person a day, rotating. Family only." A pause. "Including you."

"Of course!" Margaret said immediately. She looked at me. "Nora, would you be willing—? I know it's a lot to ask—"

I looked at Preston.

He gave me a tight, almost imperceptible smile.

"He's family," I said. "I'll be there."