Chapter Twenty-Four

Cade

I t's another two hours before they finally allow me to see January.

The petite raven-haired nurse who leads me back chatters the entire time, but I don't catch anything she says to me. I think she's trying to prepare me for what I'm going to see behind the double doors to the ICU…to prepare me for seeing January. There's no preparation for that, though.

The second the nurse slides open the glass partition to let me in, my heart dives toward my stomach.

January's in the middle of a hospital bed, the white blankets folded back over her chest. She's got a breathing tube down her throat and IVs running all over the place. Other wires crisscross her body, running to machines scattered all around the room. They beep and hum, filling the space with noise. Even though the lights are dimmed in the room, all the light pollution from the machines makes it seem much brighter.

My girl looks so fucking tiny and pale, with her eyes closed and her dark lashes resting against her cheeks. The ventilator tube has been taped to her mouth to hold it in place.

"You can go in, Agent Kincaid," the nurse says softly, placing her hand on my arm.

I jerk my head in a nod, but my feet won't move. They're rooted to the floor right outside the door as I watch January's chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. My eyes bounce from her to the ventilator that's sitting on a large stand beside her. Lights flash, and various numbers run across the screen as the machine breathes for her in a pneumatic wheeze.

"How do you know she's trying to breathe?" I ask the nurse, my gaze moving back to January.

"See this light?" the nurse says and steps up beside the machine, pointing at a small light in the bottom corner of the screen. It doesn't do anything for a second, and then it flashes green. "It flashes like this when she tries to take a breath on her own."

I stare at the screen, willing the light to flash again. It feels like forever before it finally lights up. As soon as it does, my legs finally move. I stumble into the room, a strangled sob breaking from my lips.

She's breathing.

Thank God, she's breathing.

"January," I groan and drop to my knees beside the bed. Grabbing her hand, I cling to her. Her fingers are still cold, too cold. She's too still. "Baby girl, I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."

For the first time since my mom died, I cry like a fucking baby. I can't stop the tears as they pour out in an anguished flood.

The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes once in a show of empathy before stepping out of the room to give me privacy.

A lifetime of repressed grief and regret pour out of me in sobs that leave my chest aching and my head throbbing. I cry for Ma Lucia and for Jana. I cry for Titan. I cry for January. And I cry for me…for a lifetime of losing everyone and everything that matters to me. For losing myself.

I never meant for it to happen. I never meant to turn into this person, the one who never lets anyone get too close. The one who spends so much of his time living amongst monsters that he's fucking terrified he's just like them. The one so fucking afraid, he doesn't know how to be vulnerable. Instead, he hides behind fake smiles and bullshit, turning life into a joke so he doesn't have to feel anything.

I don't want to be him anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore.

I want forgiveness. I want to feel like I deserve forgiveness. Like I deserve the girl who took a bullet for me.

I have to find me again, because the guy I was back when that girl was really mine…the guy with hopes and dreams, who could close his eyes at night and sleep peacefully… that guy wasn't a monster. He wasn't tripping so far down a dark path, he couldn't even see the light most of the time. That guy…that guy was me.

And I fucking miss him.

I sit with January for a long time, pouring my heart out. I tell her every sad detail about my life, about the way I've lived for the last seven years. About how my apartment in Seattle has nothing in it—no warmth or safety—because it was just a place I went when I couldn't keep going anymore and had to sleep. I tell her about all the shit I've done and all the things I wish I could go back and do differently.

I tell her how fucking lonely I've been, how I've kept everyone at arm's length so I didn't have to risk losing anyone else. I tell her about Tristan and his wife and how they're the only people in my life who have made me feel a damn thing since the day I walked away from her, and how even then, I've kept them at a distance, too afraid to let them in.

I tell her how rage, hatred, and sadness eat at me until I can't think through them. How I channel all that destructive emotion into my job, taking it out on assholes who terrorize and ruin just because they can.

And I tell her how, every single damn day I spent living amongst them, I felt a little bit more like them and a little bit less like me .

I tell her how much I miss her and how the memory of her is the only thing that's kept me alive. When I was dying in a bar or on the street, in some back alley with the stench of trash in my nose and grit and grime covering me, I thought about her. When I wanted to let the pain take me, let myself bleed out from my injuries, so I didn't have to get up again…I'd see her beautiful face and find the willpower to crawl back from the brink.

I talk until my voice fades, and my throat aches, purging myself of a lifetime of regret and misdeeds. I know she probably can't hear me and that I'll have to tell it all over when she wakes up, but telling her feels good. Getting it out for once instead of bottling it all up and letting it fester feels…peaceful.

Nurses come and go as I talk, but I don't stop. They work around me, not interrupting. If they're horrified by what I confess to my girl, they don't show it. They just shut up and let me ramble about my life until I've put it all out there.

"You have to survive, little monster," I tell her then, "because I need you in my life. I've needed you since you were four years old, and let me carry you everywhere. I'll always need you. You give me hope. When you're in my arms, I feel like I can do anything, even shit I know I shouldn't do. I need you because you ground me. You're the only fucking thing on this planet that keeps my ass in line. Ask Ames if you don't believe me. He's been trying for years to teach me manners and shit, but I never listened to him because he wasn't you, and you're the only person I've ever listened to."

A nurse chuckles as she replaces the IV bag, but I don't even look at her.

"You gotta get better, and I don't just mean from this," I whisper to my girl, stroking her silky hair. "I know you're hurting. Losing Titan and your mom is always going to hurt, but they would want you to live, baby girl. They loved you so much, and I know they would want you to be happy and do good shit with your life. So you gotta fight. I'll be there with you, and when you can't fight anymore, when the blackness is too heavy, I'll fight for you. But you have to come back to me, sweetheart. Please come back to me."

I press my lips to her forehead and then to her cheeks. Like her hand, her face is cool to the touch, but I know my girl is in there. She was born in the cold and she'll be reborn in it. It forged her spine in steel and I know it'll do the same this time too. Right here in this bed.

I press my lips to her ear. "I love you, baby girl. Come back to me."

After that, I sit there for a long time, just watching over her. For some reason, the nurses don't kick me out. I know visits are supposed to be short in ICU, but they don't tell me I need to beat feet and get out of their way. One brings me a glass of water. A little bit later, someone else brings me a sandwich. They all smile at me.

It's strange.

I'm covered in tattoos, scars, and January's blood, but they all smile at me like I'm normal. No one gives me the side-eye or talks down to me like my tattoos mean I'm too stupid to comprehend shit. Maybe they feel bad for me. I don't know. But it's nice to be surrounded by normal people who don't look at me like I'm beneath them. That doesn't happen often.

"I love you," I murmur to January as the sun rises outside. "I'm going to let Mariah come back here to see you for a while, but I'll be back. I'm not leaving this hospital until you do."

Even after telling her I'm going to let Mariah come back to see her, I can't seem to leave her side. I'm afraid I'll leave the room, and something will happen. I need to be here in case she needs me.

"She'll be okay," an elderly nurse tells me, stepping up beside the bed. She rearranges the covers over my girl and then pats her hand and gives her a grandmotherly smile. "We'll take care of your January for you, Agent Kincaid. She's already doing better. Her vitals are stronger."

"They are?" My gaze darts to the machines, but I don't know what number means what or what they should say. Some are high, some are low. They might as well be Greek for all they tell me. After spending as much time in hospitals as I have, you'd think I'd know what they mean, but I never cared to find out. All I needed to know was that they meant I was alive. Anything beyond that was moot.

The nurse nods, giving me a gentle smile. "We let you stay for so long because she seems to find comfort in your presence here. Her blood pressure leveled out as soon as you entered the room. Her heartrate is stronger too. She knows you're here."

"She does?"

The nurse chuckles at how suspicious I sound. Can't help that shit, though. January's under heavy sedation. I'm not sure she knows much of anything right now.

"Yes," the old lady says. "Just because she can't talk to you right now doesn't mean she can't feel you here. You're good for your girl, so we let you stay."

"She's good for me," I mumble, staring down at January in the bed. I think her color is a little better, but the soft pink tint to her cheeks could just be my imagination or wishful thinking.

"You've lived a hard life," the nurse says, replacing another IV bag and then pressing a few buttons on another machine when it starts a consistent, staccato beep. "I overheard part of your story. I'm sorry for all the two of you have lost. I can't imagine that's been easy for you or for her. I hope I'm not overstepping by saying this, but we have grief counselors and psychiatrists on staff here if you'd like to talk to someone. Maybe it'll be good for you."

"I…yeah," I say and clear my throat as gratitude bubbles up hard and fast. "Yeah, I would appreciate that." I know Ames is trying to find me someone, but I'll be here until January leaves. Might as well start trying to figure my shit out now.

The nurse beams up at me, her craggy cheeks wrinkling. "I'll get some names for you. See if anyone has time to stop in and meet you and your girl today, dear."

"Thank you," I whisper. For the first time in seven years, I actually feel hope.