26. Clementine

Clementine

A FEW DAYS LATER…

With my hand propping my head up, I watched Leyland from across the room.

He paced slowly near the couch, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through something as if trying to keep himself occupied. And though he tried to hide it, I could see the exhaustion etched into his face. The dark circles under his eyes were worrying, to say the least. Whatever thoughts were keeping him up at night were keeping me awake, too.

It had been days since he’d been discharged, and I hadn’t seen him truly rest. Not once.

I told myself that taking a few more days off from the hospital was for his sake—that he needed someone to keep an eye on him while he adjusted to being home.

But the truth was, I needed to be here to monitor his mental health more closely. Watching him teeter on the edge of some unseen battle was breaking my heart, and I couldn’t leave him alone in it.

“Leyland,” I called softly, pulling his attention from the phone. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. But then he smiled, tired and almost forced, and shook his head.

“I’m fine, tiny,” he said, as if reading the concern in my expression. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I rose from my seat and crossed the room. He tried to turn away, but I caught his hand and forced him to stay in place.

“You’re not fine,” I said gently. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

He looked down at our hands, his thumb brushing absently over my knuckles.

“Clem, I’m okay. Really. Just tired.”

“Exactly.” I stepped closer, forcing him to look at me. “You’re tired, but you won’t let yourself sleep. And I need to know why.”

Leyland’s jaw tightened, and I could feel him retreating, even as I held onto him.

“It’s nothing. I’ll sleep when I’m ready.”

“Leyland,” I pressed, my tone soft but firm, so he knew I wouldn’t play this game with him. “Talk to me. Please.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked to the floor, his hand still in mine, and I could see the struggle playing out across his face. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and met my eyes.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and this—” he gestured to the surrounding space, “—everything we’ve built, everything we are, will be gone. Like it never existed. I don’t want to start over again.”

The raw vulnerability in his words stole my breath. He looked away, his fingers tightening around mine as if he were afraid I might slip away right then and there.

“I can’t go back to that,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “To thinking you weren’t mine. To wondering if what I feel for you is real. I... I can’t lose this.”

My chest ached at the weight of his confession, and I reached up to cup his face, forcing him to look at me. His eyes, normally so steady and full of warmth, were clouded with fear and exhaustion.

“You’re not going to lose me,” I said firmly, despite the tears threatening to well up. “I’m real, Leyland. This is real. You and me, our life, everything we’ve built—it’s here, right now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at me, searching my face as if trying to memorize every detail. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, hoping to convey everything I felt for him in that single moment.

When I pulled back, his eyes softened, the fear dimming just slightly. “I’m trying,” he murmured. “But it’s hard. It feels like I’m living in two worlds, and I don’t know which one is going to win.”

“Then let me help you…” I led him to the couch. “Let me remind you of what’s real.”

I settled onto the cushions, guiding him down beside me. He hesitated, but when I rested his head in my lap, he finally relaxed, the tension in his body slowly melting away. I stroked his arm gently as I murmured, “You’re safe, superstar. We’re safe.”

He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out, though I could tell he was still fighting the pull of sleep. I kept talking, filling him with soft words about our future—about the life we were building together, the moments we’d share. Slowly, his resistance faded, and I felt him give in, his body growing heavy against me.

As he finally drifted off, I leaned back against the couch, my hand never leaving his skin. Watching him sleep, I felt a fierce determination settle in my chest. I would do everything in my power to help him heal, to remind him every day that this life, our life, was real and worth holding onto.

“I’m here, baby,” I whispered, eyes on his sleeping frame. “And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”