Chapter 5

Lyric has only two speeds:hyper and asleep. Not surprisingly, she's buzzing with energy the entire car ride to my place, chatting about everything and nothing. When we arrive at the penthouse, she heads straight to one of the guest rooms not even bothering with a ‘goodnight.'

Ameline's gaze drifts toward my sister's abandoned luggage, a small furrow creasing her brow. "She forgot her bags."

Leaning against the doorframe, I can't help but let a half-smile play on my lips. "Everything she needs is in the room. According to Indie and Lyric, Jude and I don't give two fucks about our guests. Plus, we don't know how to host, so they make sure that this place is ready for visitors—mainly them," I explain, then nod toward the open kitchen. "How about some warm milk?"

There was a time when no words were needed between us. I would simply prepare warm milk as the night wound down, and we'd share those quiet moments lost in light conversation, our eyes doing most of the talking. It's astonishing, almost heart-wrenching, how two people, once connected by small rituals and shared moments, can drift into being complete strangers. Like stars once aligned in the night sky, now they're light-years apart.

Shaking off the nostalgia and the sudden tightness in my chest, I turn to address the current situation. "So, why are you here?" I ask, my voice barely controlling the new wave of pain, as I pull the rice milk from the fridge. The clink of the pot as I place it on the stove seems louder than usual in the thick silence suffocating me.

"You dragged me here—against my will," Ameline declares, her tone charged with a quiet intensity that sinks heavily into the air.

I glance over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. "I did no such thing."

She lifts her chin defiantly. There's a challenging look in her eyes. "Oh please, you had the face."

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh, stirring the milk. "What face?"

"The scowl of doom. The one that screams, ‘you-better-do-as-I-say-or-the-ogre-will-come-out-to-make-you-do-it,'" she quips, as she pretends to brush something from the sleeve of her old sweatshirt. It surprises me that she still has the sweatshirt I gave her on her twentieth birthday. I always thought that we would go to Europe and replace it.

I had so many plans for us, so much love. This could be a great moment to try to dissect our relationship and see objectively where things went wrong. How the most promising love in the entire world crashed and burned.

Could we gather the pieces and put them back together?

The hate in her eyes tells me everything I want to know. There's no fucking way we can get back to us.

"You didn't have to come," I remark, but that's probably a big lie. No matter what, I would've done the impossible to ensure that she was safe.

Ameline's scoff cuts through the air, sharp and unsettling. "I didn't want to start a scene in the middle of the airport—or in front of your sister." The frustration in her eyes, so vivid and intense, fans the flames of my irritation. "It would've escalated from a minor disagreement to a full-blown battle. I wasn't in the mood to deal with your intensity."

A spark of annoyance lights up within me. "Because I always act out and you have to rein me in," I retort, unable to hide the sarcastic tone.

"You do. You insist on having things your way because, in your mind, you're always right." She shakes her head and narrows her gaze. "Have you thought about going to therapy? I mean, there's something very wrong when a person thinks that they're always right."

I clench my jaw, feeling my patience thinning. "And there you go again, blaming me for everything and pushing my buttons," I remark, struggling to keep my voice even.

She glances at her phone. "Maybe I should just leave, save us both another fight. Life is too short to deal with your temper," she suggests. "Let's not do this again, ever."

"Why are you here, Ame?" I ask, disregarding her comment.

"Don't call me that," she replies sharply. "The name is Ameline. A-m-e-l-i-n-e. It's not Amy, Ame, or Lynny. Get it?"

I frown because it's obvious that her nickname is now a sore subject. "Are you upset with me? Because I'm the one who should be pissed here."

She takes a seat on a barstool by the kitchen island, her posture casual yet guarded. "Oh, do tell. How exactly have I managed to upset you, Gabriel Frédéric Walker-Decker?"

I open my mouth to respond, but her cell phone interrupts, ringing insistently. She holds up a finger, signaling me to wait. "One second, I need to take this."

Ameline speaks into the phone, her tone a blend of annoyance and fatigue. "Hey, isn't it a little too late for phone calls?"

I check my watch and stop myself from nodding, because who the hell is calling at almost four in the morning?"

Ameline listens intently to the other end of the line, then nods and rolls her eyes. "Valid point, seven isn't that early. Yeah, like I said, I'll call Izzy around eight Seattle time. And as I said before, if she needs a kidney, I'll say no." After a series of nods and shakes, she adds, "It'll be fine. You have fun with your parents, and . . . yeah, have fun. Bye."

Her conversation leaves a strange unease coiling in my stomach. I knew her presence in Seattle wasn't just random. Lyric mentioned Izzy, but a kidney?

I don't think Ameline should go and see Izzy or even be in Seattle.

When she left, she was pretty clear about her motives: there's too much toxicity in this place for her to stick around. It was withering her heart and soul. And swore she would never be back, but here she is.

What if I had called her because I needed her?

Would she have dropped everything for me?

Would I even deserve something like that?

Those questions are useless right now. It's best if I focus on her visit.

"I'm going to repeat the question, and this time I need you to be honest. Why did you come to Seattle?" I place a cup of warm milk in front of her and start preparing her a sandwich. Knowing Ameline, she probably hasn't eaten since before her flight.

She stares at the cup, her fingers curling around it, focusing on the steam. She's obviously trying to decide whether to leave or just make me stop asking questions. Somehow, it's a small relief knowing that we're both struggling. I'm just hoping she's not hurting. I hate when she is, and more so if I'm the cause.

"Lyric mentioned Isadora," I say, hoping this will push her to speak. Then glance at her phone. "Plus, you just mentioned that you'll call her in a few hours."

At my words, her shoulders slump. "Izzy called me yesterday morning. She's sick and would like to see me."

I stop mid-motion, moving closer to the kitchen island that keeps a good gap between us. Somehow, I'm relieved that there's a separation. My instincts tell me to hold her, pull her into my arms and promise her that everything will be fine.

The last time I tried to help her I didn't just fail her. I broke us. But maybe I can find a specialist that could help Izzy so Ameline can head back to New York to continue living her happy life—hoping it's happy.

So I ask, "Sick? How?"

I sound stupid, but I can barely talk as that word triggers me. I mean, it shouldn't, after all I'm a doctor. But this precise moment reminds me about their mother—and how everything, the best beginning and most tragic end of my life began.

"She didn't give any details. It could be something minor, like a common cold, or . . ." Her voice trails off, the silence hanging heavily in the air.

Instinctively, I lift my hand, reaching out to brush her cheek but her glare stops me. Of course I can't. I lost the right to her. I still ask, "And you? How are you? Still in remission?"

"Yeah," she says slowly. "I've had a few scares, but I'm okay."

What does a few scares mean? I want to ask, but instead I go for, "Do you get tested every six months?" This time I place my hand on top of hers. Trying to get some kind of connection or reassurance that she's okay. Because the Ameline I know didn't take care of herself, and somehow I have the feeling that older Ame hasn't followed up on her health. This is exactly why she shouldn't have left me. I could've screened her diligently.

She stares at me. There's anger in her eyes but she doesn't say a word, and, thankfully, she doesn't move from my grasp. It's insane to say that I need this, the connection. Knowing she's okay and alive—safe.

The urge to ensure her safety is overwhelming. I want to pull her into my arms, but all I do is stroke her skin with my thumb. "You know you can come to me if anything happens, right? I could screen you periodically."

She pulls her hand back. "You have to stop trying to rescue me, or everyone for that matter. It isn't healthy."

I snort, a mix of amusement and exasperation. She sounds like my family. I'm a doctor. Am I supposed to let people die when they come asking for help? My gaze catches on her backpack. "You came all this way for one day? That's not healthy either."

Ameline just shrugs, noncommittal.

"Oh, right, for what Lyric mentioned you don't have a specific day in mind just yet. Friday or Sunday . . . So, where are you staying?" I ask, turning back to continue preparing her a sandwich, my hands busily working while my mind races with concern.

"What's with the inquisition, Decker?" she questions, irritated either by my presence or our chat. Probably both.

If I recall the last time, she told me that she hated me more than anything in the world and if she never saw me that would be too soon. Yet here we are.

"I'm concerned about you," I admit, slicing the sandwich into triangles with more focus than necessary, trying to channel my worry into the food.

"Well, don't be, okay?" she snaps, her fingers drumming on the countertop. "I'll leave soon, and you can return to your regular schedule."

Her words should bring relief, yet they don't. Since the moment I met Ameline, she's had this uncanny ability to remain engraved in my thoughts. Even after all the years she's been away, her memories are a part of me. It's as if every little thing somehow brings me back to her.

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I belong to her. Even my shattered heart and dark soul belong to her.

She's my life and without her I've had a hard time getting by.

How am I supposed to let her go again? I should take this as a sign. An opportunity to make things right. Show her that I love her, that she's everything to me.

Can I be worthy of her? Show her that she's every beat of my broken heart.

But I don't know how to do this. And more importantly, I don't know if I can make it happen.