“Aiden Hale, you listen to me right now. If you insist on this self-sacrifice, I’ll call your mum. Then I’ll call Jazz and the others—I know they’re at the cabin.”

He looks at my finger on Stella’s name and closes his eyes. “How can I keep you after this? Why would you stay?”

I want to say “because I have hope” and “because I love you” but he won’t accept that. There’s only one thing he will accept right now.

“Because you owe me.”

His eyes fling open—specks of turquoise against midnight. It’s wrenching my insides to feed his guilt but it’s the only way.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“I only want one thing.” Well, that’s not technically true. “One thing you’ve already promised. You’ll start seeing Doctor Corbin every day. I don’t care if you have to stop working and we have to live in a hut or if we have to move to the Middle East for you to face this. You will be in his office for as many hours as it takes, and you will do what he says. So this doesn’t happen ever again.”

He nods before I finish. “I will. Now please, go. You’ll be safe. I’ll find the witnesses. I’ll build you your own lab. Just go.” His voice is gaining its natural hard cadence.

“No!”

Somehow—defying drugs and biology—he sits up straight. His movements are jerky but swift. Right leg off the bed, then left, then straighten spine. By the time Benson and Corbin storm into the room, Aiden stands ramrod straight as though he’s never fallen.

I, on the other hand, am frozen to the bed.

“Elisa.” He swallows like my name is a shard of glass. “Please go home!”

“This is my home.”

“I need you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to drag me out by my hair.”

He flinches, scrunching his eyes shut as though the image blinded him. When he opens them, he’s not looking at me. He is looking at his iPhone still in my hands. I clutch it to my chest—there’s no way he will wrestle it out of my death grip.

His lips press together. “Benson,” his voice cuts across the room. “Your phone.”

“Aiden—” Corbin interjects but Aiden puts up his hand, eyes on Benson.

“Please call Javier Solis. Tell him everything I did to her and have him come pick her up. Now.”

“No!” I cry out. Javier will go mental. He will fight Aiden. And Aiden will let him win.

Benson’s eyes dart to me once, then back at Aiden. He squares his mammoth shoulders. “I cannot do that, sir,” he says very quietly.

For a millisecond, Aiden’s eyes widen as though he has never heard these words from Benson—or anyone else—before. Then his forehead locks and his jaw flexes.

“I beg your pardon?” he says between his teeth, his voice so cold that my teeth start chattering.

No one breathes. Except Corbin.

“Aiden, Elisa is right.” His voice is very calm. “She has a stake in this too.” He takes a step closer to Aiden—within his radius now. “Sending her away won’t separate you, and you know that,” he coaxes gently. “Remember what you said in your email to me?”

Aiden’s eyes release Benson and fix on Corbin. Barely a blink passes between patient and doctor but I know in that blink that I’ve won. That he won’t kick me out—at least not today. I’d gladly give a limb or all four to know what the email said.

“You shouldn’t make any big decisions within seventy-two hours of Versed anyway,” Corbin tacks on casually. “We’ll reevaluate then. Now, I’d like to examine you, though from the way you’re firing, your brain is giving Versed a run for its money.”

Aiden’s eyes sweep over us. He knows there’s a coup d’état—no matter how unspoken—and he knows there is nothing he can do about it. Not for another seventy-two hours. I shiver. What will he do then? Will Corbin talk him into reason? Or will he revert back to this Aiden, seventy-two times stronger?

“Benson.” His voice whips out. “We have witnesses to find.”

Benson’s shoulders relax. “Yes, sir. I’ve added Rockwell to the search party.”

With one nod from Aiden, Benson strides to the door. He looks at me before he turns the corner. Thank you, I mouth. He winks and marches down the hall, Corbin behind him.

A deep silence falls over the bedroom. Aiden gazes at me, as though this is the look he had saved for last. There is something so final about that look that I run to him, almost crashing into his chest.

He steps back and his right hand—the one that attacked me—flies behind his back. I freeze in terror. Is he never going to touch me again? Best not to start on that right now.

“Please, don’t call Javier,” I say. “Or Reagan. This is just between you and me. No one else.”

He nods. “Call Bob. Tell him we’ll look for other witnesses first.”

Despite my terror, the words gush out of my mouth, ardent and breathy. “Thank you!”

His eyes soften, roaming over my jawline and throat as is their habit when he needs peace the most. But then he notices his dog tag and frowns.

“I snooped,” I mumble, looking down at my bare feet. “And, umm, I also read your letter. I’m sorry. I have a serious problem, I think.”

I can’t help but peek at his face. His lips, his cheeks, his beautiful brow twist as though they want to lift into a smile but cannot. Instead, his eyes deepen—become bottomless—like they’re extracting every particle from this moment.

“You can’t snoop what’s already yours,” he whispers.

I smile, swallowing back tears. “I finally know the truth about Byron now. I didn’t think I could love you more, but I do.” I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him but he leans away.

“Lack of love was never our problem, Elisa.”

He nods once and sweeps out of the room. I watch the spot where he stood. The tears I was fighting spill through so violently that I can’t make a sound.

You hear that love is strong, love is kind. But love does not fight wars, does not write laws, does not change them. As to these earthly needs, love is impotent.

Chapter Forty-Nine

American Beauty

I know where I am before I open my eyes. Bed, the glass door open, a cool breeze wafting in with the scent of freshly dug earth. And the cinnamon-sandalwood-and-Aiden fragrance around me. I equate it with being awake in every sense of the word. Even if terrified.

Today is his first day Versed-free.

I lie very still on my side, preparing for anything—from “Elisa, Cora has packed your clothes”, to “Elisa, police are outside to take you to prison”.

Aiden blows along my neck, and my muscles relax fractionally. This is normal for the last three days. Then I tense again. But utterly abnormal for him. His touch has vanished completely. In its place are only these soft gusts of breath that leave me bereft.

“You’re up,” I say a little late.

“As are you.”

I roll over to look at him. He is on top of the covers, curled around me without contact, already dressed in frayed jeans and a black T-shirt. The purple circles under his bottomless eyes are deeper. The stubble is thicker, longer, and the dimple is gone.

“Morning kiss, evening bliss, my mum used to say,” I whisper and kiss him. My lips barely brush against his before he pulls away. But for that one nanosecond of touching, we both shiver.

“They’re delivering Marshall’s tree soon, and your roses. I’ll start the sprinklers,” he says and blows out of bed and onto the patio before I can blink.

I stumble up, ignoring the sharp aches in my arm and back. Who cares about bruises when your insides burn this way?

I flit out of bed and into his closet to find something to camouflage the livid purple-and-blue patches on my skin. It’s easier at night—I can just wear long-sleeve T-shirts and flannel pajamas. But in seventy-five degree weather? Ah, yes, leggings and Aiden’s shirt from the painting. Then I can still feel like he is touching me. I slide them on and run out on the patio, lest he disappear.