Tempting Rowan(108)

Trace and his mom returned ten minutes later, their faces pale.

“He wants to talk to you,” Trace said, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

My stomach rolled with nausea once more.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Tristan, lifting him off my lap. He went scampering up to Trace, asking him a bunch of questions. “Tristan,” I warned, “leave Uncle Trace alone right now. He’s upset. Maybe you could give him a hug and make him feel better?” I suggested, knowing Tristan would like it if I gave him a task to perform.

Tristan nodded, wrapping his arms around Trace’s legs. Trace reached down and picked him up, and his cries pained me.

I wasn’t sure I could do this.

If Trace was breaking down like this, things didn’t bode well for me.

The doctor was waiting to lead me back. His face was grim, so I let my eyes follow the lines of the tile as he took me to Trent.

He opened a door and nodded his head for me to go inside.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I knew that once I got a look at Trent—at what was my fault—what was left of me would finally shatter completely.

I was that broken vase that kept being fixed in vain, only to topple off the table and break again. Eventually, the pieces grew too small to fit back together.

I took one step further into the room, then another, until I stood beside Trent’s bed.

His eyes were closed and his skin was a sickish gray color. Where the front of his hospital gown dipped down I saw a white bandage over his heart.

I bit down on my fist to stifle my sobs.

This was my fault.

All because of my stupid step-dad, I was going to lose the love of my life.

My body was so full of hate at that man, and myself, that I thought it might obliterate me.

Trent’s eyes slowly blinked open and I wrapped my arms around myself so that I didn’t try to touch him. He wasn’t mine and I knew the last thing he wanted was for me to be here.

“Don’t.” He swallowed, wincing at the dryness in his throat. “Cry.”

“I can’t help it,” I wiped the tears away, looking out the windows where the sun was beginning to come up. It pained me to see him lying there so…battered. Trent had always been full of life, and seeing that stripped away from him was heartbreaking. I had done nothing but ruin his life from the moment I entered it. He would’ve been better off if he’d never met me.

“L-look at me,” he stuttered.

Unable to deny him his request, I did.

We stared at each other, neither of us saying a word.

“Come. Here.” He forced the words out, trying to scoot over to give me room in the bed.

“No,” I grabbed his hand. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

His eyes closed with tiredness and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed painfully. It tore me apart to see him hurt so badly. I felt so helpless. I had no idea what to do or say to make any of this better.

“I’m an idiot,” he forced the words out.

“Because you got shot? Yeah, you’re an idiot,” I made myself laugh to lighten the situation.

“No,” he shook his head, wincing in pain, “for letting you go.”

My breath caught and I didn’t know what to say.

“I should’ve gone after you that day.” His forehead wrinkled with effort as he spoke.

“Trent,” I pleaded, “don’t talk. Please, don’t strain yourself.”

“I need to say this,” he continued, his light blue eyes connecting with mine. They seemed so alert and alive—not like he was fighting for his life. He stared up at me and I couldn’t help but feel like he was making some deathbed confession. “I love you, Rowan,” he wet his lips. “I’ve tried so hard to hate you, but I can’t. I fucking can’t. Every time I close my eyes I see you,” his hand gave mine a light squeeze, and it didn’t escape me how weak his grasp was. “I see our son. I see the life we could have together. You’re it for me, Row. I know we have a shit ton of problems to work out, but that’s okay. We’re a family.”

“Trenton,” I shook my head, tears pooling in my eyes, “you don’t mean that. It’s only the drugs talking.” I knew he had to be on some major painkillers and they’d clearly made him loopy.

“It’s not—” he winced in pain. “It’s not the drugs. I was coming to see you tonight, but um,” he looked down at his chest and the bandage winking at us. “I kinda got shot.”

Only Trenton could crack jokes after a gunshot wound.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, daring to hope that he loved me enough that we could move past this, and letting myself believe he was going to be fine.