The rhythmic sound is enough to lull me into a deep sense of tranquility. Zane’s alive and all is right in the world because, as of this moment, he’s mine, and that is all he’ll ever be. If I can declare absolute anarchy on my father and rain down with defiance and disobedience and can, subsequently, kill for a man, then he is more to me than a piece of temporary gratification.
Zane is a future choice. He is the sort of person I could dream a life away with. He’s the man who makes me think of what normal people have – of what Bruno has. Without him, I have no dreams, no fantasies, no chance. I don’t want to ever live without any glimmer of hope.
“Hey,” Zane’s gruff voice speaks, breaking my thoughtful reverie. “I didn’t think you’d be back quite so soon.”
“Stupid man,” I tease as I stand up and go to his side. “Don’t move too much. You need to just rest.” I settle into a perch on the side of his bed, trying my hardest not to disturb him or cause him more pain. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” he lies, and I give him a pointed look to which he sighs. “Okay, I feel like I got shot. You, however, look like you’ve had quite the morning.”
“I’m okay,” I comment back, offering a meek, watery smile.
“You don’t look okay.” His statement catches me off guard. The look he fixes me with forces a lump into my throat, and I feel my eyes water. “Hey, Amelia, what’s happened?”
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all,” I comment. It’s not a total lie, so the conviction travels strongly in my voice. “I’m just a little tense right now. It’ll pass.” I avert my eye contact from him and now wonder how the fuck I’m meant to live with the lies I’ve just created this morning. As he grabs my hand, I look back at him. “My father’s on the war path, and I just can’t bear to be away from you.”
“I’m still wary he’s going to come into my room while I sleep and slip me something,” Zane jokes. He laughs at himself, but immediately his face grimaces with pain as it shoots through his body.
“No time to be the jokester.” I counter his actions, cocking a brow at him. “But believe me, he knows exactly what will happen if he even so much as instigates that idea. He’ll have to deal with me. I know what you found out about me jeopardizes so much, but I am trying my hardest to be who I am. I’m not here to set in motion some master plan. I just need you to know this, Zane.” I take a deep breath, and finally say the words that feel the most honest. “I’m here because I love you.”
I watch his eyes water as a slow, small smile creeps across his face and empowers his whole face to light up. He takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine. He just looks up at me as if I’ve presented him with the entire world.
“Thank you,” he comments, and the smile only seems to grow, thrusting color back into his handsome face. “I just needed you to forgive me. Regardless of what could happen in the future, I just wanted to know you had forgiven me and were willing to give me another opportunity. Which I’m sure will have your father and that brother of yours spitting.”
I smile weakly and know I can’t keep this conversation going much longer. “Let’s not talk about them. It gets my blood pressure up, so God knows what it does to yours. I got you something you used to love,” I comment, making an abrupt subject change. “I hope you still love them.” I rummage in my oversized bag, pull out a handful of Pixy Stix, and look at him. “I know how you used to love these.”
Zane’s face immediately brightens up. He fights to sit up a little better, and I place the candy down and rush to him, immediately plumping up his pillows to aid him comfortably. I watch him now sit up a little better, and I giggle at his excitement. I grab one of the orange Pixy Stix and pop the end open before giving it back to him.
“Your favorite if I remember correctly,” I say as I pass it to him. He takes it eagerly and downs the candy goodness in one shot. I hand him another before taking the rest to go to sit back down.
“No,” he states, stopping me. “Sit on my bed with me.” He watches me as I turn doubtful and look to the bed and back at him. “You can sit on the end facing me. I just don’t want you sitting a constant vigil when I’m more than okay.”
“You’re not okay,” I comment dryly, but adhere to his wishes. I kick my boots off and move to sit on the end of the bed with my back pressed against his footboard. I get comfortable quickly and leave the pile of Pixy Stixs in my lap. Every now and then, he puts his hand out for one, but other than that, there isn’t much verbalization traveling between us.
“That’s enough,” he finally mentions, giving up after his fifth. “How the hell did you remember?”