Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(92)
“Did I?” We lock eyes across the gentle rise and fall of Rose’s chest. Sloane is so stoic, or at least she is when Rowan or Lark aren’t around. But I see the wisp of sadness in her eyes that she can’t hide beneath her lethal mask.
“I don’t know,” she says, and we break the moment between us to look at Rose. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
God, I fucking hope so. I just want her to be happy. To be safe. To thrive. To know she’s so fucking loved, even from a distance.
“You saved Bentley,” Sloane says, snapping me out of my thoughts of what the days and weeks and months ahead will be like. When I meet her eyes, she offers a faint smile. “Lark is so grateful.”
I nod. “He didn’t really appreciate it, the cheeky fucker.”
“Yeah. He’s a bit of a curmudgeon. Probably why he and my cat, Winston, seem to get along. Rose told me about Barbara. We could have made it a trio.”
I try to force a smile, but it doesn’t take. All I can think of is Rose, with that fucking raccoon clutched in one hand, her grin diabolical. She laughed so freely when Barbara was gripped to my face under that towel. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to relive that moment right now so I could hear her again. There are so many moments that filter through my mind. Rose’s teasing smile at Sandra’s, the black yarn balled in her lap. Her guileless eyes as she sat on the edge of the bathtub with her injured leg on mine. The love that I could feel in her touch when she traced the lines of my face in the shadows of the haunted house. What if I never see or feel or hear those things again?
Sloane rises, breaking me away from questions that consume me. “We’ll make sure she’s okay. One of us will be here when she wakes up. I’ll give you some time to say goodbye. But I won’t go far.”
I trust Sloane to keep her word, not for my benefit, but for Rose’s. That only makes me trust her that much more. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She doesn’t react as I turn my attention back to Rose. But she lingers. I can feel her sharp eyes watching, but for what, I’m not sure. “If you’d told me where you’re going, I wouldn’t be giving you this,” Sloane says as she passes me a folded piece of paper. My brows draw tight as I take it with a tentative hand. I open it under her watchful gaze.
Sloane Kane, Data Science Department
Clinical Development Operations
Viamax
Radni?ka cesta 81/18, 10000,
Zagreb, Croatia
“If you want to send her anything, send it to that address in my name. It’s the local office for my employer, Viamax. The internal post will make sure I get it. And I’ll ensure it gets to Rose with the appropriate level of secrecy. I promise.”
I swallow, my eyes darting between Sloane and the paper in my hands. “How did you know?”
“Lark. She called Leander. Managed to get it out of him.” She shrugs when the unvoiced question still lingers in my eyes. “The promise of undrugged muffins sealed the deal. She had to swear on her life she wouldn’t tell Lachlan or Rowan.”
“But—”
Sloane waves my concern off. “She won’t. She knows as much as Leander does that the boys would chase you down and fuck shit up and probably make everything ten times worse than it already will be. Like I said, she’s grateful for what you did for Bentley.”
A shard of hope seems to pierce right between my ribs, stealing my breath. Hope can be beautiful. But it can also be brutal. It can keep your head above water just long enough to drown you in the next wave. I’m scared of what will happen if I hold on to it. But I’m never going to let it go, no matter what tsunami I have to swim through.
I fold the paper and slip it into the interior pocket of my jacket before I take Rose’s hand. “What if she doesn’t want this anymore?”
“I don’t know, Fionn. Some broken hearts can’t be sewn back together.” Sloane’s gaze drops from mine, landing on Rose and lingering there. “But maybe that’s why you have to leave yours here for her.” She doesn’t look my way when she turns and heads toward the corridor. I watch her walk away, Rose’s hand still clutched in mine, the address like a pulse in my pocket, a beacon I can cling to. When Sloane reaches the door, she pauses, resting her hand on the frame.
“Rowan and Lachlan say you’re the best of them. What that means to your brothers might be different than what it means to you,” Sloane says as she looks at me over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright with a challenge. “So prove it to the only person who counts.”
I give her a resolute nod. Sloane gives me one in return. And then she disappears down the corridor.
My phone buzzes with a message in my pocket. Probably a reminder from Leander. Or the driver. I glance up at the clock on the wall. Five minutes is all we have left. I turn all my attention back to Rose. “Rose,” I say, stroking her hair off her forehead. “Wake up.”
Nothing changes in her. Not the pulse that flows in a slow, steady rhythm beneath the fingers I keep wrapped around her wrist.
The unanswered message buzzes a second time. How two minutes have passed already, I just don’t know.
“Sparrow,” I whisper, hoping the alias will jar something in her subconscious. But there’s still no change in the cadence of her inhalations, no flutter in her eyes. I squeeze her hand. I hold it to my lips. But I know how much blood she’s lost and the power of the medication coursing through her veins. And as much as I want her to wake up so I can have one last moment, I can’t help but think that it might be a mercy for her that she’s unconscious. What’s the point in waking up just to say goodbye again?