Chapter Twenty Five

Kyla.

The door creaks open again. I expect the nurse returning, maybe a doctor, but the figure that steps in freezes me completely.

Jake.

He fills the doorway the same way he always did a storm, a force, something too large and too overwhelming for the space he’s in. His tie is gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. But it’s his eyes that undo me. They’re fixed on me, burning, raw in a way I haven’t seen since the day we shattered.

My throat tightens, my lips part, but no sound comes out. I grip the blanket bunched at my chest like it can shield me from him, from the questions simmering behind those eyes.

“Kyla,” he says, my name breaking from him like a confession.

“What, what are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse, scratchy, but the question slices through the thick silence anyway.

His jaw ticks. “What am I doing here? You nearly got yourself killed right outside my office.”

The words hit me harder than the car did. I blink at him, disoriented. “Your office?”

His brows pull together, his mouth tightening. “You don’t remember?”

Images flood me, the panic in his office, my hurried exit, the sidewalk blurring beneath my feet. The screech of tires. The impact. And then his voice, echoing in the dark.

My stomach knots. I press a trembling hand to my lips. “Oh God,” I whisper. “It was, right there.”

He moves closer, dragging a chair to my bedside, his presence swallowing the sterile smell of antiseptic. Up close, I can see the lines of strain around his mouth, the shadows under his eyes. He looks like a man who hasn’t breathed since I walked out of his office.

“I brought you here,” he says quietly, his voice stripped of its usual steel. “I rode in the ambulance with you. Do you have any idea how much blood was on the pavement? How cold you went in my arms? For a second I thought” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, shutting his eyes briefly before continuing. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The world tilts.

“You…you stayed with me?” My words tremble as much as my hands.

“Of course I did.” His eyes flash open, pinning me with that same stubborn, relentless fire. “You think I could just let you lie there and not fight to keep you breathing?”

My chest caves, every wall I’ve built trembling under the weight of his words. I shake my head, trying to steady myself, but everything feels too much.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I whisper. “Why? Why would you care?”

His gaze sharpens. “Why would I care?” He lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Because no matter how far you ran, no matter what happened between us, you’re still ” He cuts himself off, his throat working, as if he’s biting back something dangerous.

My breath hitches. My pulse skitters in my veins. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the silence thick with everything unsaid.

Finally, I look away, blinking at the machine beside me, at the IV taped to my arm. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I murmur.

“You never mean for anything to happen, Kyla.” His voice is softer now, but edged with hurt. “But it does. And it always leaves me” He breaks off again, dragging a hand down his face.

I bite my lip, my chest aching in a thousand different ways. I should thank him. I should tell him I’m grateful. But the words stick, tangled up in the memory of the slip, the one word that set this chain of events in motion.

Children.

The air feels heavier. I know what he’s really here for isn’t just about the accident. It’s about the truth. The truth I let slip when my guard fractured for a second too long.

I force myself to look at him. “You shouldn’t have stayed,” I say softly.

His head snaps toward me, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t have been here when you almost died.”

“I didn’t mean” I stop, pressing my hands to my face. My body aches everywhere, but nothing hurts more than this conversation. “I just, I don’t know how to face you right now.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice but not his intensity. “Then start by telling me the truth.”

My heart stops. “Jake”

“You said children.” His words are sharp, cutting through my excuses before I can form them. “You didn’t mean to, I know you. You panicked, you tried to run. But it’s out there now, Kyla. And I need to know” His voice drops, breaking again, and the way he says the next words nearly undoes me. “Do I have children out there with you? Did you leave carrying something more than yourself?”

My breath rushes out, jagged and uneven. The tears I’ve fought so hard to keep locked away spill down my cheeks. I shake my head, not in denial but in despair.

“This isn’t the time,” I whisper.

He slams his palm on the arm of the chair, the sound jolting me. “The hell it isn’t! You almost died today, Kyla. Do you get that? Do you get how close I was to losing you forever without ever knowing the truth?”

His voice is raw, torn open, and for the first time in years, I see him not as the man I left, not as the man who broke me too, but as the man who once loved me enough to fight for me.

The weight of everything presses down on me. The secrets. The silence. The fear of what happens if the truth gets out. My chest feels like it might split open from holding it all in.

“I can’t” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this right now. I’m broken and bruised and I can barely breathe. Please, Jake. Not here. Not now.”

For a long moment, he just stares at me, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. The storm in his eyes rages, but beneath it, I catch something else fear. Not for himself, but for me.

Finally, he exhales, the fight leaving his shoulders. “Fine,” he says, his voice low, strained. “Not now. But don’t think you can run again. Not after this. Not after I carried you bleeding into that ambulance and prayed like hell you’d open your eyes.”

Tears slip down my cheeks as I look at him. My chest aches with too many emotions fear, guilt, longing.

And something else I don’t want to name.

“Rest,” he says finally, his voice softer, though no less intense. “We’ll talk when you’re stronger.”

I turn my face away, but I feel his eyes linger on me, heavy and unyielding. When the door closes behind him, the silence that follows is deafening.

I clutch the blanket tighter, my heart pounding. I should feel relieved. He gave me space. But all I feel is the weight of the inevitable.

Because sooner or later, the truth will come out.

And when it does, nothing between us will ever be the same again.