Chapter 91

Drew’s POV

The first thing I became aware of was the light.

It was too bright and sharp, so much so that it pierced through my eyelids and dragged me out of the dark haze I had been lost in. I groaned softly and shifted, but the movement sent a lance of pain straight through my ribs.

My eyes snapped open. The ceiling above me was white and unfamiliar. A steady beeping noise echoed close to my ear, machines hummed and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, so strong it coated my tongue.

I was in the hospital.

The realization hit slowly, like waking up underwater. I turned my head just slightly, and even that small motion had me wincing. Bandages tugged against my skin and the ache in my chest biting deep. My right arm had an IV taped to it, tubes leading to a bag that hung from a metal stand.

I had no idea how it happened but somehow, I had made it out of the wreck.

The memories came in fragments, flashes that hurt as much as the wounds I carried now.

I slowly remembered everything from the flask that contained whisky and the bitterness burning down my throat, to the slick road, glowing under scattered streetlights. My vision blurring as tears I didn’t want betrayed me and the hard, unyielding wall that I drove into

Then nothing, or maybe something. I could vaguely recall voices. The piercing wail of an ambulance siren. Hands dragging me out, strapping me onto a stretcher and a harsh voice shouting for someone to check my vitals then total blackness.

Now here I was. Alive, but broken.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, my breath shallow and ragged. For a long moment, I just stared at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that I hadn’t died last night. Some part of me almost wished I had.

But then my gaze shifted and I saw her.

Lila.

She was sitting in the chair beside my bed, her body curled in on itself. Her head rested against the stiff backrest, tilted at an awkward angle that looked painful even to me. Her hair had fallen across her face, strands sticking to cheeks still damp from tears.

Even in sleep, she looked exhausted, fragile and worn down by the weight of everything.

It didn’t take much to guess that she had been crying until she finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Something twisted in my chest at the sight.

She had stayed here. All night watching me and guarding me, even when she should have been resting herself.

And as I looked at the chair and her sleeping position once again a sharp, startling thought that left me reeling came in.

That chair and her position wasn’t convenient for her. Not for her and certainly not for the baby.

My baby.

The words thundered in my mind before I could stop them.

I froze.

My baby.

That was the second time since last night that the phrase had slipped into my thoughts, uninvited but undeniable.

The fury from last night roared back, hot and suffocating. I could still hear my own voice shouting at her, demanding answers she hadn’t given. Is the child mine? Did Max know all along? The betrayal cut as deep as it had hours ago, maybe deeper.

But tangled in the anger now was something far worse.

Fear.

What if I lost them both? What if I lost her before I could even decide whether to forgive her? What if the child she carried, my child, never even had the chance to know me?

The thought hollowed me out, leaving me raw and trembling.

I hated it. I hated her for putting me in this position. I hated myself more for caring.

I turned my head again, just slightly, and forced myself to look at her. She shifted in her sleep, her brows furrowing as if even her dreams were burdened.

And then memories assaulted me without mercy.

Memories of the night we spent together, the way her body had curled into mine, soft and trembling, her lips whispering my name like a prayer. The trust in her eyes that night, fragile and yet whole. I had told myself it was just a moment of weakness. Something to bury, to forget. But I couldn’t. I never could.

And now here she was, sitting by my side, carrying proof of that night within her.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I could forgive her, if I could look at her without wanting answers I wasn’t sure I could handle.

The thought made my blood boil.

But then my gaze slid back to her swollen eyes, the way she had clearly cried herself to sleep in this cold, uncomfortable chair just to stay near me.

Why would she do that if she didn’t care?

I didn’t have the strength to untangle it.

My chest tightened, a painful reminder of both the accident and the mess between us. The machine by my side beeped in steady rhythm, mocking me with its calmness while I was anything but calm.

I didn’t know how much longer I could lie here watching her.

And then she moved.

A soft sound escaped her lips, a sigh as her body shifted slightly. Her lashes fluttered, her brows pulling together before her eyes blinked open.

For a moment, she looked disoriented. Her gaze darted around the room, unfocused, until it landed on me.

And everything about her changed.

Her body shot upright so quickly that she nearly stumbled. Her expression crumbled and reformed all at once, relief flooding every line of her face, raw and overwhelming.

“Drew,” she breathed, her voice trembling like it hadn’t been used in hours.

Before I could think, before I could speak, she was already leaning forward, her hands reaching for me.

Her palms cupped my face gently, desperately, like she was afraid I might disappear if she didn’t hold on. Her eyes searched mine frantically, shining with fresh tears.

“Oh God… you’re awake,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Are you okay? Do you feel any pain? Tell me where it hurts.”

Her thumbs brushed lightly against my cheekbones, trembling with the force of her relief. Her breath hitched and uneven, as she hovered close.

And I froze.

Her touch melted into me, familiar and foreign all at once.

Part of me wanted to close my eyes and lean into her warmth, to let myself sink into the tenderness I had craved more than I wanted to admit. But the other part, the louder part screamed that I couldn’t and I shouldn’t.

Not when she had betrayed me. Not when her silence had nearly destroyed me.

So I stayed still, caught between the anger that burned in my chest and the dangerous longing that threatened to undo me.