Page 92 of Never Enough
A soft groan pulls my attention away from my sister’s victory face. Daphne stirs, and her eyelids flutter open. The sight of her, so vulnerable yet so strong, sends a rush of warmth through me, dulling the ache in my bones.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say, my voice rough with lingering sleep and unshed emotion.
Daphne blinks, her gaze focusing on me. Tears glimmer in her hazel eyes, and she rises, moving closer to the bed. She reaches out, her touch light as a feather against my arm.
“How are you feeling?” Her voice is thick with concern, but there’s a steel underneath that tells me she’s not going anywhere.
“Like shit, but I’m alive.” It’s the truth, raw and unfiltered. Best of all, I’m damn glad I’m alive right now.
Her lips curve into a grin, and it’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “That’s my Alex.”
Victoria crosses the room and hovers in the doorway, her sharp brown eyes flicking between Daphne and me. “You guys must be starving.” She arches a perfectly plucked brow, a challenge more than a question.
“Feed me anything,” Daphne murmurs, rubbing at her eyes. Her voice is rough with sleep and worry, but the corners of her lips twitch upwards. The sight shoots warmth straight to my chest.
“Same here,” I say, despite the soreness clawing at my throat.
“Coming right up, then.” Victoria’s heels click against the sterile floor as she turns on her heel and disappears down the hallway.
With Victoria gone, the room feels quieter somehow. Until I turn to Daphne, taking in her tousled dark hair and the fatigue lining her face. She’s been through hell, just sitting here, waiting for me to wake up.
Before I can even prompt her, Daphne bawls, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Tears stream down her face, each one a silent scream of isolation. She spends the next hour pouring her heart out, her voice barely a whisper at times.
She recounts her childhood, a litany of abuse and neglect. Her mother’s poisonous words are worse than I can imagine. Daphne’s eyes darken as she describes the letters she’s received since her mother’s release, each one a twisted attempt at emotionally torturing her daughter. She speaks of my ex-girlfriend, who orchestrated the assassination attempt on her life.
That really pisses me off. Except, unlike Daphne’s fears, it’s not because I got in the crossfires of a mother and daughter but because my ex-girlfriend aided in it. Daphne could have died.
As Daphne continues, I can see the weight of her pain pressing down on her. She feels guilty as if her mother’s actions are her fault. Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of shame and desperation. She’s been carrying this burden alone for so long, and now, she’s finally letting it out.
Right now, I may be the one in the hospital bed, but Daphne needs support too. Even more than I do.
Wanting to feel a second of pain, I dig my nails into the palm of my hand but quickly release it. Then I dry her tears with the pad of my thumbs. “You’ll never have to go through anything like this alone again.”
“Again?” She hiccups. “You think there are more homicidal maniacs stalking me out there?” Okay, wrong thing to say.
“What I mean is,” I begin, while softly stroking her face, “I’m going to work my ass off to prove that you can trust me with anything. I don’t want you to keep secrets, baby, even if you think they’ll hurt me.”
“I do trust you!” She bounces in her seat as if appalled. In a way, she might, but when she needed support the most, she kept a secret to spare me. I don’t love her because she cares about my emotional state. My love stems from the person she is.
I can do better, and I will. The changes I’ve made in my life for the past few months are only the beginning.
Once we’re settled into a quiet rhythm, I’m comfortable changing the subject. “Hey, Daph,” I start, my heart thudding against my ribcage. “Would you want to go to dinner tomorrow?” I’m like a thirteen-year-old boy again, and you know what? That’s okay. I’ll gladly expose myself for her.
She blinks, surprise etching her features before she lets out a teasing laugh. “Babe, you’re not even discharged yet.”
“This weekend, then.” My words trip over themselves, eager and insistent. “Go out with me, on an actual date.”
“Yes.” Her smile lights up the room, and it’s all I need to know that despite the uncertainty of what comes next, it’s every-fucking-thing that matters.
We have each other.
We are enough.