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About what almost happened.

About how close I came to losing everything.

Again. But worse.

I jump out and round the truck before Amanda even has a chance to unbuckle.

I open her door and lift her out of her seat.

“Alessio!” she squeaks in surprise.

But I just shake my head.

Press my lips together.

Because if I open my mouth right now?

I might lose whatever is left of my mind.

I can't talk.

Not yet.

Not when the image of that fixture crashing onto the stage keeps replaying in my head.

Not when I can still hear myself screaming her name.

Not when I almost lost her.

Fuck.

Can't think about that.

Won't think about that.

Not now.

I keep hold of her hand.

Too tightly, probably.

But I don't know how to let go.

Not anymore.

The elevator arrives, and we get in.

It stops too soon, and some poor bastard waiting in the lobby starts to step inside.

One look at my face and the sound that’s emanating from me—part snarl, all warning—and he immediately backs up.

Smart man.

I hit the close door button.

Amanda says nothing.

Just quietly squeezes my hand.