Page 87 of Priest

Deacon’s breathing changes enough to notice, a slight hitch followed by a deeper inhale. Lila leans forward now, eyes sharp, professional instinct overriding emotion.

“You hearin’ me, Jacks?” she says quietly. Not pleading. Just present.

His pulse steadies again, though it doesn’t drop all the way back down. I watch all of it in silence, feeling like I’m witnessing something that belongs to them and still somehow matters to the rest of us.

“I was so mad at him for it,” Lila sighs, voice gentler now. “For walking away. I thought it meant he didn’t care.”

Her hand settles near Deacon’s, respecting the space between them even now. Something shifts in his jaw. Enough to make the room feel different. Enough to make my chest tighten.

Enough to call it listening?

Lila sits back slowly, controlled. “That’s enough,” she says to herself. “No more pushing.”

She looks at me then. “He responds more when I talk about home.”

I nod.

She gathers her things quietly, careful with every movement like the room might bruise if she handles it too roughly. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

After she leaves, the room feels different.

I stay where I am, watching the rise and fall of Deacon’s chest and the numbers that refuse to lie, understanding something I hadn’t let myself think too hard about until now.

Deacon walked away from her because he saw the collision coming and chose the least destructive path. Because sometimes loving someone means knowing when two worlds will grind each other down before either one learns how to bend.

I sit there longer than I should, the machines humming softly in the dark, and the unease in my gut shifts into a shape I can almost name. Routes and waiting enemies are only part of it.

The rest is pattern.

Men who leave before things break. Men who call distance mercy. Men who mistake absence for protection.

And me, sitting beside my brother in the dark, wondering what staying will cost if I ever learn how to do it right.

28

Priest

The room is silent when the first sound happens.

It’s a breath caught halfway in, like his body forgot how to finish the motion and had to relearn it from scratch with a moan at the end. The heart monitor jumps, outside alarm range, but enough to break the steady rhythm it’s held for days.

Lila’s head snaps up instantly. All weariness disappears, replaced by focus. “Jackson?”

I’m already on my feet and across the room from the chair near the end of the bed.

His fingers twitch once, then again. His brow furrows, face tightening like he’s fighting his way through fog that wants to keep him buried. Lila rises from the chair, careful and controlled, her hands hovering without touching him yet.

“Hey,” Lila murmurs, rising from the chair. She doesn’t touch him yet. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His breathing stutters, uneven in a way that makes the room sharpen around us, like even his body is trying to understand the sensation of being awake.

Then his eyes open.

They don’t focus right away. They drift, unfixed, sliding past ceiling lights and the edge of the room as if he’s trying to figure out where, maybe when, he is. Then they land on her.

Everything in him stills.