Page 117 of Broken & Bound

“We’ll get through this. All of us,” he said solidly.

I nodded absent-mindedly, not believing a word of it. All I could think about was that I needed to see her. To hold her. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. If I focused on the physical pain, it would keep the emotional agony at bay.

By the time the doctor finished patching me up, I had three broken ribs, several lacerations, and one stitched wound to show for it. Marcel had spent the last few hours going back and forth between the two departments, keeping me updated.

The plastic pen shook in my grip, so much so, the tip ripped straight through the discharge forms. I stared down at the jagged black line. My name was mangled on the page. I was still staring at the form when Marcel’s footsteps scuffed against the tile.

He stopped a foot away. Pity radiated off him in waves, enough to make my stomach turn. The sudden silence he brought with him carried the news my heart had already accepted.

“I already know,” I whispered.

A strange, hollow numbness consumed me, leaving me stranded in a vacuum of my own making. I dropped the broken pen onto the counter.

“I need to see her.”

“Not going to happen. At least not tonight. She’s refusing to see anyone. Even Tori. Her mother just went into the room.”

I nodded once, the motion mechanical and stiff. She was shutting me out, just like before. Everything in me screamed there wouldn’t be any coming around. I wouldn’t find her in my bed needing comfort in a few days.

The emptiness under my ribs expanded. A dark, heavy reality pulled me down until the simple act of standing upright required every ounce of my remaining strength.

I fell into the nearest chair. “Can I at least ask about her health? Just tell me she’s out of danger.” The question forced its way past my cracked lips.

Marcel looked at me, his expression tightening, before he sank down into the chair beside me. My mind was trapped in a loop of worst-case scenarios. A phantom image of her flatlining burned against my eyelids.

“Don’t leave me in the dark here, Brother,” I rasped. My hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. I pressed my palms flat against my knees to steady them. “I can’t survive that, too. I just need to fucking know.”

“She lost a significant amount of blood,” Marcel said.

His tone struck that familiar, clinical balance between counselor and brother. He paused, letting the raw reality of the words hang between us before he finally continued.

“They’ve stopped the bleeding. Physically, the doctors are optimistic she’ll recover. But she has several broken ribs, a concussion, extensive bruising—”

The list of her injuries felt like a succession of blows to my own skin.

“Jesus,” I choked, raking a hand through my hair as tears sprang to my eyes.

“She’ll be sore for quite some time.”

“I should have been there,” I muttered. “I promised I’d keep her safe. I swore to her no one would ever hurt her again.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this, Brother.”

He reached out, his grip locking onto my shoulder like iron. He forced me to meet his eyes.

“You need to place the blame exactly where it belongs. Just like this is not her fault. It’s not yours either.”

“How do I help her through this? Especially if she won’t even let me in?” I asked, a hot wave of dejection breaking through.

His silence grew, and when he spoke next, his tone had softened. “Pasha, right now, she’s retreating into her shell. It’s the only place she feels safe. I don’t know what the future holds. It’s nuanced with Bella. I won’t lie and give you a timeline here. But if you really want to help her—”

“I do. I’ll fucking do anything. Whatever I can. I just want a chance here.”

“Then you help her by being the one person who doesn’t force a way inside before she’s ready.”

“Give her space?”

“Yes, for now. This doesn’t mean you can’t try. This doesn’t mean stop showing up. This just means you hold space for her. You don’t force it.”