POV Bella
The world assembled itself in fragments—white ceiling tiles, the antiseptic burn in my nose, machines beeping a rhythm that matched my stuttering heart. Three faces hovered above me like worried satellites.
"There she is." My mother's voice trembled with relief. "Oh, sweetheart."
"Don't try to sit up." My father's hand pressed gently on my shoulder. "You've been out for eighteen hours."
"Scared the hell out of us." Zane slouched in the visitor's chair, a medical textbook abandoned across his lap. "Your fever hit 104. We thought—"
"I'm okay." My voice came out scratched, raw.
"No, you're not." My mother's fingers smoothed hair from my forehead. "Bella, you have to be more careful. Your immune system can't handle exposure like this. Spring nights are still cold, and without proper protection—"
"I know."
"Do you?" Her voice sharpened with fear disguised as anger. "Because running around in the cold without a jacket is exactly the kind of reckless behavior that could—"
"Victoria." My father's quiet intervention stopped her spiral. "She knows."
But I deserved the lecture. I'd thrown away Ajax's jacket in a fit of pride, then run into the night like some tragic heroine. Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
"I'll monitor her more closely," Zane promised, squeezing my hand. "Make sure she's taking her meds on schedule, eating properly, avoiding stress—"
"I'm not a child."
"No, you're a cardiac patient with a death wish." His grip tightened. "There's a difference."
Visiting hours ended with reluctant goodbyes and promises to return first thing. The room fell quiet except for the mechanical symphony of medical equipment.
My phone screen glowed: three missed calls from Ajax Spencer. No messages.
I stared at his name, thumb hovering over the call button. What would I say? Thanks for the garage make-out session? Sorry I threw your jacket at your sort-of girlfriend?
The door whispered open.
"Security in this place is a joke." Ajax materialized from shadow, moving with that liquid grace that made my monitors spike.
"You can't be here."
"Yet here I am." He stepped into the dim light, and my breath caught. He looked wrecked—hair disheveled, shadows under those green eyes, his usual cockiness replaced by naked concern. "How are you feeling?"
"Like an idiot who ran into the cold without a jacket."
"Good thing I brought it back then." He produced the leather from behind his back, holding it out like a peace offering.
"Ajax—"
"Scoot over."
"What? No, you can't—"
But he was already sliding into the narrow bed, carefully maneuvering around my IV line. His arms came around me, pulling me against his chest with infinite gentleness.
"I was terrified." The words vibrated through his chest into mine. "When Camila said you were here, when I saw you through the door looking so small—"
"I'm okay."
"You're not." His arms tightened. "You're dying, and I'm making it worse, and I can't seem to stop."
"That's my choice to make."
"Is it?" His lips pressed to my hair. "Because from where I'm sitting, we're both pretty shit at choices."
"Speak for yourself. I make excellent choices."
"You gave away that jacket to Laila and nearly died of a cold. I took it back." His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. "The thing with her, letting her talk to you like that—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it."
We didn't talk about the garage, about his hands on my skin, about how we'd almost crossed a line we couldn't uncross. Instead, I fell asleep to his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my palm.
When morning came, he was gone. But his jacket remained draped over the chair, still warm with the memory of him.
* * *
Three days of house arrest disguised as recovery. My phone became my lifeline to the outside world—specifically to Ajax Spencer, who apparently had nothing better to do than text me constantly.
Ajax: How's prison? - 9:00 AM
Me: Luxurious. The warden brought me organic soup. - 9:03 AM
Ajax: Gross. Real invalids demand ice cream. - 9:04 AM
He sent stupid memes about motorcycles, photos of him suffering through lectures, complaints about Jake's terrible music taste. I found myself smiling at my phone like an idiot, which Zane noticed with obvious disgust.
"You're texting him."
"I'm texting Camila."
"Camila doesn't make you blush."
"Shut up and study your anatomy."
But when I finally returned to campus, Ajax was everywhere. He materialized between my classes, walked me to the library, even sat through Professor Williams's mind-numbing economics seminar just to be near me.
"You don't take economics," I whispered as he slid into the seat beside me.
"I do now."
"You'll fail."
"Worth it." His hand found mine under the desk. "Besides, watching you take notes is weirdly hot."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
I did. God help me, I did.
* * *
Dance rehearsal had transformed into something magical. Without the anger, without the resistance, we moved like water—fluid, natural, inevitable.
"Beautiful!" Mrs. Meyer actually applauded. "Finally! You've found your rhythm. The gala will be spectacular."
Ajax spun me into a dip, holding me suspended as the music faded. "We're good together."
"When we're not trying to destroy each other."
"Even then." He pulled me up slowly, keeping me pressed against him. "Destruction can be its own kind of dance."
But even in these perfect moments, something felt off. I caught the looks between Laila and Ajax when they thought I wasn't watching. Noticed how Laila's possessive gaze tracked our every move. Heard the whispers that stopped when I approached.
"Be careful," Camila warned over coffee. "Guys like Ajax don't just change overnight."
"Maybe he has."
"Or maybe you're seeing what you want to see because you're running out of time."
The words stung because they might be true.
"I'm taking what I can from life," I said quietly. "Even if it kills me."
"That's what I'm afraid of." She gripped my hand. "That he'll kill you faster than your heart will."
But I was already in too deep. Every text made me smile. Every touch set me on fire. Every moment felt borrowed against a debt I'd never repay.
Ajax Spencer was probably going to destroy me.
But at least I'd feel alive while burning.