Picture Perfect - Page 166

Dre’s hand tightens around Addy’s, his ice blue eyes glittering with unshed tears. “She needs to know she’s not alone anymore,” he adds softly. “That she’s got us, always.”

I nod, feeling the weight of our shared resolve. “We need to surround her with love, drown out the past with it. Show her a new life—one where she’s treasured.”

“Every damn day,” Saint agrees. He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair off Addy’s forehead. “We’ll start by making her world safe, giving her the space to heal. And then we rebuild, piece by piece.”

“Every nightmare she’s ever had, we replace it with a dream,” Dre murmurs, leaning in so close I can see the tremble in his shoulders.

“Anything she wants, anything she dreams of, we make it happen,” I say, thinking of how small her wishes might have been amidst the Winthrops’ towering expectations.

“School, travel, a home,” Saint lists, his voice growing stronger with each word. “Freedom to be herself, without fear.”

“Love,” Dre whispers. “Unconditional and unwavering.”

“Exactly.” I straighten up, feeling the power of our bond like a current between us. “We’re her family now. The one she should’ve always had.”

“Never letting her go,” Saint vows, and the promise echoes in the stillness of the room.

“Never,” Dre and I say in unison.

We sit in a hushed vigil, each lost in thoughts of atonement and futures we’re determined to craft for Addy, a fortress built on the foundation of our collective devotion. And as the night deepens around us, our whispered plans weave into the quiet. I’m never letting her go again.

Chapter seventy-three

Addy

Pain splinters through me, sharp and insistent. I’m swimming up from the depths of darkness, fighting to break the surface. My body feels like it’s been pieced together wrong—every limb heavy, every inch throbbing. There are shadows hovering around me, their outlines blurred and shifting.

“Easy, Addy,” a voice murmurs somewhere above me. It’s familiar but distant, like an echo in a long-forgotten dream.

I try to respond, to move, but my limbs betray me, leaden and uncooperative. Snatches of conversation filter through the fog in my mind. “…should be waking up soon…” “…can’t believe they found her like that…” They’re talking about me, I realize, but the effort to stay awake is too much. The blackness pulls me under once more, and I surrender to it without a fight.

Time passes—I’m not sure how much—before light nudges at my eyelids again. This time, when I open them, the sun is low in the sky, painting the room in hues of gold and orange. My vision clears slowly, and I see the saline bag hanging by the bed, its contents trickling down into the IV inserted in my hand.

A soft exhale escapes my lips, and I groan quietly from the soreness that infuses my entire being. At the sound, Chess, who’s been slumped beside my hand, jerks awake. His hazel eyes meet mine, wide and clouded with sleep. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles, then realization dawns on him.

“Addy?” His voice cracks with worry and sleep. “You’re awake.”

I want to smile at his ruffled appearance, so at odds with his usual mischievous charm, but the action is too much. Instead, I just hum, feeling the heaviness of my own breath.

“God, you scared us,” Chess says, rubbing a hand over his face. The tech genius and hacker, the boy who can unravel secrets with a flick of his fingers—mine included, looks utterly human in this moment, his affable mask replaced by raw concern.

“Water,” I rasp, the word barely a whisper.

Chess is instantly alert, searching for a cup before helping me take small sips, his touch careful as if I’m something precious and fragile.

“Better?” he asks, his gaze scanning my face for signs of discomfort.

“Better.” And it is, marginally. With the water soothing my parched throat, I feel a little more anchored to reality. But the ache remains—a constant reminder of what I’ve endured.

“Rest, okay? Everyone’s been out of their minds worrying about you,” Chess continues softly, his hand retreating to give me space, yet remaining close enough to offer silent support.

I want to tell him everything that’s racing through my mind, to unload the fear and the anger, but exhaustion has a firm grip on me. So I just nod again, letting his presence be the anchor I didn’t know I needed as the world around me drifts back into a healing slumber.

??????

The rustle of movement jars me, and two more figures loom into my blurry vision. Saint’s dark curls are a shadowed halo against the dimming light filtering through the window, his posture rigid with tension that seems to emanate from him like waves. Dre, all sharp angles and pale hair, stands beside him, ice blue eyes wide with something akin to hope.

“Thank fuck,” Gen breathes out, relief heavy in her voice. “I thought they were going to try reaching into your dreams to bring you back next.”