I inch my way into the room, but I can’t look away from his sad eyes. Something in his grief is inviting me in, welcoming me into this quiet moment as we wait with someone we love, collectively ensuring she does not take her last breath alone.

The morning stretches on endlessly. No one eats, leaves, or speaks for hours.

Finally, somewhere around eight, Ryder gets up and leaves the room unannounced. Ruby encourages the rest of us to eat something. She leaves after giving Hazel another dose of morphine. Murph doesn’t move. I’m on the window seat next to him, curled up and dozing in and out of sleep when I hear him let out a tired, desperate sigh.

When I look at him, I see a different man than I saw standing against the low wall of the gala, undressing me with his eyes. This man is tortured and afraid, clearly at a loss within a world he can no longer control. The man last night took what he wanted, afraid of nothing.

Moving without hesitance, I reach for him. My hand laces through his fingers, and he squeezes them almost too tightly.

When he speaks, so quiet I barely hear him, I get lost in the croak of his voice.

“I lost my best friend without warning. Overdose, and I didn’t even know he was using. One day, he was just dead. This isn’t any easier.”

“My mother died very slowly,” I whisper, and his head snaps up to stare at me. “Toward the end, I just wanted her pain to be over.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

His cool, green eyes suck me in, holding me close, promising me something. He makes me feel like I matter, that I mean something to him. It feels like a trick, so I look away before I can fall much further.

Ryder is standing in the doorway, watching us silently. When I look up at him, he says, “Ruby made lunch. We should eat.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Murph growls.

The man in the doorway looks at me again, offering me a slight smile and motioning toward the kitchen. It takes a few moments before I finally stand, pulling my hand away from Murph’s. A part of me is still angry at him after his little explosion last night. Part of my problem with Hugo was that I was always so easily swayed after he made me angry. Most of that was thanks to his classic manipulation techniques, but I still blame myself for how quickly I forgave him, buying into all of his fake apologies.

The kitchen is quiet too, and I thank Ruby as I take a sandwich from the counter and walk toward the patio to eat it.

I stop in my tracks when I notice a newcomer at the table outside. Long blonde hair blowing in the wind, covering her petite face as she tries to take a bite of her sandwich. Her short legs sway under the table, and I'm standing there struck by how out of place she is.