I shake my head. “No. Let me go see.” I push the blanket aside and swing my legs off the bed. I move slowly, not trusting my limbs, feeling so weak. My legs are bare beneath the gown, and the floor is cold under my feet. I pad across the room to open the door, and the first thing I see is a man leaning against the opposite wall talking to a nurse. The moment he sees me, he straightens, his expression changing, darkening.

Santiago has a guard watching me.

I slip back inside and lean my forehead against the door

“Ivy? What the fuck is going on?”

I force myself to breathe. Try to calm my heart rate. “I’m on the fifth floor,” I say, having seen the number of the room across from mine. “I don’t know the number, but it’s across from 566. Abel, there’s a guard outside.”

“Okay. I need to think.”

I walk back toward the bed and sit down, my toes barely grazing the floor. I feel like a child. Like a scared little girl and I think about how Hazel left. How she managed to stay gone.

“Please, I can’t go back. I would rather die.” I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes.

“Just give me a little time. Can I call you back at this number?”

“I don’t think so. The nurse—”

“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“How?”

He snorts. “Your husband isn’t the only one with connections. Sit tight, little sister.” With that, he disconnects, and I’m left holding the phone, wondering about the last part. Little sister. It sounded almost affectionate, and I have to remind myself that this is Abel. He hates me.

But he hates Santiago more.

I’ve almost given up on Abel when, two hours later, there’s a knock on my door, and I sit up to see Evangeline’s face peer inside.

“Eva!”

“Knock, knock,” she says, slipping in and coming to me. I hug her so tight I don’t ever want to let her go. It’s been so long. Months.

“Eva, where’s Abel?” I ask when she pulls the chair Santiago had sat in up to the bed and glances to the door.

“He sent me. He thought they wouldn’t let him in to see you, but I’m just a kid.” She shrugs her shoulder with a wide grin. She reaches into her small backpack, pulls out a couple of Snickers bars, and sets them on the nightstand. “Hospital food sucks, right? And you got skinny.”

Her expression falters. I see worry. And I find I can’t speak without crying.

She glances back at the door. “The guard is at the door, but he’s flirting with some of the nurses. Your car’s outside,” she whispers. “At the back of the lot.”

“My car?”