Her skin was still ashen, making it seem as though she had been exposed to smoke. Her lips, though, had finally begun to show the slightest tinge of rosy pink—the color they should be. How Alex missed those lips on his. The last time they kissed had been that morning before he headed out to work, which now felt like forever ago. So much had happened in those few short hours. What he wouldn't give to go back and change it all; to force Dylan to sign the papers right then and there. To have decided earlier to drive up to the house to check on Norma, regardless of their fight. If he had done those things, maybe he wouldn't have held her lifeless body in his arms, begging and pleading with her to come back to him. He wouldn't be sitting by her side while she lay unconscious in a hospital bed. But then again, if he did do those things, would he have died right along with his wife and her son, unable to help them?
All he knew for certain was that in this moment, she was alive. Her heart was beating, her lungs inhaled pure oxygen, and he could reach out and move a stray lock of soft blonde hair back into place. Her hand was warm in his, her skin smooth. After tonight he was sure he could make it through anything, as long as she was with him. Alive.
He noticed things about her he hadn't taken the time to before. How she had the smallest of little frown lines between her eyebrows, but the corners of her mouth were riddled with little creases that only came from smiling. How her rosy lips were kept tightly shut as she slept, making him wonder she had bad dreams. How her long, brown eyelashes lightly dusted her cheeks, and. . . Alex's breath caught in his chest. For the first time since arriving at the hospital, Norma's eyelids began to flicker. His other hand moved of its own accord to rest on her pallid cheek, his thumb moving in gentle strokes.
"Alex," she breathed.
Alex. His name. This one simple word broke down any and all guards he had tried to build up in order to be strong for her. He hadn't lost her. She was alive.
Every emotion he had felt in the past four hours was reawakened. His throat constricted and warmth flowed form his eyes. He wanted to tell her immediately what happened. That he was sorry. That she had almost died. That Norman was okay. That he had tried to kill them both.
But he couldn't. The only words that brokenly fell from his tongue when he finally opened his mouth were, "I love you. I love you."
Over. And over. And over.
As Norma slowly became more aware, the question and concern in her eyes grew. He leaned over the bed, letting his lips rest on her forehead, still cradling her face in his hand. When he pulled away, her hand came to lay against the short stubble on his cheek. She caught him there, hovering atop her bed.
He turned his face so that his lips touched her hand. Tears still fell freely from his eyes, though the sobs and soft hitched breaths had stopped. He looked at her again. Tears had begun to form in her own eyes, prompting her to speak again.
"Alex. . .what happened? What is it…is it Norman?" Her voice, still soft and shallow, rose with apprehension.
He was quick to assuage her fears.
"No. No, Norman's fine. He's alright," he trailed off, unsure of where to begin.
What could he say? What he believed to be the truth: that Norman had tried to kill her along with himself? That he had held her in his arms, thinking she was dead? He could lie. . .manipulate the truth, if only to keep her heart safe in that moment. He knew he had no choice. He met her eyes.
"It was about three hours ago. It was killing me, the thought of you in that house alone after we fought. So I drove down to see you. I… I needed to know you were okay. The house was dark, so I let myself in. I kept calling you, but you didn't answer, so I went to your room. You were there, in the bed with Norman. Neither of you would move. It wasn't until I went over to you, and you still wouldn't wake up, that I started getting dizzy. It hit me that there was gas in the room. So I got you and Norman out to the hallway with the windows open."
He trained his eyes on their entwined fingers, noticed the intensity of her grip that matched his. He focused on their hands, forcing down the sudden lump that had fought its way up his throat. He swallowed, looked up.
"Baby, you weren't breathing. I couldn't feel your pulse. . . you left me."
It must have been the way his voice broke on his last words, as Norma immediately pulled him to her. One arm looped around his shoulders while the other cradled the back of his head, fingers gently threading through the short black hair. She held him tight, and welling tears spilled onto her cheeks as her husband buried himself in her neck.
Neither moved for what seemed ages before Alex gently pulled away. Norma wiped away the wetness from his cheeks, her soft fingers calming on his warm skin. He caught her fingers as they drifted away, nestling them between his two hands.
"Alex, what I said earlier today… I didn't mean it," Norma began slowly. "I've always trusted you. I always will. You are my constant. My touchstone."
Her eyes glowed as the words spilled from her lips, icy blue lost in deep brown.
Alex quirked his lips, squeezed her fingers.
"And you are mine."