Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
#
#
Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
Stay With Me (This Is What I Need), Please
Edward didn't let go of my hand.
We moved quickly, cutting through the back corridors, his grip firm, steady. My legs carried me on instinct alone, my mind too fractured to register anything beyond the rush of fluorescent lights overhead, the echo of our steps, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air. I barely felt the ground beneath me. Everything felt distant, muted, like I was moving through water.
We reached the fire escape stairs. Took them two at a time. My pulse pounded against my ribs, each beat too fast, too loud.
Then, just as we neared the final set of doors leading onto the ER floor—my body failed me.
The moment I let go of Edward's hand, the world tilted. My breath caught, sharp and shallow, and suddenly, I couldn't inhale.
No.
My knees locked. My breath hitched, shallow, useless, my throat closing around nothing.
No, no. Not now.
The walls of the stairwell stretched, too narrow, too wide, my vision spinning. My knees bent of their own accord as I doubled over, hands braced on my thighs, trying—failing—to suck in air.
Then—warmth.
Steady hands caught my face, tilting it up. A voice broke through the static.
"Hey. Look at me."
Edward.
His eyes burned into mine, focused, intense.
But I couldn't focus—couldn't latch onto anything. My chest was caving, my lungs burning, my head too light, too heavy, too—
"Jasper." His voice cut through the fog, sharp but low. His grip tightened, grounding me. "Look into my eyes, focus on them. Do you see me?"
I tried. My chest ached. My pulse thundered in my ears, but I forced myself.
His grayish irises came into sight. I tried to anchor to them. Then I nodded, barely.
"Good," he said. "Can you hear me?"
Another nod.
Edward's hand pressed to the side of my neck, his palm too warm against my cold, damp skin.
"Can you feel my hand?"
A sharp exhale broke from my lips. My hands trembled. But I nodded again.
The spinning slowed.
"Now," Edward said, voice softer now, coaxing, "tell me your kids' names."
My pulse jumped.
Leighton. Noah.
I swallowed. Forced my throat to work.
"Leighton… and Noah."
Edward exhaled, his forehead almost dipping against mine for the briefest second.
"Good. You're back." But then his voice hardened again, steady, unwavering.
"Listen to me, Jasper. I need you here, present. You can't panic. The kids will need you. And you're the one responsible for Mark's life right now. You need to find your center. Do you understand?"
I opened my mouth, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.
"Mark is my center."
Something flickered across Edward's face—something deep, unreadable—but his grip didn't waver.
"Jazz," he said, quieter now, but firm, "he needs you. You have to find another anchor, because right now you must be rational. Sober. You can break apart later—once he's safe—but right now, you have to hold it together. For him and for the kids. Can you do that?"
I didn't trust my voice. So I just nodded.
Edward studied me for a beat longer, then, without another word, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward. We pushed through the final set of doors onto the ER floor.
The air was colder here. Sharper.
We moved fast—past the waiting areas, past the nurses' station, past the controlled chaos of the emergency bays. My pulse pounded against my ribs as we entered the prep room. A gown was shoved into my hands, and Edward helped me put it on in silent concentration.
I stopped short.
I saw him.
Laid out on the stretcher, eerily still—my Mark.
I saw it immediately—the laceration on his forehead.
But what made me tremble weren't the cuts or faint bruises. It was the markings.
Patchy remnants of his hair remained, but most of it was gone, replaced by the stark precision of pre-surgical lines. The right side of his head was shaved clean, the markings drawn across his skull like a roadmap.
My breath hitched, sharp and painful. I couldn't move.
As I realized they outlined where they would cut, where they would lift the bone to save his life, a shudder ran through me. Before I could stop myself, my fingers reached out—
Edward caught them.
I hadn't even realized I had grabbed his hand again, but he didn't pull away.
A voice cut through the haze.
"Dr. Cullen, Dr. Perez and Dr. Cullen are scrubbing in."
Edward turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"You need to go to the waiting room now," he said, voice controlled, steady. "Call your family."
I couldn't move.
He stepped in again, closer, his hands cupping my face one more time.
"Hey." His voice was gentler now, quiet, but unwavering. "I know you're scared. But Dr. Perez is one of the best neurosurgeons in the state, and you know my father's skills. I'll be in there. I swear to you, Jazz, I'll do everything I can to make sure he'll have the best chances. Do you trust me?"
My throat tightened painfully. But I nodded.
Edward held my gaze for a second longer. Then he pulled back, turning toward the OR doors just as they opened.
Mark was being wheeled through.
Edward followed.
The doors swung shut, sealing them from view.
I stood there, breathless, my hands cold and shaking. The world around me felt distant, muffled, as if I were hearing everything from underwater. The beeping machines, the distant murmur of voices, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—they all blended into a background I could barely register. My chest felt tight, too tight, like I had forgotten how to breathe.
I needed to move. I needed to do something.
Mark was in surgery. I couldn't change that. I couldn't help him now, couldn't reach him, couldn't even see him. But I could make sure the people who mattered knew what was happening.
I reached for my phone, my fingers stiff and uncooperative, and dialed the first number that came to mind. Rosalie.
She picked up almost immediately, and the moment I told her, she didn't hesitate. She said she would pick up the kids, take them to her place, keep them safe and distracted. She didn't ask questions, didn't push for details—she just did what needed to be done. And she didn't need me to tell her not to say anything. We both knew that conversation had to come from me.
Next, I called Bella. I could hear the shift in her tone as I explained, the sharp edge of concern cutting through her usual steadiness. Without me even asking, she said she'd come to the hospital, that she'd be there for me. Then she asked if I wanted her to pick up my mom. I exhaled, trying to steady myself, and told her to pick up Emmelle too.
I called my mom after that. It wasn't an easy call, but she didn't panic, didn't break. I could hear the sadness in her voice, the worry she was trying to suppress, but she kept herself together, because she knew I needed that.
The last call was to Emmelle.
She answered on the second ring, and I told her what happened. She listened in silence, letting me say it all, and when she spoke, her voice was steady. Controlled.
Worried, yes—but not shaken.
It reminded me of Mark.
How many times had I seen him react like that? Even when he was worried, even when things were bad, even when I knew he was afraid—he never let it take over. He processed, thought things through, kept himself grounded. Emmelle was the same. Mark got that from her.
And I—I was nothing like that.
I felt everything too much, too deeply—let it rattle through me like an earthquake I couldn't stop. I wasn't like them. I never had been. Mark was the one who kept me steady.
Now I had to stay steady for him.
I ended the call, my hands still shaking, and walked back to my office. Keira barely had time to look up before I was already speaking.
"Call Melinda. Hold all my calls, cancel all my appointments."
She nodded without hesitation.
Melinda arrived fast, her expression tense but composed. She had already heard. News spread quickly in a hospital, and I wasn't surprised she knew before I even had to say it.
I told her what I needed.
She told me not to worry.
"I'll handle everything," she said, and I believed her.
Finally, I made the last call.
Gunther Parsons. My direct boss. The hospital's CEO.
He picked up, his voice neutral but attentive. I told him everything—what happened, where Mark was, that I didn't know how long I'd need. He didn't ask unnecessary questions, didn't make me justify anything. He just said, "Take all the time you need. I'll make the arrangements."
It was more relief than I had expected. More than I had let myself hope for.
But even as I set the phone down, even as I sat there, hands pressed against my desk, heart still pounding too fast—I knew that no amount of time would matter if I lost him.
I didn't know how long I was there, trying to keep myself together, trying not to let the fear take me under. My hands still felt cold, my chest tight, my breathing too shallow.
My phone vibrated.
I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Bella.
We're here.
I exhaled shakily, forcing myself to move. My body felt heavy, every step slower than it should have been, but I kept going until I found them.
The moment I stepped into the waiting room, my mother pulled me in, wrapping her arms around me, her hand cradling the back of my head like she used to when I was a kid. Bella pressed a warm hand against my back, and Emmelle—who had always reminded me so much of Mark, or maybe it was the other way around—gripped my shoulders, grounding me. I let them hold me. Let their presence steady me.
And then I waited.
But waiting didn't mean stillness. It didn't mean quiet. It didn't mean peace. It was just time stretching into something unbearable, pressing down on me with every second that passed. My mind refused to stay in the present. It dragged me back, over and over again, forcing me to see everything I had to lose.
The first time I met Mark.
College. My first day on the basketball team.
Coach had already introduced me as the new addition, and we'd even played a little when Mark stepped onto the court—late.
The first thing I noticed was his height. The second, his piercing blue eyes. He looked… intimidating at first, the way he carried himself, the way he took in the room like he was assessing everything at once.
Then he smiled.
Welcomed me.
And just like that, I knew I'd been wrong about him.
Then, the first time I really noticed him.
That night at the club.
Edward and I had gone with him, and when Edward left for the restroom, Mark challenged me to dance. I had never been much of a dancer, but he played the captain card to prove a point. I obliged, a little curious.
And then—moving together—my eyes locked on him, catching every single feature that made him so striking. My stomach tightened unexpectedly when I noticed other guys staring at him. And I remembered feeling… off-balance.
Like something had shifted. Something I wasn't ready to acknowledge yet.
Then, the first time I felt something real.
The night I showed up at Mark's apartment, drained and burdened by my insecurities about Luke. I hadn't even planned on telling him anything, but I had. And he had listened. No judgment, no interruptions. Just Mark, solid and steady. When I finally ran out of words, he reached up, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
It had been such a small thing. A quiet, gentle thing.
And somehow, it had been enough to make my pulse stutter.
Now, the memories wouldn't stop.
The first time we kissed.
In my car, after his graduation. We were supposed to go to the party, but we never made it. We sat there, talking. Then kissing. Then talking again, until the night blurred into morning.
The first time we made love.
Nothing had ever felt like that before—nothing had ever come close.
The first time Mark asked me to top him.
On our fifth dating anniversary trip. It was my first time ever topping, and the first time I had Mark utterly vulnerable, open to me. It was also his first time ever bottoming—something he had never done with anyone before. He had only ever done it with me.
The first and only real disagreement we ever had—if it could even be called that—when Edward came back from the UK.
Mark never doubted me, never questioned me. He actually encouraged me to face my feelings and find closure. Later, he accepted Edward back into my life—and into ours.
All the times Mark had gotten sick.
All the times I had worried too much, hovered too close. And now—now I realized why. Because even then, I had been afraid of losing him.
The memories kept coming.
And then, suddenly, five hours had passed.
The doors opened.
Edward stepped out.
I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't move. My body felt disconnected from my mind, frozen in the space between terror and hope. Emmelle's hands pressed firmly against my shoulders, keeping me steady. My mom and Bella turned at the same time, both tense, waiting.
Edward didn't hesitate. He walked straight to me.
He crouched down, placing a firm hand over my knee.
When he exhaled, I saw the exhaustion in his face, the wear in his eyes. I barely breathed. My brows lifted, a silent question, my stomach twisting so tightly it hurt.
Edward gave me a small, weary smile.
"He's out of immediate risk."
The relief hit so fast it knocked the air from my lungs. Before I could think, I moved—grabbing onto Edward, clutching the back of his scrubs, pressing my face against his shoulder. His arms came around me, holding me steady as I felt my body shake. I wasn't crying, not really, but my breath shuddered, and I couldn't stop it.
Edward's voice was quiet, firm.
"He's going to be okay."
I swallowed and nodded against him.
"Thank you."
Edward pulled back slightly, his hands still on my arms.
"Don't thank me. Thank Dr. Perez and Carlisle." He let out a slow breath. "I was just assisting because it was Mark."
Something in me clenched at that—at the fact that he had been in there because it was Mark.
I pulled back enough to look at him, my throat tightening again.
"Thank you anyway."
Edward nodded once.
"They'll be moving him to the ICU soon. I'll come get you when everything's set."
I barely heard the rest.
Because Mark was okay.
Mark was alive.
And for the first time since those doors had shut behind him, I could finally breathe.
.
.
.
It all felt like an eternity.
Mark had been extubated hours ago, and though the attending had assured me his recovery was on track, I couldn't stop watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, waiting for him to come back to me.
I kept count of every flicker of his lashes, every shift of his fingers. But when his eyes finally opened, they were unfocused—glassy and distant, as if he wasn't really here yet.
The medical team moved in swiftly. I barely registered what they were saying as they checked his vitals, murmuring to each other in practiced efficiency before turning to me.
"He's stable. Now we just wait."
So I waited.
Another two hours passed, slow and agonizing, until the faintest whisper broke the silence.
"Jasper."
I straightened so fast my chair scraped against the floor. Mark's eyes were still closed, but his voice—weak and barely there—was calling for me.
Edward, who hadn't left my side, was already moving.
"I'll get the nurse," he said, stepping out.
The attending returned, nurse in tow, checking Mark over as his eyes finally, sluggishly, blinked open. He squinted at the doctor, his expression hazy with lingering sedation. His voice came out groggy, uneven.
"I need to call my husband."
The attending gave a small smile.
"He's right here."
I reached for Mark's hand carefully, threading my fingers through his, and when his eyes landed on me, something in my chest caved in. I held back the overwhelming pressure building behind my ribs, the burn creeping up my throat. I wouldn't break, not now.
Mark gave me the faintest, drowsy smile.
The nurse adjusted something on the monitor as the attending turned to me.
"He needs rest, Dr. Hale. You can stay, but keep it brief—no overstimulation."
I nodded, barely able to look away from Mark long enough to acknowledge him.
When I glanced back at Mark, I caught a flicker of something in his expression. He was staring at the attending, now leaving with the nurse, with an odd look in his eye. Then his gaze flicked back to me.
"Did he forget who the boss is?"
I barked out a laugh, hearing Edward's muffled chuckle behind me, relief rushing through me so fast it left me dizzy. Mark's voice was weaker, rougher, but his acid humor was intact.
His eyes moved past me, and I saw something shift in his expression. His lips parted slightly, his voice slurred but clear enough.
"Golden boy."
Edward stepped forward, hands loose at his sides.
"How do you feel?"
Mark blinked sluggishly.
"Like I'm drowning in whiskey." He swallowed hard, his voice thick.
Then he exhaled, turning his head just slightly toward me, but his eyes stayed on Edward.
"Before I ask what happened, I need to know—did you take care of my husband?"
The way he said it, almost tenderly, sent a chill to the base of my spine.
Edward hesitated. For the first time since I'd known him, I saw uncertainty in his eyes, as though he didn't know what to say.
So I answered before he could.
"He took care of you for me."
Mark's fingers curled weakly around my palm.
"How long?"
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.
Mark's gaze flicked between me and Edward, and I gave Edward the smallest nod when he searched my eyes for permission.
Edward adjusted his stance.
"It'll be three days since you were brought into the ER in..." He checked his watch, then added, "Eighteen minutes."
Mark exhaled softly, lips twitching.
"You keep a tight track of time, huh?"
Edward clearly recognized the teasing in his voice, as I did, and gave a small, knowing smile.
"It's an ER doctor thing."
Mark hummed, as if considering that for a moment. Then Edward's expression softened slightly.
"It's good to have you back." He looked at me then, something unreadable in his gaze. "You shouldn't take long."
I nodded.
Edward glanced between the two of us, then stepped back.
"I'll give you some privacy."
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I leaned in, resting my forehead carefully against Mark's.
His breath was warm against my skin.
"I love you," he murmured.
I closed my eyes.
"I love you way beyond what you can imagine," I whispered, my voice breaking at the edges. My fingers tightened slightly over his. "You scared the hell out of me."
Mark's grip was weak but still there.
"Not on purpose… but I'm sorry, Moony."
"Please, don't ever leave me," I begged, my voice barely audible.
Mark inhaled slowly, as if it took effort.
"I'll try, Bae. I promise. The kids?"
"They're okay. They're with Rosalie." I pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing my thumb over the back of his hand. "They don't know anything yet. They think Papa and Daddy are traveling."
Mark's eyes fluttered, already growing heavier.
I ran a hand gently over his arm.
"You should rest. I'll be back later."
"Okay," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. "When I wake up… I need to know what happened."
Before I could respond, the door cracked open, and Edward's voice came through softly.
"Jasper. Let him rest."
I glanced back at Mark, already half-asleep, his breathing steady. Even with the right side of his head bandaged over the surgical site, the remnants of his hair messy and dull, his face thinner, his eyes slightly sunken and his skin pale, he was still—somehow—the most handsome man I'd ever seen.
I squeezed his hand once before lifting it to press a lingering kiss, let out a quiet breath, memorizing the steady rise and fall of his chest before finally, reluctantly, stepping away.
Edward was waiting just outside. His eyes flicked to me briefly before he spoke.
"Have coffee with me."
I hesitated.
Then, after a second, I nodded.
I followed Edward without question.
The farther we walked, the more I expected to turn toward the cafeteria, but we never did. Instead, we made our way through the halls, down an elevator, and into the garage.
I found it strange but said nothing.
When Edward opened the car door for me, I got in without a word.
The drive was quiet. The city moved past in a blur of streetlights and early evening shadows, but I barely registered them. The only thing that stood out was the moment we stopped—just across from the building where Mark's clinic was.
Edward shifted into park, then glanced at me.
"Wait here."
Again, I didn't protest.
It was strange. I should have asked, should have demanded to know why we were here instead of having coffee at the hospital. But I didn't. There was something holding me together, something keeping me still, like I was wrapped in a strange, fragile peace.
Edward disappeared into the café, and I sat motionless, staring blankly ahead.
When he returned, he opened the passenger door, handed me a cup, and simply said, "Come."
I took it and followed him without hesitation.
Edward led the way into the park, moving at an unhurried pace until he found a bench. He sat down first, and I joined him, sinking into the stillness.
It felt good.
For the first time in days, the world wasn't spinning too fast, wasn't demanding too much. It was just… quiet. Steady.
I exhaled, but somewhere along the way, I noticed my hands weren't as steady as the world around me. The cup trembled slightly in my grasp, and I clutched it harder, willing my fingers to still.
Edward said nothing.
He simply rested his elbows on his knees, coffee in hand, drinking slowly—like he was waiting.
I thought back to the last three days. The long, blurred hours. The exhaustion. The way Edward had been there, silently present, even when he was working. When he wasn't, he was beside me. And when he couldn't be beside me, he was checking in.
Now, sitting here, I understood.
Edward must have brought me here because he knew. Somehow, he knew that now that Mark was awake, now that I could breathe again, I would finally start to lose my grip.
And the second I realized that, the moment the thought settled into place—my hands shook harder.
A tight, burning sensation rose from my stomach to my throat, my chest growing heavier by the second.
Edward knew.
He knew me too damn well.
He knew that the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing holding me together, was control. And now that I didn't need to hold on so tightly, now that relief had settled in—
I would break.
The realization struck like a sudden blow, and as if that was all it took—
A ragged, uncontrollable sob ripped from my throat.
I barely registered the movement, barely noticed myself bending forward, folding under the crushing weight of everything I had been holding back.
But Edward did.
With absolute precision, as if he had seen it coming from the very start, he set his cup aside and caught me.
His arms came around me the second I fell into them.
I shuddered violently, my breath staggering, my body curling in as the dam finally broke.
Edward's voice was low, steady, right by my ear.
"It's okay."
I gasped against the force of my own emotions, fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat.
"Mark's okay," he murmured. "He'll be home soon. Everything will go back to normal."
His hand settled against the back of my head.
"You can breathe now."
I did.
And it broke me even more.
.
.
.
Two days later, the first thing I saw when I reached Mark's room was Edward.
Through the glass window, I watched as he sat near the bed, listening to Mark speak. Mark's lips moved slowly, his words careful and measured, like he was pacing himself. Edward, though mostly unreadable, carried something subdued in his expression—something almost solemn.
Mark, despite his usual calm, didn't look entirely at ease either.
Most people wouldn't have noticed.
But I did.
I knew the way Mark's face looked when something troubled him—how the smallest crease formed between his brows, how his fingers sometimes curled over the blanket or the fabric of his sleeve as if grounding himself. He wasn't tense, but there was something unsettled about him.
I watched as Edward hesitated, shifting slightly in his seat.
Then Mark reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around Edward's wrist.
Edward stilled.
Mark said something.
Edward looked at him for a long moment before nodding, something unreadable passing through his expression. At that, Mark's shoulders eased, and he let go, sighing softly.
I caught the words as they left Mark's lips.
Promise me.
Edward's response was just as clear.
I promise.
Then he said something else, but the words were lost behind the glass.
I barely had time to wonder about it before Edward's gaze lifted, and his eyes locked directly onto mine.
I didn't move.
I just stood there, taking in the flicker of recognition in Edward's face as his lips formed the words, Jasper is here.
Mark turned toward the window, his gaze meeting mine.
Something about the whole thing left an odd feeling settling low in my stomach.
I didn't know what it was exactly—the moment between them, the way Mark's expression smoothed over slightly as he looked at me, the brief glances exchanged before Edward finally stood to leave.
The door opened, and Edward stepped out.
I didn't speak immediately, letting the quiet hum of the hospital linger between us.
"What was that about?" I asked softly.
Edward's response was just as quiet.
"Mark asked me to come, he had some questions about what happened."
I nodded.
But something in Edward's eyes—a barely-there hesitation—made me wonder.
He wasn't lying. I knew that much. But I also knew when something wasn't the full truth.
Edward glanced back at the room briefly before meeting my gaze again.
"It's possible they'll discharge him today."
Another nod.
I turned toward the door, about to step inside, but something made me pause.
I exhaled and turned back to Edward, keeping my voice low.
"If it's not too much to ask… can you… be there when he gets home?"
Edward's brows lifted slightly.
I swallowed, not quite sure why I felt the need to ask.
"I just… I'll feel better if he's more safeguarded. More assisted."
For a moment, Edward just looked at me.
Then, slowly, the smallest smile curved his lips. It was a soft thing—subtle, but warm, with something almost tender beneath it.
"I'll be there," he said, voice steady. "For sure."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Then I turned and stepped into the room.
Mark was sitting up when I stepped inside, his back against a stack of pillows, looking like himself again—tired, maybe, but here. Present. The IV was still in his hand, the hospital gown still loose on his frame, but none of it mattered because he was awake, talking, possibly getting discharged today.
My chest felt lighter at the sight.
"Hey, Moony," he greeted softly, watching me in that way he always did—like he could see straight through to what I wasn't saying.
I crossed the room without thinking, sitting on the edge of the bed, and took his hand. His grip was stronger than yesterday, than the day before that, and I let myself hold onto it, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of it.
"How do you feel today?" I asked, studying his face.
He gave me a small, tired smile.
"I'm good. No more dizziness, headache's gone." He exhaled. "Dr. Perez says I'm recovering just fine—no sequelae. If nothing changes by the end of the day, he'll send me home."
"Do you feel ready to go back home?"
Mark nodded.
"They just said I have to take it easy for a while."
I caught the plural but didn't dwell on it.
I let out a slow breath.
"I'll make sure of it."
Mark huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something softer beneath it—something knowing.
"I figured."
I smiled, shaking my head as his fingers traced absently along mine—a familiar touch, grounding in its ease.
"I miss my rings," he mumbled, glancing at his hand.
I pulled the chain from beneath my shirt.
"You'll get them back soon," I said as his eyes landed on his engagement ring and wedding band, locked in the thin chain around my neck.
The smile he gave me was beautiful—it warmed my heart.
"Rosalie's bringing the kids in the evening," I said. "I wanted to wait until you were home so they wouldn't see you here, but Noah hasn't been sleeping well."
Mark's expression softened.
"They still think we're traveling?"
I shook my head.
"I talked to them this morning before coming here. They're anxious to see you."
His thumb brushed over the tattoo on my wrist—a small touch of reassurance.
"They'll be okay."
"I know." I swallowed, glancing away for a second before looking back at him. "I just—I need them to know you're okay."
Mark's gaze softened.
"I am okay."
I knew he was saying it for me more than anything. But I let myself believe it.
I watched him for a long moment, memorizing every little detail—the way his lashes flickered as he blinked, the slow curve of his lips, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Five days ago, I didn't know if I'd ever get to do this again.
Mark squeezed my hand lightly, drawing me back. His smile was small, knowing.
"You're staring."
"Yeah." My voice was quiet, but I didn't look away. "I guess I am."
He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.
"You could at least be subtle about it."
"Not a chance."
His fingers traced my wrist again, slow and familiar, his touch sending something warm through me. He was here. He was okay. The thought settled in my chest like a steady heartbeat.
"I'm ready to go home," he murmured after a beat.
I exhaled, relief threading through my voice.
"Yeah. I know."
For the first time in days, I didn't feel like I was bracing for something worse. The fear that had gripped me, the weight of everything unknown, had finally loosened its hold.
Mark was coming home. And for now—for right now—that was enough.
.
.
.
I went back to work soon after. Not a full shift—just enough to catch up, make sure everything was in order. I handled reports, followed up on budget requirements, even managed to be productive. But my mind was still elsewhere.
Every free moment, every pause between tasks, my thoughts pulled back to Mark—his voice, his steadying grip, the way he smiled at me before I left. I knew he was okay. Knew, logically, that he was recovering, that he was being monitored, that everything was under control. But the part of me that had spent five days watching him so closely, memorizing the rhythm of his breathing, the color returning to his face, couldn't quite let go of the worry.
By the time Rosalie called to say she was at the hospital with the kids and Emmelle, I had already spoken to Dr. Perez and Carlisle, just to be sure. Mark was stable. He was recovering well. The only unexpected thing was Dr. Perez deciding to keep him one more night—just as a precaution, just to be sure. He would be discharged in the morning.
That should have reassured me.
I told Rosalie I was on my way and headed quickly toward the neuro ward, eager to see them all, to bring them up together like Dr. Perez had authorized. But before I reached the right floor, my fingers pressed the button for the ER instead.
I barely registered the impulse until the elevator doors slid open
Edward wasn't hard to find. He was at one of the emergency bays, signing paperwork, Nate close by his side. Close enough that one of his hands rested loosely around Edward's neck while Edward read over the document. Neither of them looked in a rush—if anything, they seemed at ease, sharing quiet smiles as Edward lifted the pen again.
I hesitated for half a second.
I wasn't sure I could call Nate Edward's boyfriend yet. How long had it been? Three weeks? Maybe a month. But Edward wasn't exactly hiding that they had something.
And for some reason, that made me feel—
I swallowed, exhaling through my nose.
Why was I here?
I could lie to myself, but it wouldn't change the answer. I wanted Edward to come with me. He was good with the kids. They loved him. Having him there would make things easier for them, and I wanted that. I wanted them to feel safe, to feel like things were normal, even when they weren't.
That was all.
I let out a quiet breath and took the last few steps toward them.
"Edward," I said, soft enough that his name barely carried past the low hum of the ER.
Edward stilled.
The shift was subtle but immediate—his posture, his expression, the ease in his shoulders. His smile faded, not completely, but enough that I noticed.
He looked up, meeting my eyes.
"The kids are here," I said. "They came to visit Mark."
Edward's gaze flickered, something shifting in his expression as his body moved just a fraction. Barely noticeable, but enough that Nate's hand wasn't resting over his neck anymore. But he didn't speak, just stayed watching me.
I hesitated for a beat, then forced the words out.
"I think it'll be easier for them if you're there."
From the corner of my eye, I caught Nate looking between us, his brows pulling together in slight confusion—like he had no idea what this conversation was about. Like he didn't even know who Mark was.
Edward turned slightly, glancing toward the station.
"Can you hold on a second? I need to pass something to Dr. Forbes."
Before I could respond, Nate spoke.
"I can do that for you," he said, his voice almost soft. "So you can go, babe."
My reaction to the tiny word was instant, sharp, something rough and unpleasant curling in my chest. I tamped it down before it had the chance to take root, swallowed it to where I wouldn't have to look at it too closely. But I still felt it.
Edward's answer came just as quickly, quieter now, almost just for Nate.
"That's my responsibility, Nay."
There was something different in the way he spoke, a subtle shift in his tone—something close to tenderness, barely there, but I caught it, especially in the way the nickname slipped from his lips, smooth, almost like a caress.
I didn't like how it sounded. It bothered me.
Fuck, what the hell am I thinking? The thought admonished me. It wasn't my place.
I cleared my throat.
"I can wait."
Edward glanced at me, and for just a second, a barely-there frown tugged at his brow. It was subtle, but I noticed. And I knew why.
He had picked up on the hint of annoyance in my voice.
Without a word, he turned, heading toward the station where Dr. Forbes was. Nate followed, right on his heels.
I bit the inside of my cheek, watching them.
Edward came back quickly.
"Let's go," he said, falling into step beside me.
We walked in silence to the elevator, took it up toward the neuro ward. The quiet stretched, but my thoughts didn't. They turned over and over, pressing against my tongue until I couldn't hold them back.
"Is Nate your boyfriend already?" I asked softly.
Edward glanced at me, just a flicker of surprise before he answered.
"We're seeing each other."
I looked away.
"That's not an answer to my question."
A quiet chuckle. When I glanced back, I caught the faintest grin curling at the edge of his lips.
"No. Nate's not my boyfriend. Yet."
Yet.
I muttered it under my breath, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grin deepen, just slightly.
"What?" I asked.
Edward tilted his head.
"What what?"
I gestured vaguely, still looking ahead.
"What's with the grin?"
The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out. Edward's voice was light, teasing.
"What grin?"
"I'm just asking… out of curiosity." I didn't know why the hell I said that.
"Mm." He didn't sound convinced. "I'm not saying anything." But the grin was still there, too big for him to hide.
"You don't really have to," I exhaled, shaking my head. "I can see what you're thinking. It's all over your face."
"Really?"
He stepped ahead, blocking my path, forcing me to stop. His eyes met mine—sharp, searching—and his brows arched slightly.
"So, are you?"
I knew exactly what he was asking. I hesitated, a tight knot forming in my chest. After a beat, I sighed and shook my head.
"No, I'm not."
Something familiar twisted inside me—unsettling, something I didn't want to examine. Edward studied me, his expression shifting, an edge of annoyance creeping in.
"Okay then," he said.
I stepped past him, resuming my walk.
"Okay then," I echoed, my voice quieter this time.
We kept going in silence, tension crackling in the space between us, until we reached Mark's room. Rosalie and Emmelle were already waiting at the door.
The moment the kids spotted us, they bolted forward.
Noah launched himself at me, and I caught him easily, while Leighton wrapped her arms around my waist.
"Hi, Uncle Eddy!" they chimed together.
Leighton peered up at him, eyes bright.
"Are you coming to see Papa with us?"
Edward's gaze flickered between them before settling on me. When he answered, his voice was softer.
"Yes."
The kids lit up with excitement. Edward and I greeted Emmelle and Rosalie before he stepped inside with them.
I held the kids back for a moment, crouching slightly to meet their eyes.
"Papa is still a little weak, so no jumping on him, okay? And not too much noise. We have to be careful so he can get better."
Leighton nodded quickly.
"We'll be good."
Noah bobbed his head in agreement.
"Promise."
I gave them a small smile, then let them go.
The moment we stepped into the room, I saw it—the love, the devotion, the sheer emotion that crossed Mark's face when he spotted them.
Noah was the first to move, hurrying toward the bed.
"Papa, can I hug you?"
Mark's eyes shone with unshed tears.
"Of course, my tiny bolt," he murmured, voice thick. Then, turning to Edward, who was closest, he asked, "Can you give him to me?"
Edward nodded, effortlessly lifting Noah onto the bed. Noah immediately curled into Mark's good side, small hands clutching at him.
Leighton followed, holding onto my hand as she stepped closer. Her grip tightened just slightly.
"I missed you, Papa." Her voice was soft, tentative. "When are you coming home?"
Mark's gaze lifted, settling on me.
"Tomorrow morning," I answered.
Leighton exhaled in relief, leaning in to press a kiss to Mark's shoulder.
Noah peered up at him.
"Does it hurt?"
Mark brushed a hand over his curls, voice warm.
"Not anymore." His smile softened. "And I'll be a hundred percent fine soon. Then we'll take a trip. Just the four of us."
Noah's eyes widened with excitement.
"Really?"
Leighton beamed.
"Where?"
Mark chuckled.
"We'll decide together."
The kids grinned, practically glowing.
"We love you, Papa," they said in unison.
Mark's eyes glistened again, his arms tightening around Noah, his free hand reaching for Leighton's.
"I love you too," he murmured.
We spent almost twenty minutes with Mark before a nurse came in, gently letting us know he needed to rest.
Emmelle and Rosalie were the first to say their goodbyes, stepping out after a few quiet words. The kids lingered, reluctant, until Mark kissed their foreheads and promised he'd be home soon.
I leaned in last, brushing my lips softly against his.
"Love you, Sunny. See you in the morning."
His hand squeezed mine.
"Love you too, my Moony."
With a final glance, I moved toward the door, guiding the kids ahead. Edward followed just behind—
Then Mark's voice stopped us.
"Edward."
We both turned.
Mark was watching him, tired but steady.
"Do you have a minute?"
Edward hesitated, glancing at me.
I gave a small nod, said nothing, and stepped out, closing the door behind me.
I found Rosalie and Emmelle waiting just outside. I crouched down to talk to the kids, brushing a lock of hair from Leighton's face as I spoke.
"You're going to stay with Auntie Rose and Grandma Melle for a bit," I told them. "I'll pick you up in a few hours at Grandma Melle's."
Noah immediately wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing a small kiss to my cheek.
"Is Papa going to be okay, Daddy?"
I hugged him back, squeezing him gently.
"That's what we hope for, tiny bolt. But tomorrow, Papa's coming home, and we'll help him get better real fast, okay?"
Both my kids nodded, their faces lighting up with that familiar warmth I'd do anything to protect.
"I love you, Daddy," Leighton said, hugging me tightly.
Noah held on just a little longer, his arms tighter around my neck. He kissed my cheek again.
"Will you be there for bedtime, Daddy?" He whispered.
I smiled, brushing my lips over his forehead.
"You bet I will."
Leighton got her kiss too, and I stood.
Emmelle smiled at me softly, her voice reassuring as she placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Don't worry, Jasper. I'll look after them."
Rosalie leaned in, kissing my forehead.
"Mark's going to be okay, Big Bro. He's strong, you know."
I nodded, feeling some of the tension in my chest loosen.
"Thanks, Rose. For everything. How's Tisha?"
"She's fine, with Mom," she said with a small smile. "I'm going to pick her up now."
We exchanged a few more quiet words. After a final round of goodbyes, I watched as Rosalie and Emmelle took the kids with them, leaving me alone in the hallway. I stood there for a moment, the elevator doors sliding open and pulling me back into the present.
I considered waiting for Edward to come out of Mark's room but then hesitated. That familiar knot in my stomach—the one I'd gotten too good at ignoring—tightened. I wanted to ask him about the conversation earlier, and about this one too, but I knew I didn't have the right.
I sighed softly, deciding to respect my husband's privacy. I could always ask Mark later.
The elevator dinged as it arrived, and I stepped in. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, and I tried to shift my focus back to my work.
The quiet buzz of the hospital seemed to fade as I concentrated on the simple task ahead—getting through the next few hours until I could be with my kids, then through the night, so that in the morning, we could finally bring Mark home.
.
.
.
The kitchen was warm, filled with the quiet sounds of simmering pots and the rhythmic scrape of Emmelle's wooden spoon against the pan. I leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, smiling to myself.
Mark was home.
The thought had been playing on a loop in my head since morning, since the second I'd walked into his hospital room and found him ready, waiting, finally cleared to leave. I'd barely let him take a step on his own before I was leading him out, our hands clasped tight between us the whole way to the car. He was fine—calm, steady, a little anxious but in a good way, eager to be back with the kids. He was smiling, and I was weightless.
The drive was quiet, but neither of us let go. Not until we pulled into the driveway and saw Edward waiting for us.
True to his word, he'd taken the day off. It was the first time I'd seen him out of scrubs in what felt like forever, but he still looked like a doctor—arms folded, expression focused, the picture of patience.
Mark had barely stepped out of the car before he smirked, looking between me and Edward.
"You've been around almost as much as my own husband these last few days," he teased, his voice dry but amused. "Just so we're clear, I'm not into being in a throuple."
Edward laughed, shaking his head.
"Don't worry, I love you both—but I'll never be part of a triangle."
They chuckled. I didn't.
Something twisted in my chest—too quick, too small to name before I pushed past it. It didn't matter. Nothing could touch this moment.
We went inside, and the house came alive around Mark, welcoming him back. Emmelle was the first to reach him, pulling him into a lingering embrace, whispering something I couldn't hear but didn't need to. When she finally let go, my mother was there, hugging him too, her relief clear in the way she held him.
Then the kids crashed into him, wrapping themselves around him, burying their faces against his chest. Their voices overlapped, excitement spilling out of them as they kissed his cheeks, touched his face, held onto him like he might slip away again if they didn't.
He smiled at them, at all of us, and I knew in that moment—I'd never seen anything more perfect.
Now, standing in the kitchen, I glanced toward the living room. Edward was on the floor with the kids, letting them climb over him, laughing as they tried to wrestle him into submission. On the couch, my mom sat close to Mark, speaking quietly. His posture was relaxed, his head tilted toward her, listening.
"Lunch is almost ready," Emmelle said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "I'll take the kids up for a quick bath before we eat."
I nodded.
"I'll check on the food."
She left, and I turned my back to the living room, exhaling slowly as I focused on the stove. Everything was where it should be. Finally.
I stirred one of the pots absently, thinking ahead to the rest of the day. The kids would want all of Mark's attention, but I'd make sure he rested too. Later, just the four of us—me, him, Noah, and Leighton—dinner together, quiet, peaceful.
A hand touched my shoulder. Light. Not big enough.
Not Mark.
I knew who it was before I turned.
Edward pulled his hand back as soon as I faced him. There was something in his expression, something unreadable, but I didn't have time to analyze it before he spoke.
"I can check on the food," he offered. "Go sit with Mark. You haven't, not really, since you brought him home."
I hesitated. He was right.
Instead of answering immediately, I looked at him, at the steadiness in his gaze, at the familiarity there. At everything he'd been in the last six days.
I swallowed.
"Thank you." The words came quietly, but I meant them. "For everything. For being here. For taking care of him when I couldn't."
Edward's lips parted slightly, like he might deflect, but instead, he just smiled—small, soft, something knowing in the curve of it.
"You don't have to thank me," he said simply. "I did it because I care."
I nodded.
"I know. I'm grateful anyway."
A pause. An understanding.
Something that didn't need to be said but lingered between us anyway.
Then I pulled away, moving toward the couch, toward Mark, and Edward let me go.
As I approached the sofa, my mother leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Mark's forehead. He closed his eyes briefly at the touch, then looked up at her.
"I love you, Momma," He murmured.
She smiled, brushing a gentle hand over his shoulder before standing. Turning to me, she pulled me into a brief but firm embrace, her warmth enveloping me like reassurance.
"I'll go help Emmelle with the kids," she said, her voice quiet, knowing.
I nodded, watching as she left, then settled beside Mark.
Before I could say anything, he reached for me, his hands framing my face, fingertips warm against my skin. His gaze locked onto mine—charged, lingering, full of everything I knew, everything I felt, everything I couldn't put into words.
Love. Tenderness. Longing.
We breathed in the same moment, foreheads pressing together in perfect sync, and then he leaned in.
The kiss was deep, serious—something that rooted itself into my chest and spread through my entire body, into my heart, into every part of me that had ever belonged to him. Time slowed. The world shrunk.
It was just us.
Us, and everything we'd built together.
Because of Mark, I had become the man I was. Because of Mark, I had a life I once had thought was impossible—a home filled with laughter, the weight of little bodies curling into me at night, the steady presence of love so real and unwavering it reshaped me. A dream I barely dared to touch, made real in his hands.
By the time the kiss broke, it lingered—soft touches, the pull of something unfinished, the sensation of wanting more hanging between us. I brushed my thumb over the edge of his jaw, took him in, and let it settle in me.
Then, in the softest voice, I told him, "I love you more than anything."
Mark exhaled as the words reached into him, like they settled somewhere deep.
"I love you," he said, quiet but sure, "more than anything."
The moment held, thick and full, until Emmelle's voice gently tugged us back.
"The kids are almost ready," she said as she stepped back into the room. When I glanced at her, she was watching us with something fond in her eyes.
I cleared my throat.
"Mom's helping them get dressed?"
She nodded.
From the kitchen, Edward's voice carried over.
"Food's ready. I'll set the table."
I let out a slow breath, grounding myself back into the space, into the reality of the day. But as I looked at Mark again, the warmth of his hands still on me, I knew—none of this was fleeting.
Everything I'd ever wanted was right here.
I pressed one more soft kiss to Mark's lips, lingering just long enough to feel his breath against mine. When we parted, he smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back.
"I'll help Edward," I told him.
He nodded, eyes warm, and I stood. Behind me, I heard him shifting as well.
"I'll have some water," Mark said lightly.
"I can get it for you," Edward offered just as I turned toward Mark, still smiling.
But the second I saw his expression, something in me tightened.
The smile flickered. Then died.
Mark's eyes were slightly narrowed, unfocused, like the room had darkened just for him. His brows drew together faintly, as if something wasn't making sense.
I took a step close, my stomach twisting.
"Sunny? What's wrong?"
He blinked sluggishly, pressed two fingers to his temple, and exhaled through his nose.
"I feel a little…" His voice slowed. "Dizzy."
I reached for him instantly.
"Here, sit down."
He let me guide him back onto the sofa, but before I could say anything else, he gripped my hand, squeezing—too tightly. His breathing was fast, and when he lifted his head, his pupils looked too large, swallowing the blue of his irises.
Edward was already beside us, setting the water glass down and tilting Mark's chin up, his touch steady but urgent.
"Mark, can you look at me?"
But Mark turned to me instead. His fingers tightened around mine, urgent, desperate.
"Jasper," he rushed out, voice strained. "You—don't ever forget—I love you."
Something in my chest caved. A cold, formless dread rose in me, too fast to understand.
"Bae—"
"I love you, Moony," he said again, more forcefully, but his breath caught like the air had been snatched from his lungs.
His head jerked in a sharp, unnatural twitch. His fingers jolted in mine.
Then he went still.
"Sunny?" My voice snapped, raw and sharp. "Sun—Mark—"
His body sagged against the backrest, mouth slightly open, pupils blown wide.
"Mark?" My voice was small. Disbelieving. I shook him. "Mark."
Nothing. Something inside me broke.
The air in my lungs vanished. I heard Edward's voice, distant and sharp, calling for someone to take me out of the room. But I didn't move. I couldn't move.
Someone grabbed me. Held me back. I didn't care. I struggled against them, trying to get to Mark as Edward lowered him to the floor. Edward checked his pulse, leaned down to listen, then—
He started CPR.
My body locked. My mind refused to understand. I heard myself shouting, but the words didn't make sense. Mark's name. Pleas. Commands that meant nothing.
Time distorted, stretching and collapsing in on itself. All I could see was Edward pressing down, again and again, his voice rising, calling for someone to call 911.
Then—Edward stopped.
His hands hovered over Mark's chest, frozen. His head bowed slightly.
A whisper. Barely audible.
"He's gone."
The words didn't fit. They didn't make sense.
No.
No!
No, no, no, no—
Gone?
What do you mean, he's gone? He was just here. He was just kissing me, teasing you, breathing.
"You have to do something," I choked out, my voice breaking, my hands clawing against whoever was holding me back. "Do something—"
A siren wailed in the distance. Footsteps rushed around us. And then Edward was in front of me.
Tears slipped down his face, silent and unrelenting.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice wrecked. His hands rose, cupping my face with unbearable gentleness. "I did everything I could. I'm so sorry. I'm—so sorry."
Something inside me snapped. A strangled sound ripped from my throat as I lunged forward, crashing into him.
Edward caught me, arms locking around me as I shook, as something in me crumbled so completely I didn't know if I'd ever piece it back together.
I didn't know which one of us was shaking harder.
I just knew—
If he let go of me, I would break completely.
.
.
I am finding out that maybe I was wrong
That I've fallen down and I can't do this alone
Stay with me
This is what I need please
Sing us a song
And we'll sing it back to you
We could sing our own
But what would it be without you
I am nothing now
(...)
This heart, it beats (please don't go now)
Beats for only you (please don't go away)
My heart, my heart is yours (please don't go now, please don't go away)
my heart is yours
(Please don't go now, please don't fade away)
My heart is yours (please don't go, please don't fade away)
(Please don't go now, please don't fade away)
my heart is yours
.
My Heart - Paramore