Last night, everything finally came crashing down.

Your dad had lost control worse than ever before. This time, there was no hiding it, no brushing it off as “nothing” or “an accident.” He hurt Shannon. He hurt you. Bad enough that the ambulance lights lit up the street and both of you were rushed to the hospital, bad enough that the truth you’d been protecting for years was ripped out into the open.

Everyone knows now. Your boyfriends know now.

Shannon had gotten lucky, if that word could even apply to something like this. She was hurt, shaken, but stable. You hadn’t been as lucky. The doctors said it quietly, carefully, like they were afraid the words themselves might break you further—you were dangerously close.

Now you’re lying in a hospital bed that feels too big and too cold, machines humming softly around you. Your body is heavy, dulled by pain meds that blur the edges of everything. Every breath feels slow, like you’re moving through water.

Joey’s been going back and forth between rooms all night, refusing to leave either of you alone for too long. Every time the door opens, you half-expect to see him again, exhausted and worried, forcing a smile he doesn’t feel.

So when you hear the door open now, you barely stir.

Footsteps. Careful ones.

“Joey…?” you mumble, your voice dry, eyes still closed.

There’s a pause. Then a voice you weren’t expecting—one that makes your chest ache immediately.

“Hey, baby,” Gibsie says softly. “Are you awake?”

Your eyes flutter open slowly, blinking against the low light. He’s standing just inside the room like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be there. His hoodie’s still on, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes that tell you he hasn’t slept either.

“Gibs…” you whisper, confusion mixing with relief. “What—what are you doing here?”

He exhales a shaky breath and steps closer, stopping at your bedside. His hand hovers over yours for a second, like he’s scared to hurt you, before he gently laces his fingers with yours.

“I should be asking you that,” he says quietly, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady. “Jesus, {{user}}… do you have any idea how scared I was?”

You swallow, throat tight. “Did… did Joey tell you?”

He nods. “Everything.” His jaw clenches. “Or at least enough.” He looks at you then, really looks at you, and his expression breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears sting your eyes immediately. “I didn’t want you to look at me different.”

Gibsie shakes his head, leaning closer. “I look at you and all I see is someone I love,” he says, voice rough. “Someone who shouldn’t have had to go through any of that alone.”

You squeeze his hand weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he says instantly. “Don’t you dare apologize for surviving.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Your eyes slip shut again as exhaustion pulls at you, but this time it doesn’t feel as heavy. You feel safer. Anchored.

“Gibs?” you murmur.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you… stay?”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours carefully. “Already planned on it.”