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chapter t w e n t y - o n e

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."
‭‭—John‬ ‭15:13‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I WOKE UP TO a persistent beeping noise, similar to that of an alarm clock. Groaning, I moved my arm to shut it off, and a wave of pain swept over me. My eyes sprang open, taking in my unfamiliar surroundings as I tried to recall what had happened to put me in this place. I was surrounded by beige walls, white-tiled ceilings, medical equipment, and nurses bustling in and out. Cream curtains had been drawn shut, blocking out light from a window next to my bed, and there was a matching bedspread draped over my body. Next to my bed, a nightstand had been placed in front of a leather chesterfield. This was clearly not a typical hospital room—it was far more luxurious.

After a pathetic attempt to swallow, I looked around for water. All I saw was a cold coffee on my bedside table, which I decided to drink anyways. I cringed in pain as I picked up the cup, but soon enough the chilled caffeine had its effect on my body, waking me up thoroughly. I felt more alert and awake—though I was now awakened to the agony in the rest of my body, which, upon further examination, seemed to be a patchwork quilt of aches and wounds.

"What happened?" I asked once my tongue no longer seemed on the brink of turning to dust.

"You got shot in the shoulder, honey," one of the nurses replied bluntly but gently. "You're very lucky that the bullet didn't hit one of your vital organs."

All I could think was, praise the Lord and thank you God for keeping me alive. Maybe someone more bitter than I would have been praying, God, why did you let me get shot in the first place? but I wasn't about to be ungrateful for having my life spared. "I—how, exactly, did I get shot?"

"That's not my story to tell, Miss Devereaux." She smiled at me kindly, reaching over to fluff the pillows behind my head. "I'm sure someone else can tell it better—Oh, there he is now."

I looked up gingerly, turning my stiff neck with a wince. It must have been Aaron, come to tell me the facts in a cut-and-dry manner. Definitely it wouldn't be Alexander, my fiancé with his rude remarks and cold distance. But it was, and surprise caused me to gasp and put my hand to my mouth, an action that made tears spring to my eyes. I quickly dropped it.

"The nurses said you can push that button for painkillers," he said, nodding at the device by my hand, and stopped at the door to my room.

Alexander leaned against it, and I studied him. He'd rolled up his shirtsleeves, a smear of blood on the side of the formerly crisp, tailored garment, and his jacket was clearly discarded. His hair was dishevelled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and I could see dark shadows under his blue eyes. Some layers of armour had been stripped away from him; he was not completely vulnerable before me—I doubted anyone one could see him in that state except God—but he was less guarded than he usually was.

"Can I come in?" he asked so softly, so tenderly that it made my heart ache more than if he had demanded to enter my room.

"Go ahead." I pushed the button, feeling an almost instant relief flood my veins. Sighing at the sudden absence of pain, I sank back onto the soft mattress. "Come in."

He sat on the couch carefully, as though it might disintegrate beneath him, and he looked at me with a strange, fearful sort of wonder—as though I was a drop of dew or an iridescent butterfly, something astonishing that might disappear at any moment.