Jason crossed the room with practiced grace, his eyes flicking briefly to Liam before settling on me with a look of intense, manufactured devotion.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a smooth, comforting baritone.
The sight of him brought the panic back, sharp and jagged, slicing through the morphine. I began to tremble, the tears I’d been holding back since the recovery room floor finally spilling over.
"I’m shorry, Jason," I sobbed, my voice slurred and broken. I reached out with my good hand, clutching at his sleeve. "I’m sorry, I'm so clumsy. I’m such a mess... I messed up the deal, and now I’m in this thing, and I just—I don’t know why I talk so much. I'm trying to be better, I promise."
I was hyperventilating now, the monitor beside the bed beginning to beep a
