Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(78)

Then he says before closing the door, “I promise, Ari, you’re going to be okay. People are capable of surprising you.” He glances over his shoulder at my father signaling the town car.

And I believe him. Ryder being here now, sacrificing his future for me… I’ll never doubt him again.





* * *



“You’re not in any immediate danger, Ari.” Dr. Brant flips a page, jots down a note, then looks at me from over the clipboard. “You were verging on close, and I suspect you’re plenty aware enough to understand the stress you’ve put on your body. But at least you have someone who’s smart enough to bring you back to us.” He smiles.

Licking my lips, still not fully recovered from my dehydrated state, I nod my understanding.

“We’re going to keep you here for the next couple of days, continue to pump some much needed nutrients into you, and see if we can’t get you back to new.” He eyes me seriously. “I suggest working with our counselor here in the meantime. Maybe even see about an aftercare program. You’re going to be weak physically, not to mention your mental state, and you need a plan of attack for this illness.”

Again, I nod. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll try.”

His bushy gray eyebrows bunch. “There’s no reason to impress me, Ari. A pat on the back from me won’t save your life. And try is not an option. Get that out of your vocabulary. If you really want this, there is only do.” He gives my arm a squeeze, a tight smile carved into his weathered face, before he leaves the room.

With a sigh of exertion, I push the back of my head against the pillow. It’s going to take years of reprogramming—or deprogramming—not to seek constant approval. The desire to always rise to please everyone still thrums through me, but I’m aware of it. That’s at least something.

My door opens again, and I clear my throat of the rasp, expecting Ryder. But the person who steps into my room, as if she owns the damn place, makes my heart skitter to a stop. “Mel?”

“Well, who else,” she says, shutting the door behind her. She walks toward my bed and lays her hand atop mine. “Someone had to kick your boyfriend’s ass into gear.” She winks, but I know she’s serious.

“Just how hard did you kick his ass?” I smile up at her.

She shrugs. “He’s not as dumb as most jocks. But you were all too right about his smoking body.” She fans a hand in front of her face, and I laugh. “You did good, girl.”

“I know.” I lace my fingers through hers as she sits in the chair beside my bed. “I almost blew it,” I admit.

“You could never blow it with that boy. He’s madly in love with you. It’s sickening, actually.” She shakes her head. “Any guy that faces off with a girl’s dad…he’s a keeper. And”—she cocks her head toward the door—“I spied a couple of nice tats beneath his tee out there. I knew you had a little rebel in you somewhere.”

“God, Mel. I’ve missed you. I can’t believe you’re here.”

She pats my hand before grabbing the cup with a straw and offering it to me. “I love you, too, but you’ve got to get some fluids in you. You look like hell.”

I laugh. I think she’s the only one who could ever say that and not destroy me. Our months spent at Stoney linked us more closely than anyone else in my life. Well, until Ryder—but I never thought I’d have realness like this; people who would be honest with me. And that honesty wouldn’t break me.

“You know,” Mel says as she accepts the cup back, “I have this friend. She actually reminds me of you. She’s a big ol’ know it all, too.” She sticks out her tongue, and I flip her off. She laughs. I knew she’d appreciate that.

“Anyway,” she says. “You remember before I came back to Stoney the second time? That big ordeal I thought was so dire between me and Boone?” I nod, and she continues. “She told me something that helped me put things into perspective. And I know that you’ve gotten most of this worked out on your own, but hey, it can’t hurt to have more info, right? I mean, smart college freaks dig that shit.”

“Just tell me, Mel. God.”

She smiles, and I can’t help but think how beautiful she is now. She’s a transformed woman. Clean and sober and happy in love.

“You’re like this hollow shell,” she begins, and I quirk an eyebrow.

“Thank you?” I say, hesitant.

Waving her hand, she says, “Just listen. You ever heard of the heartwood of a tree?” I shake my head. “It’s beautiful. But before it’s cut and polished and turned into a work of art, it’s death. It’s hard and decayed, and the darkest part of the tree. Flawed.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “The heart of a tree is so full of imperfection, that the tree kills it off.”

I look down at our connected hands. “I know what you’re trying to say, Mel.”

“I figured you would. You’re a smart cookie.”

“I’ve been killing myself trying to be perfect, but no one’s supposed to be perfect.” I glance up into her brown eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “And it’s the imperfection that makes you, you. Don’t kill off your heartwood—the imperfect, flawed, dark part of you…because even a tree needs its heart to live, Ari. Without it, it would just be a hollow shell.” She twists her lips into a smile. “Besides, without the bad, you can’t enjoy the good. It’s all about balance.”