The revival

VIOLET

Four days.

It had been four agonizing days since Ryan’s body fell limp and lifeless in my arms, his breathing shallow, his heartbeat faint. The doctors said it was a miracle he even made it this far. I had barely slept, afraid to leave his side, terrified that the moment I turned my back, the thin thread tethering him to life would snap.

So, I stayed.

I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, the only proof I had that he was still here with me. I traced the contours of his face with my eyes, memorizing every detail—the curve of his lips, the faint scar along his jawline, the soft flutter of his lashes against pale skin.

He looked peaceful, almost too peaceful, like he might drift away at any moment.

I tried to pass the time, tried to distract myself by opening my seventh book here. It wasn’t one of Ryan’s favorites either—he had a tendency to make fun of anything that wasn’t action-packed or gritty—but it was all I had, so I flipped it open and began to read. 

“Oh you won't  believe this but this is a book about a man falling for his friend's fiance. He's determined to have her no matter what”

I read aloud, hoping the sound of my voice might reach him, wherever he was. My tone faltered on the cheesy lines, and I couldn’t help but smile weakly. “Ryan, you’d hate this part,” I muttered under my breath. “So dramatic. So unrealistic.”

“My ears are cringing from that story, Mouse.”

“I'm sorry but I've not no other,you're stuck with it” I replied.

Then I realized. I froze.

It had to be in my head, a trick of my imagination. Grief was cruel like that, warping reality, making me hear things that weren’t there..

My heart stuttered, the air catching in my lungs. This wasn’t the voice I’d heard in my thoughts for the past few days—this wasn’t my internal dialogue trying to soothe me. This voice sounded real, grounded, and achingly familiar.

Slowly, I lowered the book, my hands shaking. My gaze darted to Ryan. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, just as it had before, his eyes still closed. No. I was imagining things. This couldn’t be real.

But then his fingers twitched, and my pulse quickened. I stared at him, my throat tight.

"Ryan?" I whispered, barely able to form the word.

For a moment, there was nothing—just the same quiet hum of the machines and the soft rustle of the hospital room. And then—his fingers twitched against the stark white sheets and my breath hitched. And then his eyes—those beautiful, stormy green  eyes—flickered open.

“Ryan?” I whispered, barely able to get the word out.

A faint smirk curved his lips, and his voice, hoarse but undeniably his, broke through the haze. “God, I missed you so much, Mouse.”

The book tumbled from my hands, forgotten. Tears blurred my vision as I leaned forward, my trembling hands reaching out to touch his face. He was here—awake, alive, and real.

“I—I thought I lost you,” I choked out, my voice breaking.

His gaze softened, and despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, he reached up, his hand brushing against mine. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I sat there, staring at him, my mind trying to catch up with the reality of what was happening. I was trembling, unable to fully comprehend the miracle unfolding before me. His voice, that familiar, raspy tone, was still echoing in my ears, but it felt surreal—like a dream that I was too afraid to wake up from.

"Ryan..." I whispered again, my hand reaching out to brush the hair from his forehead. His skin was warm under my touch, his pulse steady, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to believe that he was really here, that he had come back.

"Yeah, it's me," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, but there was a softness there too, a vulnerability that made my heart ache all over again. "Sorry for keeping you waiting."

Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn’t stop them. I had feared this moment might never come—the thought of losing him had consumed me. But now, here he was, so close, yet so fragile.

"You’re alive," I said, almost as if to remind myself. "You’re really awake, Ryan."

His eyes flickered, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I told you I’d come back, Mouse," he whispered, his hand reaching for mine, his grip weak but steady. "I’m not going anywhere, I promise."

My heart swelled, and I squeezed his hand tighter. "I don’t know how to feel right now... I thought I lost you."

His thumb brushed across the back of my hand, and I could see the effort it took for him to speak. "I know... I know, Mouse. I’m sorry. But I’m here now. I won’t leave again. Not like that."

I nodded, feeling a rush of warmth flood through me. 

"Do you… do you remember anything?" I asked softly, not wanting to overwhelm him, but needing to know.

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "It’s all kind of a blur," he admitted, his voice low. "I remember... you. And the gunshot. But before that... it's like it’s locked away. I can't—" He trailed off, his eyes closing for a moment, as though trying to piece it all together. "I’m sorry."

I shook my head quickly, trying to reassure him. "No, don’t apologize. You don’t have to remember everything right away. Just... just rest. I’m right here."

He seemed to relax at that, his body sinking back into the pillow, though he didn’t let go of my hand. I could feel his grip tightening, as if afraid I might disappear if he let go. His breath became more even, the weariness creeping back into his features.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice trailing off into a faint whisper as his eyes fluttered shut again, his exhaustion catching up with him.

I stayed by his side, watching over him like I had been for the past few days, but now with a sense of peace that I hadn’t dared to hope for. The fear was still there, but it was wrapped in the warmth of his touch, the comfort of knowing that he was alive. And that was enough—for now.

I leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere either, Ryan. Not ever.”

He was here. He was awake. But I couldn’t let myself fully relax, not yet. I needed to be sure.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to him, though I wasn’t sure if he heard me. His breathing had evened out again, his eyes still closed, but the rise and fall of his chest was steady, a small but comforting sign.

I hesitated only for a moment before I stood up, trying not to disturb him too much. My legs felt weak beneath me, but I forced myself to move toward the door. 

I stepped into the hallway, and immediately spotted one of the nurses down the corridor and hurried toward her. 

“Can you please get the doctor?” I asked. “Ryan Jenkins—he’s awake.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’ll get him right away.”

I turned and went back into the room, unable to keep my mind from racing. I had to make sure Ryan was okay—really okay—before anything else. My heart skipped a beat when I saw his eyes still closed, but his hand still gripped mine like he was afraid to let go.

The minutes felt like hours, but finally, the doctor arrived. He moved quickly, his professional demeanor putting me at ease as he checked Ryan’s vitals, listened to his heartbeat, and performed a brief neurological assessment. I stood in the corner of the room, watching his every move, barely able to breathe until he turned toward me.

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor said, nodding as he made a few notes on his chart. “There’s a lot of recovery ahead, but this is a positive sign.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “So, he’s going to be okay?”

The doctor gave me a reassuring smile, though his expression was careful. “We’ll need to monitor him closely, but yes. The fact that he woke up on his own is a good sign. Just... give him some time to rest. It’s going to be a long road.”

I nodded, tears pricking the back of my eyes. I didn’t want to leave him alone, but I also knew I couldn’t keep the others waiting much longer. They’d be eager to know he was awake.

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

The doctor nodded before quietly stepping out, leaving me alone again with Ryan. I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing his cheek gently.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered again, though I wasn’t sure if he could hear me this time.

Taking a deep breath, I turned and left the room, heading toward the waiting area where Max and the others were anxiously waiting for news. I stepped inside, and their eyes snapped to me in an instant.

“Violet?” Max’s voice was strained, his face tight with worry.

“Ryan’s awake”