Susan woke up fully aware this time. The sterile smell of disinfectant wrapped around her, strangely comforting. Chris was there, slouched in the chair beside her bed, as if he hadn't moved in hours.
"You're awake?" His voice was gentle, but his eyes red-rimmed, tired barely met hers.
She tried to sit up. His hand was instantly there, steady but tense. "Don't. Just lay down. What do you need?"
Susan studied him. He felt different colder, heavier like the weight on his shoulders had remade him into someone else.
"Chris?" she whispered.
His gaze flicked to hers, then away.
"I'm sorry," she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. The word seemed to wound him. She shouldn't be apologizing. He should.
He was already planning his silence how long he could keep her from knowing that his aunt had played a role in her nightmare. If she ever knew, she'd never forgive him. For now, he would just… stay. Until she healed.
"Did I do something wrong?" Her soft question pulled him out of his spiralling thoughts.
He frowned. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you don't have to stay. Not if it's too much."
The words sliced through him.
"Blake." The name slipped out before he could stop himself.
Her heart stopped. She hadn't heard that name in years not since she'd buried it with her old life.
"I… I'm still me. I only changed it because he was searching for me. He always found ways"
Chris silenced her with a sudden kiss, barely a brush, more a desperate plea than affection. When he pulled back, he tucked her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered, her eyes searching his face. "I missed you."
He froze at her words, emotions flickering raw and unguarded in his eyes. She cupped his face, pulling him into her arms.
"I'll never let you go through that again, Susan," he whispered against her hair.
A sob broke from her chest as she clung to him. "He just showed up… out of nowhere…"
"It's over. He'll never come for you again," Chris promised, stroking her hair.
Later, when she finally fell asleep, he slipped out into the hallway and called Michael.
"I don't know what to tell her," Chris admitted, voice breaking. "Do I even have the right to stay by her side?"
Michael's voice was steady. "You didn't set him loose. You fought for her. Your aunt's in jail. You did what you could, Chris you're a victim in this too. Don't put it all on yourself."
Chris said nothing, just ran a hand over his face. When he returned, Susan was still sleeping, fragile and small against the sheets. He wondered what cruel twist of fate had bound them together in this way.
Discharge came sooner than expected. Chris brought her home with him.
At first, she thought she was imagining it, but soon she noticed. The way he moved around her, like a caretaker on duty. The way his smile never reached his eyes.
"Did you stop working?" she joked one afternoon, trying to lighten the mood.
He gave her one of those empty smiles and kept tidying up. Her chest tightened.
"Chris," she called softly.
He glanced up.
"Why are you doing this?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "Doing what?"
"Being so… cold. Distant."
"That's who I was."
"No," she whispered. "The Chris I know…."
"Then you don't know me." His voice was sharper than he meant, and the hurt on her face made him curse himself immediately. "I didn't mean it like that."
She nodded, turned back toward the bed, but he caught her hand.
"I didn't mean it," he repeated, quieter now.
Her eyes searched his. "Then what changed?"
He couldn't answer.
"You're taking care of me like it's your job. Like a duty. But I don't want to feel like your responsibility, Chris. I feel like a burden."
"You're not."
"Because you say it doesn't mean it's true."
"What do you want, then?" he demanded.
Her brows furrowed. "What do I want? What do you mean by that?"
Silence stretched.
"Let's not argue. Go back to bed, Susan. Rest."
She scoffed, heading for the door. He followed quickly.
"Where are you going?"
"Please, Susan…." he shut the door as she reached for the handle.
Her eyes blazed. "Open it. Let me go."
"Why are you picking a fight?"
"Because you fucking changed!" Her voice cracked with rage. "I know I'm too much. I know I'm out of your league. But you asked me out. You chased me. You rescued me. So why bother, Chris? Why fucking bother?!"
His chest heaved. His words came out low, even. "Because I don't deserve to be here."
Her anger faltered.
"I failed you, Susan. Having you under my roof because you're hurt makes me sick. I wish things were different not this. Not after I couldn't protect you."
Her shoulders sank, tears threatening. "That's how you feel?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, torn. "Let's not argue anymore. Please. Just rest."
She nodded silently, retreating to the bed. He stood in the doorway, guilt swallowing him whole. He knew it was his fault keeping his distance, locking away his emotions, pushing her when all she wanted was him. And still, he didn't know how to fix it.
Susan had been searching for ways to ease Chris's guilt. He carried it like a chain, as if her suffering was carved into his skin. But he wasn't to blame. Derek had found her because of Derek not because of him. If anything, the guilt only proved how deeply Chris cared for her. From the beginning, he had pursued her like something he could win, but now… now she saw the man who would break himself to keep her safe.
When he stepped out of the house to handle something, she seized her chance. Quietly, she slipped into the kitchen.