Chapter 384

Nathan

I wasn’t sure exactly how long Steel and I spent in that endless void, trying desperately to find a memory that would break me out of the coma.

But no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to work—and I could feel my body growing weaker with every memory. I was draining myself of my own life force just by attempting to break free, and yet I couldn’t stop. Not when Olivia needed me. I knew that I would rather die trying than to allow her to perish at Jenifer’s hands.

At one point, after a particularly exhausting memory involving my first day of eighth grade with Olivia, I fell to my knees with a groan.

“Steel,” I murmured, my own voice sounding strained and hollow to my ears, “I just don’t understand. These memories... they should be enough. But nothing is changing. Am I trapped here forever?”

My wolf let out a sound that sounded like a sigh and padded over to me in the void, nuzzling against me. The action gave me some strength, as if his touch was enough to give me a second wind.

“I have no way of knowing, Nathan,” he said gently, his eyes meeting mine. “All I know is that this hex should be able to be broken with the right memory. But it must be one with a particularly potent emotional attachment; it cannot be just any old memory.”

I let out a sigh of my own and passed my hand over my weary face. Off to the side, still floating in the void, I could see it—the hospital bed that contained my sleeping body. I was looking more and more frail by the minute, as though my very life force was draining.

Angela, who had been floating in and out of the room, was standing by my bed. I stood and walked over so I could hear what she was saying.

“Hang in there, Nathan,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “For Olivia. For your kids. And for us.”

“I’m trying, Ang,” I said, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. “I’m trying like hell over here and it’s not bloody working.”

“It will work,” Steel’s voice carried over to me. “Just keep trying, Nathan. You’ve got this.”

I nodded, a sense of determination welling up inside of me. Steel was right; Olivia’s life was hanging in the balance, and I couldn’t afford to give up. Now. “Then let’s keep going,” I said.

With that, I delved back into the sea of memories, each one like a ripple in time. The next memory that surfaced was from when we were eleven years old, on a warm summer day. Olivia and I had climbed the towering oak tree in the villa’s backyard, our laughter echoing through the air.

I could see the tree now in the void, its branches stretching into the blackness. And there I was: eleven-year-old me, climbing higher and higher, and I felt the sensations of my childhood self and my current self at the same time.

“Olivia! Look at me!” I called out, waving from one of the topmost branches. “Look how high I climbed!”

“Nate!” Olivia yelled, placing her hands on her hips. She was wearing a yellow sundress now; her aunt had forced her to wear it for a luncheon. Olivia used to hate dresses when she was that age. “Get down! Before my aunt sees—”

I vividly remembered the moment when my foot slipped, and I came crashing down, nearly breaking my arm in the process.

“Ow ow owww!” I whined, rocking back and forth and clutching my sprained wrist. “Owww! It’s broken!”

Olivia was there in an instant. She dropped to her knees in the dirt, not caring if her yellow dress got dirty or if her aunt scolded her for it.

“Let me see,” she said, holding her hand out.

Eleven-year-old me recoiled. But the current version of me, the me in this moment, shook his head. “Let her see it, you idiot,” I whispered. “She’s helping you.”

And then, as though he could hear me, eleven-year old me held his arm out. Olivia took it gingerly, turning it back and forth in her hands.

“It’s not broken,” she said gently after a few moments. “Just sprained. You’ll be okay.”

Eleven-year-old me sniffled and wiped his snotty nose with the back of his other hand. “Promise?”

“Pinky,” Olivia said, holding out her delicate little finger. “You’re Nathan Ford! Nothing can hurt you. Not really.”

And then, just like that, the scene was gone.

The memory was a rush of emotions, the pain of my fall, the relief of Olivia’s presence, and the feeling of her pinky finger intertwined with mine. I had never forgotten that day. Never.

But as I returned to the present, I realized that the memory, no matter how emotional, had not been enough to break the chains of my coma. I looked at Steel, my frustration evident in my eyes.

“Why isn’t it working, Steel?” I asked. “That memory... it meant so much to me.”

Steel shot me an empathetic look and shook his head apologetically. “It was a powerful memory, Nathan, but the memory that will free you must hold even greater emotional weight. Keep searching.”

I sighed. “Okay.”

We continued our journey through the labyrinth of my past, the memories flooding in like a tidal wave. The next one that emerged was from when we were eight years old, a memory of a heated argument we had after school one day.

“You said we were best friends!” eight-year-old Olivia yelled, her tiny hands curling up into fists at her sides. “You’re not supposed to be friends with Charlotte, too!”

Eight-year-old me rolled his eyes and stamped his foot. “But I like Charlotte!” I bellowed. “She’s pretty, and I like her pigtails! She’s not a tomboy like… like you!”

Olivia cringed at my words, and so did I. “Idiot,” I said out loud, shaking my head. “You always thought Olivia was cuter. Charlotte was never in the cards for you.”

“Meanie!” Olivia yelled, her voice quivering as she struggled to hold back tears. “And by the way, Charlotte would never play Pirates with you, anyway!”

With that, Olivia stormed off. Eight-year-old me stood there, staring at her fading form with wide eyes. At the time, I didn’t know what I was thinking; but as I watched the scene unfold before me now, I knew.

I knew that eight-year-old me realized that Olivia was right.

But as the memory faded away, I felt a sinking sensation in my chest. We had made up to one another the next day like nothing had ever happened, but it still wasn’t enough.

That memory… It was like a drop in the ocean compared to the enormity of my past with Olivia.

I slumped over, the weight of exhaustion finally setting in.

“Steel,” I whispered, my voice filled with a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “What do I do now? I can’t find the memory that will save Olivia. I feel like giving up.”

Steel nuzzled against my side, but this time, his touch did nothing to ease my pain.

“You can’t give up, Nathan,” he said. “We have to keep trying. For her.”

As he spoke, he nodded his head toward a part of the vision that hadn’t faded completely: eight-year-old Olivia, standing by herself, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. And it was then, seeing her like that, that it hit me.

A second wind.

I nodded, a newfound sense of determination welling up inside of me. I had to find that memory, the one that held the key to breaking free from this coma.

Olivia’s life depended on it, and I couldn’t let her down.