The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 458

When Garrison Foster heard the words "The White Microbe," his fingers stiffened slightly against the back of Sloane Taylor's head.

He looked down at the woman in his arms, who had just been dragged back from the edge of death. Her eyes were open, the obsidian irises still glossy with a layer of moisture, carrying a dazed and confused expression.

"Did you... remember something?" he asked, his voice kept low and incredibly gentle, meant only for her ears.

Sloane looked at him, her lips parting slightly before she gave a slow, difficult shake of her head.

Her mind was a chaotic mess. The fragmented images—Diego Solano's smiling face, Professor Harrison's gaze, Silas "Scar" Vance's gravelly voice, and the glowing blue fungi in the water—shattered and scattered like broken mirrors. Every piece reflected a different light, but she couldn't grasp a single one.

Josh Jace had already walked up behind Garrison.

He stood there, watching Garrison cradle Sloane's head firmly in his palm, watching his coat wrapped around her shoulders. There was an unspoken bond between the two of them, forged on the knife's edge of life and death, an intimacy he couldn't intrude upon.

He reached out, trying to keep his voice steady, but the end of his sentence hitched uncontrollably.

"Since Sloane is awake, I'll take her from here." His hand hovered in mid-air, waiting for Garrison to hand her over. "Thank you anyway, Dr. Foster."

Garrison didn't move.

He pulled Sloane's head a half-inch closer to his shoulder, looking up at Josh. His tone was perfectly level, carrying the non-negotiable authority of a primary physician speaking to a family member.

"She choked on water, aggravating her old cardiopulmonary injuries, and the extent of her internal bleeding is still unknown. She needs continuous observation. I will handle any complications on the way."

Josh's hand remained suspended. "You—"

Garrison didn't spare him another glance.

A fire burned in his chest, so fiercely it suffocated him. It was Garrison. Always Garrison. Every time Sloane was in danger, the one who rushed in was always Garrison.

He had waited twenty years to finally become her boyfriend, yet when another man carried her away, he didn't even have the standing to reach out and snatch her back.

...

Piper tugged at his jacket again, her voice shrinking even smaller, thick with tears. "Professor Jace... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

Josh yanked his jacket away.

The motion wasn't violent, but it was decisive—as if the fabric had suddenly caught fire.