“I will.”
He nods slowly. “I know you will.”
I drive away, leaving Benjamin behind, my need to return to Delilah overwhelming me. I have to be there when she wakes up, to reassure myself that she’s going to live.
The return to the hospital feels endless, each red light a barrier keeping me from my little raptor. When I finally walk through the hospital doors, my heart rate kicks up at June’s forlorn expression. The bride spots me from where she sits in the waiting area, her posture stiff. Then she stands as I approach, her face drawn with fatigue.
“Any news?” I ask, dread coating my insides.
She shakes her head. “Not yet. They said the surgery should be finishing soon, though. They’ll come out to talk to you once they’re done.”
I nod, sinking into the chair beside her, the exhaustion of the past few hours catching up with me. “Thank you for staying.”
June offers a tired smile. “Delilah’s my friend. Where else would I be?”
Her loyalty in this moment is attractive. If Declan hurts this girl, I’m going to be a good friend by punching him in the face. And the dick.
We lapse into silence, the waiting area around us buzzing softly with the low murmur of other families and the occasional clatter of the nurse’s station nearby. I sit there, clenching and unclenching my fists, watching my knuckles turn pale again and again. By the time the surgeon emerges, I’m close to losing my mind. Even his light green scrubs are too cheerful for my mood, instantly pissing me off.
June and I rise to our feet. I gauge his expression, searching for any hint of the news he brings. His tired eyes meet mine, and then, he gives me the slightest nod with a small smile.
Relief crashes through me, and my legs threaten to give out. I stand up straighter, locking my knees and fisting my hands.
The surgeon stops in front of me. “Mr. Donovan, we have completed the transplant. Everything went smoothly, and the patient is doing well.”
My voice is steady, but my hands shake. “I need to see her.”
“I understand. You can visit her, but since it’s the ICU, you can only stay for a few minutes.”
He can fuck right off with that. He’ll find out soon enough.
“Take me to her.”
He nods and leads the way down the corridor, his shoes squeaking against the shiny linoleum. “It’s going to take a while for the anesthesia to wear off.”
I nod and follow, ignoring his attempt at conversation. All that matters is getting to Delilah. I have to see her with my eyes and touch her with my hands before I can feel at peace.
Her bed is in a large room surrounded by windows and machines that beep steadily, indicating her stability. Her face is pale, but the steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me.
June squeezes my arm. “Now that I know she’s okay, I’m going to leave you two alone. I’ll come back after I’ve slept.”
“Thank you for staying.”
“Of course.”
June gives me a brief nod and leaves. I take Delilah’s hand and look at the surgeon. “Did you do what I asked?”
He clears his throat, his nervousness bleeding through the action. “Yes. The ILR is in place, just under the skin in her chest. The Implantable Loop Recorder will monitor her heart’s electrical activity continuously,” the surgeon explains, adjusting his glasses with a slight tremor in his hands. “And as you requested, there was also a tracking device embedded alongside it. It’s linked to this smartwatch.” He hands me a sleek, modern watch, its screen glowing softly.
I release Delilah’s hand to take the device from him, my gaze flicking between it and her serene face. “What do I need to look out for?”
“The watch will receive real-time data from the ILR,” he begins, his voice clinical yet cautious. “You’ll be able to monitor her heart rate, rhythm, and if there’s any irregular activity, it will alert you immediately. As for the tracker…” He hesitates, then continues, “It uses GPS technology. You can track her location anytime from anywhere.”
I nod, strapping on the watch, the object representative of Delilah’s condition and the extraordinary measures I’ve taken to protect her. “Anything else?”
He sighs, the exhaustion brought on by the surgery still visible in his posture. “The heart is functioning well for now, but there’s always a risk of rejection. We’ll monitor her closely for any signs of that or infection. It’s crucial that she follows a strict regimen of immunosuppressive medication to help her body accept the new heart.”
The word ’rejection’ triggers something primal in me, a surge of fear and anger that she might still be taken from me after everything I’ve done to ensure her survival. “And if her body rejects the heart?” I press, my temper flaring as I lean toward him.
