The surgeon meets my gaze and flinches. “Rejection can often be managed with medication adjustments, but in extreme cases, another transplant might be necessary.”
If that happens, I have four more names on the list.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he says. At the glower on my face, he backs up a step. “I’m needed elsewhere, but the staff will be monitoring the patient.”
As he walks away, I turn back to Delilah, her quiet presence the complete opposite to the chaos raging inside me. I sit besideher on the bed, taking her hand gently, the coolness of her skin a result of the ordeal she’s just undergone.
The sight of her hooked up to various tubes and wires is almost too much to bear. I want nothing more than to tear her free of them, to have her back in my arms. But she needs the equipment. She needs to recover.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, my little raptor. And so strong.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss each of her fingers, smiling at the memory of how we met. “You stabbed me that first night, and I need you to use that fire, that same determination to live. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t answer, but I feel her pulse thrum against my fingers, the steady beating of her heart soothing me. I sit back, my gaze fixed on her face, unwilling to leave her side, even for a second.
The room is quiet now, except for the sounds of the monitors and the distant hustle of the staff in the hospital. I watch over her, the smartwatch on my wrist a constant reminder that she’s alive. If there was any guilt within me, it was gone the second I first saw her heart rate on the screen.
Chapter 50
DELILAH
The world swims back into focus, a blurry mess of shapes that gradually sharpen into the sterile, white walls of a hospital room. The steady beeping of machines anchors me to the reality that my heart, this new one beating inside me, isn’t the one I was born with.
Mine was a piece of shit, but still.
Xavier is there, in a chair next to my bed, his head resting beside my hand on the mattress. He remains asleep, the shadows under his eyes like bruises and his hair a tousled mess. Instinctively, I know he’s been here the whole time watching over me. Protecting me.
As consciousness fully returns, Xavier stirs, his eyes opening slowly. When he finds me watching him, his fatigue is instantly replaced by relief. “Delilah,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “You’re finally awake. How do you feel?"
“Like shit,” I manage to whisper, the words scratchy in my throat. “But it’s better than the alternative.”
He chuckles softly, the sound tinged with residual worry. “That’s pretty standard. But you’ll get well soon enough.”
Before I can reply, June knocks and opens the door, wheeling a small suitcase behind her. Her presence is a splash of color and energy in the sterile room. “Look who’s back among the living,” she says with a smile, but she scrutinizes my face as though searching for any signs of discomfort.
“I brought you some things from your dorm,” she continues, lifting the suitcase onto a nearby chair and flipping it open. “I figured you’d want more than just hospital gowns to wear. It’s a good thing Raven is at her parent’s house for Christmas to ‘fulfill her obligations as a dutiful daughter.’ If not, I wouldn’t have been able to sneak past her. Your key is the side pocket. Not that you’ll be going back there anytime soon.”
“Thank you, June,” I say, touched by her thoughtfulness. My gaze falls on the contents of the suitcase—clothes, toiletries, and at the top, something unexpected: the dagger Xavier gave me. It’s an ornate thing, a piece of art, but still a weapon.
June notices my focus on the dagger and grins, picking it up. “I found this in your suitcase. I guess you’re into some intense cosplay, huh? This thing looks medieval.”
Xavier stiffens beside me, and I can feel the weight of the unspoken truth between us. It’s far more significant than June realizes, a symbol of protection Xavier insisted I keep close before the surgery. It serves as a reminder of the dangers still lurking outside these hospital walls.
“It was a gift from Xavier,” I say.
June shrugs before placing the dagger back in the suitcase. “Well, it’s definitely the coolest letter opener I’ve ever seen.”
Xavier’s hand tightens around mine, a silent message of solidarity and comfort. I squeeze back, grateful for his presence and for June’s, knowing that the road ahead is uncertain. But at least I won’t be alone.
The conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the dagger remains there, a gleaming token of darker thoughts, and ofXavier’s unspoken vow to always protect me. My thoughts naturally shift to Ben, my first protector before Xavier came along. The ache in my chest, that began the day I found out about his death, expands, becoming more painful and deep than the incision on my chest.
The smile on my face is like a mask that’s slipping, and suddenly, the walls of the hospital room close in on me. I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over until I can’t hold them back any longer. The sobbing breaks through in heaving waves, each one a raw, painful echo of the grief I’ve been struggling to keep at bay.
June’s expression instantly shifts from cheerfulness to concern. “Delilah?” She starts to reach for me, but at Xavier’s terse expression, she retracts her hand and backs up a step. “I’ll give you two some space,” she says softly, her concerned gaze lingering on me, before she quietly exits the room.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Xavier’s composure vanishes.
“Don’t injure yourself,” he says, his voice laced with urgency. He moves closer, his eyes wide with alarm as he watches me clutch at the sheets, my body racked with sobs. “You just had surgery and need to rest.”
Although his words were meant to calm me, they’re nothing more than a distant noise. When I continue to cry, Xavier carefully crawls onto the hospital bed beside me and gently pulls me into his arms. His embrace is cautious, mindful of my surgery but filled with a desperate kind of protectiveness.
