Dr. Morrison checks the monitor and adjusts the medication dosage. “Based on the severity and the type of medication he was taking, I’d estimate at least six months. Possibly up to a year.”
A year. Kai has been dealing with a potentially fatal heart condition for up to a year and never said a word to anyone.
“Why would he hide this?” Donovan asks the question I’m thinking.
“Pride. Fear of being seen as weak. Not wanting to be sidelined from whatever activities he thought would be restricted.” Dr. Morrison doesn’t look up from his work. “I see it more often than you’d think. Young men who believe they’re invincible until their bodies prove them wrong.”
The monitor’s beeping starts to slow and regulate as the medication takes effect. Kai’s color improves slightly, the blue tint fading from his lips as his breathing eases.
“Is he going to make it?” I ask.
“If the medication continues to work and we can keep him stable until we can transport him to a real facility, yes. But it’s going to be close.” Dr. Morrison finally looks at me. “You should prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not wake up. The strain on his heart was significant.”
I nod once, accepting the information without letting it show on my face. “Do whatever you need to do. Cost is not a concern.”
“I’ll need to stay with him through the night to monitor his condition. If anything changes, I’ll let you know immediately.”
Donovan and I step back, giving Dr. Morrison space to work while we watch Kai lying unconscious on the medical bed with tubes and wires connecting him to machines that are keeping him alive.
My youngest son almost died tonight, and I had no idea he was even sick.
“We need to deal with Robert,” Donovan says quietly beside me. “Samantha told us everything, and he’s still at the main resort waiting for information she’s not going to give him.”
“I know.” I watch the monitor tracking Kai’s heartbeat. “But first, we make sure Kai survives the night. Then we handle Robert in a way that ensures he never threatens this family again.”
36
SAMANTHA
Three days since the confrontation,and I haven’t slept more than a few hours total.
The chair beside Kai’s bed in the medical wing has become my entire world, and I’ve memorized every beep of the heart monitor and every shallow breath he takes while Dr. Morrison checks his vitals and adjusts his medication. My body aches from sitting in the same position for hours, and my eyes burn from crying and exhaustion, but I can’t leave because if I leave and something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.
This is my fault.
The thought circles endlessly through my mind, wearing grooves into my consciousness like water over stone. The stress I caused with my lies, my revenge plan, and my betrayal contributed to this, and now Kai is lying here with tubes and wires keeping him alive because I brought chaos into their lives when they were trying to build something stable.
Grant and Donovan take turns sitting with me, bringing food I don’t eat and coffee I drink mechanically while they update meon Kai’s condition in quiet voices. They don’t blame me out loud, but I see it in the way Donovan’s jaw tightens when he looks at the monitors and the way Grant’s hand lingers on Kai’s forehead like he’s checking for fever even though the machines tell him everything he needs to know.
They’re being kind to me, and somehow that makes the guilt worse.
On the third day, Kai finally opens his eyes.
I’m alone with him when it happens, Grant and Donovan having finally agreed to get a few hours of real sleep after Dr. Morrison assured them Kai’s condition was stabilizing. The monitors have been showing steady improvement, and the medication seems to be working, but seeing his eyes actually focus on something feels like a miracle.
“Hey,” he says, his voice rough from disuse.
“Hey.” I lean forward and take his hand, careful not to disturb the IV. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” He manages a weak smile. “How long was I out?”
“Three days. You collapsed in your room, and your dad and Donovan found you.” The words come out shaky because remembering that night makes my chest tighten. “They said if you’d been alone any longer, you would have died.”
“Dramatic.” But his smile fades when he sees my face. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”
“I mean, you look exhausted. When’s the last time you slept?”
