“Yes, I do. He’d rather crawl through hell barefoot than give you up.” His hand rests on mine. “I’ve known Nate my whole life, Izzy. That man loves you in a way that terrifies him.”
I glance at Nate’s face, pale but peaceful in sleep.
“I was terrified too,” I admit. “But it didn’t matter. I chose him. Over and over. And I still will.”
Sebastian squeezes my hand. “Then hold on to that. He’ll wake up. And when he does, he’s going to need you more than ever.”
I nod, blinking back fresh tears. “Thank you, Sebastian.”
He smiles gently. “You’ve always had me. Nate too. We’re family.”
K shifts, murmuring something to Sebastian, and he nods.
“I’m staying at the hotel across the street. K will rotate shifts if you need security or even just a damn nap. You’re not alone in this, Isabel.”
And for the first time since the nightmare started—I believe him.
After Sebastian wraps everything up—security outside the hospital, press silenced with carefully chosen words and firm royal influence—I almost fall apart in front of him. I begged him to go rest, to shower, to sleep. God knows he looks as wrecked as I feel.
“I’ll be back later,” he promises, hand brushing my shoulder before he leaves with K flanking him like a silent guardian. “Try to rest too.”
Rest. What a cruel joke.
When I step back into Nate’s room, the stillness splits me like a punch to the ribs. It smells like antiseptic and something metallic I can’t name. I hate it. But it’s where he is, so I stay.
I sink into the chair again, every bone in my body screaming. I feel… brittle. Drained. Like I’ve been wrung out and left in the sun. I rest my head against the mattress beside his hand, my cheek barely touching the blanket. My eyes flutter closed. I just need a minute. Just a breath of quiet in the chaos.
Nate is laughing. That deep, reckless sound I’ve missed so much. We’re at the shore, barefoot, the tide washing over our feet as we run through the water. He’s chasing me. His arms are almost around me.
I turn, laughing too, and—He’s gone.
The beach is empty. Cold. His laugh fades like the tide pulling away.
My chest seizes. “Nate?”
But I wake up instead.
“Mrs. Weister?”
The voice is male, professional, unfamiliar. I jolt upright, disoriented, heart pounding. My hand instinctively reaches for Nate’s.
“Yes,” I blink fast. “I—I’m awake.”
The man gives me a polite nod. “Hi, I’m Hans. The physiotherapist. I’ve been told to come here, start taking notes for the rehabilitation plan.”
I rub my eyes and push my hair out of my face. “Yes, of course. I actually wanted to ask when it’s possible to begin. I thought maybe some light muscle work or a leg massage could help, given his condition. I just don’t want him to lose strength while we wait.”
Hans nods and moves to the foot of the bed, flipping open the chart clipped to the bed. “Let me take a look at his file…”
He reads in silence, the quiet stretching into something unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, meeting my eyes, voice gentle but firm. “The surgeon has to give the go-ahead first. As of now, we're not cleared to start anything. When we do, though—it will be a long and likely painful rehabilitation process. But it’s manageable. With time.”
My throat tightens, but I nod. “Okay. Thank you, Hans.”
Not what I wanted to hear. But maybe what I needed. Hope wrapped in caution.
He gives me a sympathetic look before quietly taking his leave.
