“If God wills it, he will wake up,” Josephine says in a soft, timid tone as she twists a rosary between her fingers. My veins thrum with disbelief. She smiles at me, and my gut twists and turns with the realization that she truly believes a higher power will right her wrong. “Have faith. He will wake up.”
“God?!” I expel a string of manic chuckles. “Youare God right now, Josephine! You and Javier! You have the power. Right there,” I point to the pen and folder in Quinton’s hand, “on that piece of paper, you have the power to help him. Don’t you dare talk to me about any fucking God.”
Josephine tilts her head. “If it’s his time to go, he will not be alone. Do not worry about the after, dear Emery. If it is time, he will be with those he loves.”
I clench my teeth together. “Sign the fucking forms.”
Josephine sighs and then glances at Javier. “We will stay until he is awake, yes?”
“Or until he dies,” I grunt, anger stewing inside me as a fluttering sensation slightly jerks me forward. I gasp, placing a hand over my belly. This should be a magical moment. The first kick. But I know it’s because my son,ourson, is enraged, equally fuming at the injustice.
“I am sorry, Miss Jones,” Javier says, shoulders slumped. “I know you do not understand our reasons, but we have known Damon much longer than you have. He is like a son to us, and we truly believe this is the right thing to do.”
“Knowing and believing are two different things, Javier. IknowDamon wants to see his child grow up. Iknowthat Damon deserves a second chance. Iknowthat you’re making a huge mistake.” I glare up at him. “Yourbeliefsare going to kill him. I hope you can live with that.”
“I will live knowing I did as Damon desired,” Javier says. “It is the least I can do.”
“Get out,” I hiss, unable to spend a minute longer in their presence. “Now! Both of you!”
Josephine and Javier exchange a solemn look before silently exiting Damon’s room. The moment the door closes behind them, Quin staggers backward and collapses on a nearby armchair. He drops his head, burrowing his face into his palms.
I roll toward him, my heart aching.
“Quin…” I place a gentle hand on his knee as he sits frozen like a statue made of ice. “We need to do something. We need to fix this. Please, Quin… Please. Maybe we can call your father. He’s a lawyer. He’ll know what to do. He could help us, Quin. Maybe there’s a way around this. Maybe?—”
“There’s nothing we can do.” His voice comes out a hoarse, tortured whisper. “I thought… I really thought that…”
“No!” I grab his hands and forcefully rip them away from his face. His weary gaze remains fixed on the floor. “Look at me, Quin! Look at me.” With a labored sigh, he flicks his eyes up at me, and I die a little inside. Nothing. No spark. Not anymore. “Call your father. Send him the files. There must be something. This can’t be the end. It can’t.”
Damon’s vitals monitor beeps, each sound louder and more grave than the last. The rhythm of his heart fills the room like a devastating melody, a song of surrender.
“Emery…”
“Please!” I squeeze his hands like I’m gripping onto life itself. “Call him. Or I’ll call him. We can’t give up. You’re the one who told me that! You told me yesterday to have hope!”
Quin rips his hands out of mine, bones rattling as his entire body vibrates. “That was before! That was before they…” And then the ice begins to melt, like a glacier thrust into the heart of the sun. Tears roll down his cheeks, through his stubble, droplets of hope splattering on the tiled floor. “Fuck… Fuck, Emery. Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I tried… I tried my best but…”
I fish my phone from my cardigan pocket and hand it to him. “Call your father, Quin.” His shoulders shakeas he ignores my request, and I shove the phone into his lap. “This isn’t over. Not until we exhaust every single resource. So, call Charles.” I pause, allowing Quin to catch his breath. “We owe it to Damon to try everything. So, please, Quin. Don’t give up.”
“I’m so tired, Emery,” he whispers, staring at the phone. “I’m so fucking tired.”
Because he’s had to be strong. He’s had to bear the weight of my disappointment, my fear, Damon’s struggles, our collective pain. It’s been his burden. We loaded our trauma on his shoulders, and he’s carried it without a word, without complaint. But the weight is too much for one man to carry alone.
I’ve been so selfish, so fucking oblivious to his struggles. Over time, every anchor rusts. And he’s withering away. Right before my eyes.
“It’s okay, Quin. It’s fine. It’s… It’s my turn now.” I reach for his hand and bring it to my lips. I kiss his knuckles, whispering affection against his skin. “I’ll carry it now.”
Quinton frowns as I dip into his jacket pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t stop me. Scrolling through his contacts, I find Charles’s phone number and press the dial button. The line rings. The time difference doesn’t appear to be an issue as Charles answers, and I hold my breath.
“Quinny? What is it? What’s wrong? Is Damon okay?”
I swallow, rolling a few feet away from Quinton. “Hello, Mr. Marquis, it’s Emery Jones. I… We need your help.”
“If this is about Damon’s power of attorney, Quinton’s already sent me a copy,” he says, tone apologetic. “I’ve shared the document with several of my associates, and unfortunately, we cannot find cause to void the DNR.”
“But,” I glance back at Quin, his head hanging low. “There must be?—”
“My team has been awake for forty-eight hours, Emery,” Charles says. “We’ve combed over every clause, every paragraph, every sentence. Unless we can prove to the courts that Damon was not of sound mind when drafting and signing the document, there is nothing we can do.”
