“Damon…” Quin releases a long, heavy sigh, and we both look up at him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shadows of tears stained on his cheeks. “Now that you’re alive…” His eyes darken, snapping down. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” Damon frowns but has no time to speak. Quin growls, “A DNR?! Are you fucking kidding me? I swear to God, Damon, I’ll?—”
Damon blinks, and for the first time, glances around the room at all the bodies surrounding us. Doctors. Nurses. Security guards. Javier. Josephine.
“I don’t…” It hits him like a bolt of lightning, and he gasps. “Oh.” His brows knit together, gaze flitting to his power of attorney duo. “You didn’t…”
Josephine and Javier both blanch, shame shrinking their posture. “I am so sorry, mi cielo,” Josie blubbers, her fragile frame vibrating and on the cusp of collapsing.
“Damon,” Javier hesitates before taking a step forward, his shoulders tight and square. “We did not?—”
“You…” Damon looks up at Quinton, expression contorted into profound understanding. “You saved me?”
Quin swallows, slowly climbing off Damon’s bed. He straightens out his slacks, adjusting his wrinkled shirt as he glares down at him. “If you do anything this stupid ever again, Damon, like I said, I willkillyou.”
Quin turns on his heel, but before he’s able to take a step, Damon reaches out, grabbing his hand.
“I love you, brother,” Damon whispers, swallowing. “And I’m sorry. I’m-I’m so fucking sorry.”
Quin glances down at Damon’s grasp and closes his eyes, giving him a strong, binding squeeze. It’s a small gesture but it’s loud. “Welcome home, brother.”
My lip quivers as the doctors sheepishly announce they need to check Damon’s vitals and run tests.
But I see it. Ifeelit. Right here. At this moment. A love that fights.
It’s the greatest love of all.
It feelsas though he’ll be apologizing for the rest of his life. But there’s no need. There’s nothing to forgive. There’s nothing to pardon or excuse.
History can never be changed. It happened. It’s done. It’s in the past. But he’s here—alive, talking, begging, hoping for absolution.
But it’s been granted. From us. From them. And hopefully soon, from himself.
The warm hues of the pink and purple sunset filter into Damon’s hospital room, and I thank the stars and the sun and the moon that fresh starts and new beginnings are promised to us every day.
“I’m so sorry, Emery.” Damon squeezes my hand. “I’m so fucking sorry. I?—”
“Enough.” I bring his knuckles to my lips, kissing his scars away. “No more, okay?”
Damon swallows, glancing at Quin. “I’m?—”
Quin sighs, resting his forearm on Damon’s bed. “Ifyou saysorryone more time, mate, we’re going to have to wire that jaw shut.”
Damon shakes his head, his voice rough and breaking. “I hurt you both. I…”
“You’re here, Damon,” I say, stroking his dark, tousled hair. “That’s all that matters now.” I place a hand over my stomach, smiling. “He’s kicking. Do you want to feel it?”
“It’s a boy?” Damon’s hand shakes, unsteady and afraid as I stand up and position myself in front of him.
“Mhmm.” I cover his hand with my own, guiding him to the sweet spot that won’t stop fluttering. “Can you feel him, Damon? Can you feel your son?”
“My son,” he breathes. His gaze dances between Quin and me as he says hello to our child. “Ourson.”
A gentle knock sounds from the door, and a young, timid voice calls out. “May we please come in mister Ca?—”
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” a mature voice adds. “It’s Mr. Cavanaugh.”
We turn our attention to the threshold. A man and a woman step in, their three children trailing behind them. The three young boys, all red-haired and freckled, stare at me…smiling.
"Hello," the man says. "I'm sorry to intrude, but we had to come. We had to thank you."
