"Mom—"
"Shut up," she snapped, turning back to Sebastian.
"Rosie." Emma spoke beside me, soft and steady. "I know you don't want to leave. Believe me, I understand. But if you're sick, you can't stay. It isn't good for Sebastian, let alone the others on this floor."
My mother leaned in. Drawn to Emma like gravity.
"But who will be here with him?" she whispered, tears welling.
And I didn't have an answer for her. Emma and I could handle nights, but the days? Impossible. Rotating shifts would raise suspicion long before anyone asked the right questions.
But Emma spoke again—gently, steadily. "I can call Candace?" she offered. "She has more free time now that she's moved out. And I think having someone to help might be good for her."
My mother blinked. "Candace?"
"My best friend." Her tone stayed gentle. "She's… going through something right now. A big change. And I think—" She chose her words carefully. "I think this would give her purpose."
My mother's brow furrowed, uncertainty flickering across her exhausted features. "I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know her. It might be awkward."
"She's good people, Mom," I said, finally adding something useful. Her attention drifted between Emma and me, then back to Sebastian.
"You'd do that for us?"
My mother set the cold coffee on the side table, fingers trembling.
Emma leaned forward and grasped my mother's hand. "Of course."
"You're an angel," she whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She turned to me. "Damien, if you ever—"
"I know. I know," I said quickly, warmth flooding my face.
She still hadn't brought up the truth about how Emma and I began, but she hadn't forgotten. She'd hold it over my head forever, threatening to rain hell on me if I ruined this.
Especially after this past week.
Now Emma might even edge me out for my mother's love. Hell, she was probably already ahead.
My mother getting the daughter she'd always wanted. Emma getting the mother she never had.
I looked at Sebastian.
One day, I promised myself, my hand tightening on the rail of his bed.
Chapter eleven
Emma
Candace fidgeted the entire elevator ride up, tugging at the hem of her blouse and glancing at me like I was leading her to a job interview instead of a hospital room.
"You're going to be fine," I said, squeezing her arm. "Relax."
She shot me a look that screamed she was nowhere close to believing me.
The elevator doors opened, and Candace sniffed, nose wrinkling as she took in the sanitized air I'd long since stopped noticing.
At the ICU entrance, I hit the intercom button. "Emma Sinclair, visiting Sebastian Holt."
"Of course, Emma," a pleasant voice answered. Toni—always warm, even here.
