Chapter twelve
Emma
One week at Falkirk.
Five workdays of Nathan's smirk around every corner, of pretending I belonged in a building that still smelled like enemy territory.
And nine days since Damien's world had collapsed beneath his feet.
Nine days since his phone had shattered the quiet of our night—Rosie's voice on the other end, those words that sent him running. I could still see his face in the doorway, the way his whole body had gone rigid before he'd even said a word.
And after all of that—here I was.
Standing in my own kitchen, waiting for Damien to arrive for dinner like we were a normal couple. Like we hadn't spent the past week watching his brother fight for his life.
I'd left Candace covering the daytime shifts in the ICU for the next week while Rosie recovered and while we worked. A nasty cold, but nothing serious. Thank god. I wasn't sure Damien could take another hit.
Garlic bloomed in the pan at the stove, Susan sautéing the beginnings of dinner.
"How are you holding up?" she asked.
I let my head fall into my hands, elbows on the counter. "I'm exhausted."
"I can imagine," she murmured, not looking up from the pan. "The two of you have been running on fumes for days."
She added something—white wine, maybe—and the sizzle filled the kitchen.
"I'm surprised you two are staying here tonight," she added. "I was starting to think I was out of a job."
It had been a while since I'd been home. A week, maybe two. And walking in tonight, I'd noticed something I shouldn't have.
The smell.
Not bad—just… there.
The lemon cleaner soaked into the hardwood. The faint trace of mildew in the bathroom. The honest scent of a lived-in space—things your senses go blind to over time.
I noticed them all now.
"I guess it has been a while," I said quietly.
My phone vibrated on the counter, skittering across the surface. I snatched it up on the first ring.
"Hey."
Damien's tired voice came through the speaker. "I'm on my way home."
He'd spent half the day pacing his living room like a caged cat, unable to sit still—and the other half sitting beside Candace, willing Sebastian to open his eyes, stepping away only when he had to.
It was a miracle he'd even mentioned a date night.
Celebration, he'd called it. For my first week. For surviving Falkirk's board.
But we both knew tonight wouldn't feel like a celebration.
Not after the week we'd had.
Not for a while.
