"Thank you, Dr. Jefferson," Damien said, shaking her hand.
"I'll add you as a primary contact to his file," she answered, updating the chart. "We'll give you a call if anything changes."
Then she was gone, off to the next person who needed saving.
Damien looked past me to the bed. I crossed the room to his side and wrapped my arms around him.
"He'll be okay," I whispered.
His arms tightened around me. Briefly, the machines faded. We held on to each other, everything else falling away.
By Sunday, the hospital hallways had worked their way under my skin—fluorescent buzz, sharp disinfectant. Damien and his mother barely left Sebastian's side all weekend, never sleeping, never stopping. I helped where I could—food, drinks, clean clothes—anything to feel useful.
The truth was, nothing I did would heal what was broken in that room.
Still, I learned things. Enough small pieces of their world that I could belong at the edges of it.
Damien had told the truth—Rosie did swear like a sailor. Another reason I was growing fond of the woman.
I'd learned about Sebastian, too. How he really did steal Damien's race cars and sell them for Popsicles when they were kids.
Now, as the hospital quieted and visitor hours neared their end, a different weight settled on my shoulders.
Tomorrow would be my first day at Falkirk headquarters.
And I wasn't the least bit prepared.
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
Candace's name lit up the screen, and I tensed.
She'd wanted to celebrate. Champagne, dinner, the works—a proper send-off for the contract signing, the merger, the total annihilation of Gregory Davidson. Weeks ago, I would have been right there with her, riding the high of everything we'd fought for.
But that was another life.
Sebastian's fall had swallowed the victory whole. The champagne sat unopened somewhere in my apartment. The reservation Candace made had come and gone. And every time she texted to check in, I'd given her the same hollow reassurances—I'm fine, just busy, we'll celebrate soon.
I swiped to answer.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself." Her voice was careful. "How's he doing?"
"About the same," I said, stepping into the hallway where the air cooled against my skin, so my voice wouldn't carry. "No changes."
"And the others?"
"They're okay. Or as close to it as they can be right now. Rosie's stopped crying as much. And Damien managed to eat lunch today, so that's something."
"That's good, at least," she said, though her voice didn't brighten at all.
I should have called more.
I'd barely checked in since she left Garrett. A few scattered texts. One rushed phone call between hospital runs. She was rebuilding her entire life, and I'd been too buried in someone else's crisis to show up for hers.
"How's the move going?" I asked.
"It's going," she said lightly. "Susan and Ava have been helping. I finally got cable hooked up, so that's a win."
