Chapter 57 Clinic Bed

Chapter 57 Clinic Bed
Harriet sat on the edge of the clinic bed, her fingers tightly wrapped around Charles’s large, warm hand. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound keeping the room from complete silence. The rain had finally stopped, but a thick layer of white fog pressed flat against the large glass window, blocking out the city lights below.
She reached over with her free hand, dipping a small white towel into a bowl of lukewarm water, and carefully wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. Every time he stirred or let out a low breath, her chest tightened with a sharp, heavy ache.
"You don't have to keep doing that, wildcat," Charles said softly, his voice low and raspy from disuse. He didn't open his eyes right away, but his grip on her hand tightened just a fraction.
"I want to," Harriet whispered, her voice cracking slightly. She set the cloth back down into the water and leaned closer to him, her eyes red and puffy. "If I had paid attention... if I hadn't been so focused on my own anger and the contract, I would have known you were hurting. I was so stupid, Charles."
Charles slowly opened his eyes, the dark gold color faint but steady as he looked up at her face. "You were angry. You had a right to be."
"No," she said, shaking her head as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I thought you were playing a game with me. I thought you faked it just to make me feel bad and bring me back to you. I let my ego get in the way while you were dying on a cold floor."
Charles looked at her for a long moment, watching the raw guilt eating away at her face. His wolf stirred deep inside him, taking satisfaction in the way her entire focus was now locked onto him. She was entirely his right now, consumed by the need to fix what she thought she had broken.
"I am not dying anymore," Charles murmured, lifting his hand to touch her bruised jaw, his thumb gently brushing over the mark Seraphina had left. His jaw set in a hard, rigid line. "And the person who laid hands on you will answer for it."
"She was just worried about you," Harriet said quickly, placing her hand over his on her face. "Everyone was. They all saw how careless I was with you."
"Nobody touches my wife," Charles growled, his voice deep and dark. He pulled her down closer until her chin was resting against his bare chest. "You are not leaving this room tonight. And when we go home, things are changing, Harriet."
"Whatever you want," Harriet whispered, resting her weight against him, completely surrendered to her guilt. "I won't run away. I won't ignore you again."
"Good," Charles murmured, running his thick fingers through her soft hair. "Because I won't let you."
Within twenty minutes, the exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours caught up to Harriet. Her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing evened out, and her head sank softly onto the side of his mattress, her small hand still holding onto his fingers even in her sleep.
Charles laid back against the high pillows, staring up at the white ceiling. The room was warm, but inside his mind, the cold memory of the storm was still fresh and bitter.
He hated the rain. He had hated it for as long as he could remember.
His mind drifted back to the night he was ten years old. It had been pouring just like it did yesterday—heavy, relentless water pounding against the glass of his father’s dark car. He remembered sitting in the back seat, his hands small and helpless, watching the mud splash against the tires as his father drove like a madman toward the pack hospital. His mother was lying in the passenger seat, her skin white, her breathing shallow and wet.
“Hold on, sweetheart, just hold on!” his father had screamed over the roar of the thunder.
They had made it to the clinic doors, and the pack’s strongest healer had rushed out into the mud, laying hands on her chest. But nothing worked. The rain washed her blood into the dirt, and by the time the storm cleared, she was gone.
A years later, the rain took his father too. Another violent storm, another slick road, and another sudden crash that left a young Charles sitting in the back seat, watching the life drain out of the old Alpha's eyes while the water rattled the roof like stones.
The rain was the only thing in this world Charles couldn't conquer. It was the only force that made him feel small, weak, and entirely human.
.