Chapter 92
Ethan
Two days had passed since Ashley's visit, and I was still confined to this damned hospital bed.
"Noah's completely useless," I muttered to Michael, who sat typing on his laptop in the corner.
Michael glanced up from his screen. "In his defense, sir, Ms. Bennett isn't exactly easy to convince."
"I can't just sit here waiting," I said, pushing myself upright despite the dull ache in my head. "I need to see Amelia. Today."
"Dr. Thompson has a full schedule—"
"I don't care about her schedule," I snapped, then immediately softened my tone. Michael didn't deserve my frustration. "I can't lose her again, Michael. Not when she's finally within reach."
Michael closed his laptop. "What's your plan?"
"I'm going to find her myself." I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that followed. My body might be weak, but my resolve wasn't. "And I'm going to make her listen."
---
We made our way slowly down the east wing corridor. The hospital gown was humiliating, but I didn't care anymore about appearances. I only cared about finding Amelia.
And then suddenly, there she was—hurrying down the hallway with a tablet clutched to her chest. She looked beautiful in her white coat, her golden-brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. I saw the moment she spotted us, the brief flicker of panic in her eyes before her professional mask slid into place.
"Dr. Thompson," I called, my voice echoing slightly against the tile floors.
She paused, her expression carefully neutral. "Mr. Black, you shouldn't be out of bed."
"I needed to see you," I said, approaching until I stood just a few feet away. I could smell her perfume—subtle and clean, the same scent she'd worn three years ago.
"If you're experiencing new symptoms, I can send another doctor—"
"I need to speak with you," I interrupted, holding her gaze. "Privately."
She glanced at her watch. "I have patients waiting."
"Please," I said, infusing that single word with all the urgency I felt. "Five minutes. In my room. After your rounds."
I knew I was using my CEO voice, the tone that brooked no argument. It was manipulative, but I was desperate.
"Fine," she relented, and I felt a rush of relief. "I'll stop by before my three o'clock appointment."
I nodded once, satisfied. "Thank you."
---
Back in my room, I counted the minutes, rehearsing what I would say. At 2:45, Michael left to give us privacy. At 2:50, I positioned myself on the bed, deciding on my approach. When I heard footsteps approaching at 2:55, I quickly laid back and closed my eyes, slowing my breathing to appear asleep.
The door opened softly. I heard her enter, hesitate, then approach the bed with quiet steps. I remained perfectly still, sensing her presence next to me. When she reached for my wrist, I made my move—flipping my hand over to catch hers.
"Jesus!" she gasped, startled.
I opened my eyes, drinking in the sight of her face so close to mine. "You came."
She tried to pull her hand away, but I tightened my grip slightly. "Let go, Ethan."
"Not yet." I pushed myself upright with my free arm. "I need you to hear me out."
"I have patients—"
"I'm sorry," I said, the words I'd rehearsed but still found difficult to voice.
She froze, her green eyes widening in surprise. I realized with a pang that she'd never heard me apologize sincerely before.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," I repeated, holding her gaze. "For everything."
She stared at me, momentarily speechless. Then her expression hardened again.
"Let go of my hand," she said, and this time I released her. She stepped back, creating distance between us. "If that's all—"
"Sit down, Amelia," I said, patting the edge of the bed. "Please."
"I'll stand, thanks."
I moved quickly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Before she could retreat, I placed my hands on her shoulders, guiding her firmly to sit on the edge of the mattress. Her skin was warm beneath the thin fabric of her coat.
"Our contract is over," she said, trying to rise again, but I kept my grip firm enough to keep her seated. "We have nothing to discuss."
"We have everything to discuss," I countered, leaning in close. "I went to Boston every three months, trying to get to you at the Astor Medical Center, but security always stopped me."
I watched her face carefully, noting the flicker of surprise. She hadn't known.
"That doesn't change anything," she said, but I caught the slight uncertainty in her voice. "And that business with Ashley—"
"I gave her those files to warn her off," I said firmly. "Nothing happened between us. She lied to you."
"She already told me," Amelia admitted reluctantly. "But it doesn't matter now."
"It does matter," I insisted, fighting the urge to touch her face. "Everything matters. We matter."
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying slightly. "We don't work, Ethan. We never did. We're from different worlds. We value different things."
"That's bullshit and you know it," I said, my voice rising slightly. "We understood each other perfectly. That's what scared you."
"I wasn't scared," she protested, but I could see the lie in her eyes. "I was realistic. You never wanted a real marriage."
"I want one now," I said simply. "With you."
I saw the impact of my words—the brief widening of her eyes, the quick intake of breath—before she masked it.
"You can't just decide that after three years of silence."
"It wasn't silence on my end," I insisted, desperate for her to understand. "I never stopped looking for you. Ask Michael. Ask James. Ask my grandfather, who watched me drive myself into the ground trying to find you."
She looked away, unable to hold my gaze. "Even if that's true, too much has changed."
"Give me a chance to prove myself," I said, softening my voice. "One chance, Amelia. That's all I'm asking."
I watched her internal struggle play out across her face. For a moment, I thought I'd gotten through to her.
"I have to go," she said, standing up and this time successfully breaking my hold. "I have patients waiting."
I didn't try to stop her physically—that would only push her further away. Instead, I called after her as she headed for the door.
"Starting tomorrow, I'm going to pursue you properly," I promised. "The way I should have from the beginning."
She turned at the door, shooting me a warning glare. "Don't you dare!"
But I saw it—that flicker in her eyes, that spark of the same electricity that had always crackled between us. It was enough to fuel the hope I'd been nursing for three long years.
As she walked away, I leaned back against the pillows, a satisfied smile spreading across my face.
For the first time since she'd returned to New York, I felt certain I could win her back. It wouldn't be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever was.