Chapter 113
CINDY’S POV
I rushed Damian to the nearest hospital the moment the accident happened, my hands shaking so badly I could barely dial emergency services while pressing against the wound on his side.
The ambulance ride was a blur of sirens and paramedics shouting vitals, and now here I was, standing in the sterile corridor of St. David’s Medical Center, pacing back and forth in front of his private room for what felt like hours but was only forty minutes according to the clock on the wall.
The air smelled sharp with antiseptic, that clean, cold scent that always made hospitals feel more like places where hope went to die than to heal.
Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, radiating a harsh white glow that made my eyes ache from crying.
My white suit was ruined—streaked with blood, his blood—and I had not even noticed until a nurse offered me a scrub top that I waved away.
I could not move far from the door. I could not sit.
I just paced, hands clasped tight, whispering prayers under my breath between sobs I tried to swallow but could not.
Damian, please be okay.
Please wake up.
I forgive you for everything. Just come back to me.
Please do not leave me here alone.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the same one he had come running back to return to me.
The cracked screen lit up, and fresh tears spilled down my cheeks because I knew that phone was the reason he had come for me, the reason he had been in the road at that exact moment.
If I had not left it behind…
I sniffed hard, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and answered.
“Cindy, where are you?” Alaric’s worried voice came through the receiver.
“We’ve been waiting at the jet.”
“I don’t think I can make it anymore,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Why? What happened at the meeting? Did something go wrong?”
“The meeting was fine,” I managed, leaning against the wall for support. “It was after. Damian… he got hit by a car.”
“What?”
“Yes.” The tears came faster now.
“He pushed me out of the way. The car was coming straight at me, and he… he took the hit instead. I brought him to the hospital, but the doctors have been in there for over thirty minutes and no one is telling me anything. I’m scared, Alaric. I’m so scared. I can’t lose him.”
“Okay, breathe,” Alaric said, his voice steady even though I could hear the shock beneath it.
“Nothing is going to happen to him. Which hospital? We’re coming.”
“No, you should go to the cruise—”
“We’re not going anywhere without you,” he cut in firmly.
“Dad planned this whole thing for you and Damian. You know that. Text me the address. I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” I whispered, ending the call and sending the hospital details with shaking fingers.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold floor, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, and tears dripping onto the tiles.
The corridor felt endless, empty except for the occasional squeak of shoes or the distant beep of monitors.
The door to Damian’s room finally opened.
A doctor stepped out (mid-forties, tall, dark hair tied backscrubs slightly rumpled) followed by two nurses carrying a tray with bloodied gauze and instruments.
The metallic scent of blood hit me even from here.
Fear slammed into me so hard my legs nearly gave out. I sprang up.
“Doctor. How is he?”
He turned, kind but tired eyes meeting mine. “Are you his wife?”
I opened my mouth to say no, because we were not, not yet, but the word that came out was, “Yes.”
He nodded. “Come in.”
I followed him inside, the antiseptic smell stronger now, mixed with blood and the faint beeping of monitors.
Damian lay on the bed, pale and unconscious, an IV in his arm, an oxygen cannula under his nose.
Bruises bloomed across his temple and cheek, his shirt cut away, bandages wrapped around his torso and ribs.
I rushed to his side, taking his hand carefully.
“Damian… oh God, Damian.”
The doctor stood at the foot of the bed.
“He’s stable,” he said.
“He has a moderate concussion from the impact, which explains the loss of consciousness. Two cracked ribs on the left side, deep bruising along his flank and hip, and some whiplash in the neck. No internal bleeding, no spinal damage, no fractures beyond the ribs. His vitals are strong.”
I looked up, my voice trembling. “Then why is he still unconscious?”
“Post-traumatic shock combined with exhaustion,” he explained gently.
“His body went through significant stress. The concussion and pain caused him to pass out. It’s protective, his system shutting down to recover. He’ll wake when he’s ready. It could be hours. But he’s young and healthy. His prognosis is excellent. He’ll be sore for a week or two, especially when breathing deeply, but he should be up and moving tomorrow with care.”
I nodded numbly, tears falling onto Damian’s hand as I held it against my cheek.
“You can stay with him,” the doctor said. “Talk to him. Familiar voices often help.”
He and the nurses left quietly.
I pulled the chair close and sat, leaning forward to rest my head against his chest, careful of the bandages.
The steady thump of his heart beneath my ear was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
“Damian,” I whispered, my voice breaking as fresh tears soaked his gown.
“I’ve forgiven you. I forgave you the moment you pushed me out of the way. I’m sorry I held on to the hurt for so long. I’m sorry I walked away when you needed me most. I love you. I love you so much it scares me. Please come back to me. Open your eyes. I can’t do this without you.”
I pressed kisses to his knuckles, his fingers, his palm.
“We have a whole life ahead of us. I want mornings with you, lazy Sundays, fights we make up from, and kids one day if you want them. I want everything with you. Just wake up. Please.”
I laid my head against his chest again, sobbing quietly, promising him the world if he would just come back.
Then I felt it.
A faint brush against my hair.
My breath caught.
Fingers, weak but gentle, threaded slowly through my strands.
I froze, then lifted my head carefully.
His eyes were open, hazy but focused on me.
“Cindy,” he rasped, his voice rough from disuse, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.
“You crybaby… how could I leave when I haven’t spent the rest of my life with you yet?”
“Oh my God, Damian,” I choked out, laughing through fresh tears.
“You’re back.”
He squeezed my hand weakly. “I never left, baby.”