Chapter 35
Mia
Istay collapsed on Sebastian's chest, his release warm between my thighs as it begins to trickle out.
My breath slows against his neck, and I feel utterly boneless, like every muscle has liquefied in the afterglow.
His heartbeat pounds beneath my ear, gradually slowing from its frantic pace to something steadier, more hypnotic.
I could stay like this forever, melted against him, nothing between us but skin and sweat and the magnitude of what I feel for him.
"We should clean up," Sebastian murmurs against my hair, but his arms tighten around me, contradicting his words.
"Five more minutes," I whisper, not ready to break the connection, to return to a world where Cheryl is dead and I've thrown my career away. Here, skin to skin with Sebastian, everything else feels distant.
Tracing lazy patterns on my back, his fingertips skim the curve of my spine with a tenderness that makes my throat tight. When did this man become someone whose touch could both set me on fire and soothe my broken pieces?
"You're thinking too loud," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I smile against his skin. "Just wondering how we got here."
"By car. Very long drive."
I pinch his side, and he jumps slightly beneath me. "Smart-ass."
"One of my many charming qualities." His hand slides lower, cupping my ass, then moves to my thigh, where his release is now definitely making a mess of the sheets. "Come on, Trouble. Bath time."
Before I can protest, he shifts us, carefully disconnecting our bodies. I make a small noise of disappointment at the loss, but he silences it with a swift kiss. Then he stands and scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
"I can walk," I protest weakly, even as my arms loop around his neck.
"I know." He adjusts his grip, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. "I prefer this."
Something about the casual display of strength, the way he carries me with such ease, makes heat bloom in my belly again. I nestle against his chest as he navigates through the bedroom door toward the bathroom and settles me on the edge of the tub.
"Wait here," he says, dropping a kiss on my bare shoulder before turning to the taps.
I watch him move as he adjusts the water temperature. Steam begins to rise, curling around his naked form like possessive fingers. He reaches for a jar on a nearby shelf and unscrews the lid to release the scent of lavender into the foggy air.
When the tub is full, Sebastian steps in first, his tall frame folding with surprising grace as he lowers himself into the steaming water.
He extends his hand to me, and I take it, allowing him to guide me as I step into the bath.
The water is hot, deliciously so, and I hiss slightly as it engulfs my legs, my hips and waist.
"Turn around," he instructs, and I do, settling between his outstretched legs, my back to his chest.
For several minutes, we simply soak in silence, letting the heat seep into tired muscles. Sebastian's hands begin to move, cupping water to pour over my shoulders, my chest, anywhere the bath doesn't quite reach. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, and it makes something crack inside me.
When he reaches for a washcloth and soap, I surrender to his care and let my head fall back against his shoulder. He works methodically, washing me with gentle strokes. There's nothing sexual in his touch now, just pure tenderness that makes my eyes sting with unexpected tears.
"You're thinking again," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble I feel through his chest against my back.
I swallow hard. "About my dad."
His hands pause for just a moment before resuming their gentle path across my skin. "Tell me about him."
The invitation is simple, free of pressure or expectation. And maybe it's the warmth of the water, or the safety of Sebastian's arms around me, or the distance from the hospital and all its reminders of failure, but suddenly I want to talk. Need to talk.
"He was a mechanic," I begin. "Brilliant with engines. Could diagnose a problem just by listening." I feel Sebastian's smile against my temple as I continue. "It was just the two of us after my mom died. I was only three when it happened, so I don't really remember her."
Sebastian's thumbs work small circles on my shoulders, loosening knots of tension I didn't know I was carrying. The gentle pressure encourages me to continue.
"He was everything to me. My whole world." My throat tightens, but I push on. "When he started getting sick, I was in my third year of med school. Headaches at first. Then fatigue. Memory problems. Balance issues."
My body tenses with each painful memory, fingers digging into the edge of the tub.
"The doctors kept saying it was stress, or migraines, or early-onset dementia.
But nothing fit. And I—" My voice cracks.
"I didn't push hard enough. I was so busy with rotations and exams. I told him to rest, to drink more water, to take the medications they prescribed.
I should have known better. I should have demanded more tests. "
Sebastian remains silent, but his presence behind me is unwavering.
"By the time they finally ran the right tests, it was too late.
Some rare autoimmune vasculitis. His brain was literally destroying itself, and I missed all the signs.
" Tears spill over, mingling with the bathwater.
"He slipped into a coma a week after the diagnosis.
Died three days later. And I was there, useless, watching machines monitor his decline instead of stopping it. "
A sob builds in my chest, but I force it down. My next words come out as a broken whisper. "Just like with Cheryl. Too late. Always too fucking late."
Sebastian's arms encircle me completely, pulling me back against his chest as if he could absorb my pain through skin contact alone.
"How am I supposed to be a doctor when I can't even save the people who matter most to me?" I ask, my tears flowing freely now.
Sebastian doesn't answer immediately. His silence stretches long enough that I wonder if he regrets asking about my father, regrets being stuck in a bathtub with a woman rapidly unraveling.
But he never stops holding me as I shudder against him.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low and steady near my ear.
"Medicine isn't about being perfect," he murmurs. "It's about caring enough to try, even when you know you might fail. Even when failure breaks your heart."
A sob catches in my throat. I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, that good doctors don't fail, that I should have known better, worked harder, been smarter. But his arms tighten even further, and his lips press against my damp hair.
"Your father didn't die because you failed him," he continues. "He died because medicine failed him. Because sometimes, no matter how much we know, how hard we work, how desperately we want to save someone, we can't."
"But I'm a doctor," I whisper, my voice breaking on the word. "That's supposed to mean something."
"It does." He cups my face, thumb brushing away a tear. "It means you have the courage to walk into rooms where people are scared and suffering, and instead of running away, you stay. You try. Even knowing you might lose."
I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me.
"Cheryl knew that," he says after a moment. "She knew the odds. Knew what was happening to her body. That's why she signed the DNR."
"I promised her I'd figure it out." The words taste like acid on my tongue.
"And you tried." Sebastian's voice is firm. "You gave her every ounce of knowledge and determination you had. That's all any doctor can do. All any person can do."
The bathwater has cooled slightly, but I barely notice. My breathing gradually steadies as I absorb his words. They don't take away the pain, don't erase the image of Cheryl's still face or my father's final breath. But they create a small space where forgiveness might someday live.
"How can I go back?" I finally ask. "After the way I left? I threw my badge at Henderson, Sebastian."
A laugh rumbles through his chest, surprising me. "I would have paid good money to see that."
"It's not funny," I protest, but I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward despite myself. "I completely lost it. In front of everyone. I'm sure Harper's already spread the story to the entire hospital. I'll be a joke. The doctor who couldn't handle a simple DNR."
Sebastian's arms tighten around me, muscles tensing before he relaxes again. "Harper's opinions aren't worth the oxygen he wastes expressing them."
"Still, how can I face them? After what I did?"
"We'll face it," he says without hesitation, "together."
Together. One word. One simple word, yet profound. It's not just about returning to the hospital, it's about whatever this is, whatever we're becoming to each other. About not being alone in the aftermath of destruction.
I need to see his face, to read the truth in his eyes.
Water sloshes against the porcelain sides as I reposition to face him.
My wet hair clings to my shoulders and back, heavy and cold now that it's exposed to the air.
Sebastian's face is more open than I've ever seen it, those dark eyes watching me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"You told me you cared about me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Showed me you cared. But why?"
Something shifts in his expression—the careful control giving way to vulnerability that makes my heart stutter. His jaw works for a moment, as if he's physically struggling to push words past some internal barrier.
"You make me want to be better, Mia," he finally admits, his hand coming up to brush wet strands from my face. "You challenge me and inspire me and drive me absolutely crazy all at the same time."
He pauses, swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. When he continues, his voice is softer, almost hesitant. "Because I think I'm falling for you. And that terrifies me more than anything."
My heart stops, then restarts with a painful flutter. The confession hangs in the steamy air between us, impossible to take back, impossible to ignore. Before I can formulate a response, find words for the emotions crashing through me, he continues.
"I know the timing is terrible," he says, thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. "I know you're grieving and confused and probably not ready to hear this, but I need you to know, to understand why I can't walk away, why I'll fight for you even when you won't fight for yourself."
The raw honesty in his voice leaves me breathless. Sebastian Walker—controlled, precise, guarded Sebastian—is laying himself bare for me, cracking open his chest to show me what's inside. And what's inside is... me.
"Sebastian." Emotion clogging my throat, his name is all I can manage.
"You don't have to say anything," he tells me, dropping his hand from my face. "I'm not asking for reciprocation. Just understanding."
But I can't let him retreat, can't let him think his feelings are one-sided. I cup his jaw, the day-old stubble there rough against my fingers.
"Do you think I'd be here if I wasn't falling for you too?" The words come out steadier than I feel, but they're true. So true they scare me.
"I don't know what happens next," I admit.
"I don't know if I can go back to the hospital, if I can be the doctor I thought I was.
But I do know that when everything fell apart, when I was drowning in grief and guilt, you were there.
You didn't try to fix me or tell me I was overreacting. You just... held me together."
My fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there gradually release. "And maybe that's what together means. Not that we'll never break, but that we won't have to pick up the pieces alone."
Sebastian's big hands frame my face. "I'm not good at this," he confesses, his voice rough. "At letting people in. At being... vulnerable."
"I've noticed," I say with a small smile.
"But I want to try. With you."
Water drips from my hair onto his chest as I lean forward to press my forehead against his. "Then we'll try together."
His lips find mine in a kiss that's so achingly sweet and filled with promise and possibilities of what’s to come.
When we finally separate, both breathing harder than before, Sebastian tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear. "The water's getting cold," he murmurs.
"I don't care," I whisper, sliding my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to him in the cooling bath. Because right now, in this moment, the only warmth I need is his.