32. Dominic
Dominic
“BP ninety over sixty. Pulse one fifty. We need another bag of blood.”
I shove into the room as people in scrubs dart around.
“We need to find the tear,” a woman says. “There’s a compromised artery.”
“Sir.” A man approaches me. “You cannot be in here.”
I settle my sights on Coen. Tubes and IVs and bags and monitors attached to him. Shit beeping at various rates. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be there. Not like this.
“We have to cauterize it or we’re going to lose him.”
The man grips my shoulders, and with the help of another bigger guy, they shove me out the way I came.
I burst into the room to get answers for June, but how am I supposed to tell her what I just heard? That if they don’t act quickly, her first love is going to die.
She hates me enough as it is, and now I have to give her that news.
If I would have come forward sooner, maybe none of this would have happened.
Why was I so fucking afraid to be honest with her when honesty might have been the only thing that could have saved us from this nightmare?
She was built for this. This life. This world. This fucking darkness.
I didn’t want it for her. Neither did Coen.
But now here she is, covered in multiple people’s blood and not for a second crumbling from the things she’s done.
Maybe she’s just in shock. The potential loss of Coen making her forget that she just brutally murdered a woman and shot numerous others to escape.
I should have known from the start. That moment when I was the one covered in blood, had just beaten her attacker in front of her, and instead of running out of there or shying away, she stepped forward and took my hand in hers.
She reached forward, pressing her palm along my crimson-speckled face, and did something I never expected. She fucking kissed me.
I was over twice her age. Had hardly spoken to her in the weeks I had been going into that bar.
There was an undeniable chemistry but I assumed it was just on my end.
I had put my brutality on display for her only for her to step into that darkness and embrace it.
I figured it was a one-off. That she was just being curious, that the thrill of it would wear off and she would come to her senses and realize how bad of a man I was.
But with each passing moment, she continued to defy the limits I had put on her.
She handled the truth then, why did I ever assume she couldn’t?
Maybe it was that deep seeded fear that eventually I would wake up and this would all be over. That if I kept her from the life that I could stop that from happening. I could prolong whatever time I had with her if I just separated her from the dark parts of my world.
But in doing so, I built a bridge and tore down the pieces before she could cross it with me. Here I am, standing in the rubble with no hope of ever getting back across.
I walk through the corridor of the hospital, with my head down, and turn into the waiting room.
June paces the small space but rushes over to me immediately. That tight little dress ripped to shreds and dried blood coating most of her exposed skin. “How is he? Is he okay? Where is he? Can I see him?”
I swallow and put on my best face. “He’s in surgery.” I meet her gaze. “We should know something soon.”
“No.” June rocks her head back and forth. “I know that look, Dominic. What aren’t you telling me?” She tilts her head to look around me. “I want to see him. Now.”
“They kicked me out of the room, June.” I drag my hand over my beard. “The bullet hit an artery. They’re doing what they can to find the tear and patch him up.” I choose honesty because anything else will only make the situation worse.
June’s eyes glisten as new tears form. “That’s…that’s bad. The mortality rate is…”
I place my hand on her shoulder. “You can’t think like that, June. Not now. He needs you to be strong.”
“Strong?” She shoves me off of her. “That’s all I have been, Dominic.
And where the fuck has that gotten me.” June pokes her hand into my chest. “This is your fault.” She shoves me harder.
“You did this. With your lies. Your secrets.
" She balls her hand into a fist and slams it into me.
"If Coen dies, this is your fault.” She hits me with her other fist. “Do you hear me?” June sobs and pounds her fists against my chest. “Your fault.”
I wrap my arms around her and she collapses into me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “You’re right. Every word of it.
” I hold onto her and hug her for what might be the last time.
Because even if Coen doesn’t die, the damage has already been done, and there is no coming back from what I have put her through.
"Love," Simon approaches and peels June from my chest. He drags her into his arms. "Come on. Let's take a walk. You and me." He offers me a sympathetic glance but it does nothing to soothe the aching in my chest.
Magnus bursts into the waiting room and frantically looks around before rushing over to June. He plants his hands on her cheeks and tilts her face up toward him. “You’re okay.”
But she shakes her head. June might be uninjured, but she is the furthest thing from okay.
And it is my fault.
I glance over at Johnny and Claire who sit in the corner of the room, quietly chatting between them, their hands interlocked together. If it weren’t for those two getting to that fucking house, I’m not so sure any of us would be standing here right now.
I once questioned whether he had what it took or not, but I was wrong about him, too.
I was wrong about Johnny. About June. About Simon. I was wrong about everything.
And maybe I was wrong to think I would be the best fit for running this organization. Maybe I was overzealous and foolish to assume I had what it took.
Because being here, watching June hate me, and Coen dancing so close to death—I want none of it.
My whole life has been me working toward gaining that position, but I’d trade it all in a heartbeat to fix any of this.
To make her hate me any less. To be the man that she deserves.
But that ship sailed a long fucking time ago, and if I give up the throne, I give up the only remaining thing that I still have.
I will lose her. I will lose Coen and Magnus, and the alliance I had with Simon.
My heart, my soul, my fucking humanity. It will be gone and the only thing that will be left is a shell of a man.
Minutes pass. They turn into an hour. Maybe two. We take turns pacing the room.
June gravitates toward Magnus and Simon, and sometimes joins Johnny and Claire. She avoids me at all costs, and I don't blame her. I hate myself, too.
Alec arrives at some point to tell us he got Cora home safely. Tells us that she was worried about everyone leaving but that she had a good time. He brought a change of clothes for June, who despite wearing something a little less revealing, is still covered in someone else’s blood.
Bram must have been notified, because he shows up, too. Carlos, his cook, at his side with two big bags of food and a vat of coffee.
June rushes over to Bram and buries her face in his chest.
He doesn’t pay any mind to the blood and hugs her, muttering something as he makes small circles with his hands on her back.
I've never felt more like an outsider than I do at this moment. Like I'm not even here, just a fly on the fucking wall.
More minutes pass. Simon persuades June to take a few bites of a sandwich. She nestles a cup of coffee in her grasp, her knees pulled up to her chest in her chair. She periodically takes sips of the coffee and stares blankly ahead.
Magnus and Simon take turns trying to comfort her, then break off to have a conversation of their own before returning to her side.
Finally, after what feels like a fuckin eternity, the door opens again. Only this time, it’s a man dressed in hospital attire and a clipboard in his grasp. He lowers the face mask and glances around the room, unsure of who he’s supposed to focus on.
June rises to her feet and stares directly at this man like he holds all the answers to the universe.
Because to her, he does. Coen was her first love. And he is her universe.
Even if he’s been a royal fucking prick to her lately.
But how can I fault him when I have been no better?
I hold my breath and wait for him to speak, to say anything to let us know if Coen survived.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting. The surgery took much longer than we expected," he explains.
"The damage was more extensive once we opened him up.
But we were able to successfully repair what had been done.
Mr. Hayes has a long road of recovery ahead of him, and he's still not out of the woods yet. "
“But, he’s…alive?” June manages to mutter.
The surgeon nods. “Yes, he’s in critical but stable condition.”
“Can I see him?” Silent tears roll down June’s cheeks, and I ache to reach out and wipe them away.
Magnus goes to her side and puts his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight and keeping her legs from buckling out from under her.
“He’s being transferred from surgery now. You can visit him in about an hour. But not all of you.” He shifts his gaze around the room. “Only one until he’s more stable.”
But it doesn’t matter. One person is enough.
I let out a breath of relief and when the surgeon has left and June is buried in the chest of a better man than me, I leave the room. I am not wanted here, and now that I know Coen is going to survive, I will distance myself from putting June through any more unnecessary torment.
Walking away is the best—and only—thing I can do for her.