Chapter 38 The Quest
THE QUEST
EMERY
There are many different types of love. There’s love that hurts you, that teaches you a lesson.
A love that brands you with bad decisions and regrets, sizzling your skin, marking you for life.
There’s love that heals you, that soothes your shattered soul.
A love that binds together all that has fallen apart, that mends each piece with precision and care until every ounce of agony is stripped and buried and gone.
And then there’s love that fights, that moves mountains and oceans to ensure your safety, your survival, your happiness. A love that’s selfless, a love that transcends all logic and reason. A love that battles the hands of fate. A love that breathes life into your body.
A love that would give its last breath to you.
When I was young, I would climb into the tub, and lower myself down. I would plug my nose and submerge myself under the water. I’d hold my breath. And I’d wait.
How long would it take for my survival instincts to kick in? Would my body naturally know that it was in danger? Would my brain command my limbs, my muscles, my heart to fight? Would I fight for life? Or would I give up?
I never gave up.
Even on the darkest days when I saw no future, when the path to joy and light was muddled with complex uncertainties, with unwillingness to believe it would all get better, I never gave up.
Every time, I’d emerge from the water, gasping for air, my lungs angry and crying but so fucking grateful to hold hands once again with oxygen.
There was something inside of me, a voice, a whisper, a hopeful static that buzzed in my ear. While the entire world was screaming at me to give up, to give in, to put myself out of my existential misery, this tiny hum of faith cut through the noise.
And I breathed.
I owe my life to that hum. To that whisper.
And so does Damon.
I stare at the heart monitor, unable to look away.
It’s quiet at first, a low murmur.
But it grows. Like a crescendo of the most powerful, most world-defying symphony the universe has ever heard. It’s a song of longing, a song of resilience, a song of fight. My pulse matches its beautiful cadence, each glorious beep.
He didn’t give up. He listened to the whispers.
He fought.
Quin expels ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the hospital blanket as he leans back on his heels, gaze glued to Damon’s open eyes.
The room is silent. Not a word. Not a sound. Jaws dropped. Faces pale. Bodies rigid and tense.
Damon blinks, disorientated as he swallows.
“I—” His voice is raw, hoarse, and oh so fucking mesmerizing.
“I knew you liked me, Q.” My nose tingles, tears welling up in my eyes as a smile, a cheeky little grin clips Damon’s lips.
His gaze flutters up to Quin’s shocked features.
“But I never thought I’d see the day you’d be straddling me. ”
I gasp, springing out of the wheelchair as I stumble toward him. Quinton doesn’t move, frozen in place as I throw myself into Damon’s chest, weeping.
“Oh my God.” I fist his hospital gown, fingers locked and fearful that it’s all a dream, an illusion. “Oh my God.”
But then he touches me. His hot, large palm finds the back of my head, his lips pressed against my temple—soft, heavenly, real.
“I opened the door,” he whispers into my messy hair, his hold on me tightening. “I opened it, Em.”
I sniffle, pulling away, frantically scanning his face as confusion captures my features. “What door?”
He smiles at me, a secret on the tip of his tongue. His expression softens, his chest rising as he breathes. He’s breathing. There’s air in his lungs, there’s blood in his veins, and his heart is pumping life through his body.
“Damon…” Quin releases a long, heavy sigh, and we both look up at him.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, shadows of tears stained on his cheeks.
“Now that you’re alive…” His eyes darken, snapping down.
“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Damon frowns but has no time to speak.
Quin growls, “A DNR?! Are you fucking kidding me? I swear to God, Damon, I’ll—”
Damon blinks, and for the first time, glances around the room at all the bodies surrounding us. Doctors. Nurses. Security guards. Javier. Josephine.
“I don’t…” It hits him like a bolt of lightning, and he gasps. “Oh.” His brows knit together, gaze flitting to his power of attorney duo. “You didn’t…”
Josephine and Javier both blanch, shame shrinking their posture. “I am so sorry, mi cielo,” Josie blubbers, her fragile frame vibrating and on the cusp of collapsing.
“Damon,” Javier hesitates before taking a step forward, his shoulders tight and square. “We did not—”
“You…” Damon looks up at Quinton, expression contorted into profound understanding. “You saved me?”
Quin swallows, slowly climbing off Damon’s bed. He straightens out his slacks, adjusting his wrinkled shirt as he glares down at him. “If you do anything this stupid ever again, Damon, like I said, I will kill you.”
Quin turns on his heel, but before he’s able to take a step, Damon reaches out, grabbing his hand.
“I love you, brother,” Damon whispers, swallowing. “And I’m sorry. I’m-I’m so fucking sorry.”
Quin glances down at Damon’s grasp and closes his eyes, giving him a strong, binding squeeze. It’s a small gesture but it’s loud. “Welcome home, brother.”
My lip quivers as the doctors sheepishly announce they need to check Damon’s vitals and run tests.
But I see it. I feel it. Right here. At this moment. A love that fights.
It’s the greatest love of all.
It feels as though he’ll be apologizing for the rest of his life. But there’s no need. There’s nothing to forgive. There’s nothing to pardon or excuse.
History can never be changed. It happened. It’s done. It’s in the past. But he’s here—alive, talking, begging, hoping for absolution.
But it’s been granted. From us. From them. And hopefully soon, from himself.
The warm hues of the pink and purple sunset filter into Damon’s hospital room, and I thank the stars and the sun and the moon that fresh starts and new beginnings are promised to us every day.
“I’m so sorry, Emery.” Damon squeezes my hand. “I’m so fucking sorry. I—”
“Enough.” I bring his knuckles to my lips, kissing his scars away. “No more, okay?”
Damon swallows, glancing at Quin. “I’m—”
Quin sighs, resting his forearm on Damon’s bed. “If you say sorry one more time, mate, we’re going to have to wire that jaw shut.”
Damon shakes his head, his voice rough and breaking. “I hurt you both. I…”
“You’re here, Damon,” I say, stroking his dark, tousled hair. “That’s all that matters now.” I place a hand over my stomach, smiling. “He’s kicking. Do you want to feel it?”
“It’s a boy?” Damon’s hand shakes, unsteady and afraid as I stand up and position myself in front of him.
“Mhmm.” I cover his hand with my own, guiding him to the sweet spot that won’t stop fluttering. “Can you feel him, Damon? Can you feel your son?”
“My son,” he breathes. His gaze dances between Quin and me as he says hello to our child. “Our son.”
A gentle knock sounds from the door, and a young, timid voice calls out. “May we please come in mister Ca—”
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” a mature voice adds. “It’s Mr. Cavanaugh.”
We turn our attention to the threshold. A man and a woman step in, their three children trailing behind them. The three young boys, all red-haired and freckled, stare at me…smiling.
"Hello," the man says. "I'm sorry to intrude, but we had to come. We had to thank you."
Quin shoots me a curious side eye, and I return it.
The woman steps forward, a hand over her heart. "You saved us, Mr. Cavanaugh," she says, trembling. “We wouldn't be here if it weren’t for you. What you did..."
Damon blinks, lungs expanding as we collectively connect the dots. "I-I just wanted to help.”
The man nods. "You did more than help. You saved our lives."
The three boys, who were standing quietly with their hands behind their backs, suddenly step forward. The tallest one, the eldest I think, clears his throat, and says, nervously, "Mr. Cavanaugh, we...we made these for you."
Damon blinks. "What is it?"
Timidly, the boys bring their hands forward, each holding out a drawing. My heart melts as they slowly approach Damon’s hospital bed and show him the pictures they drew.
Damon's eyes widen as he takes the drawings. The first one shows him as a superhero, complete with a cape and a big "D" on his chest. The second is him as a knight on a horse, wielding a sword. The last one shows Damon as an angel, wings spread wide and a halo above his head.
"You're our hero," the eldest boy whispers. "Thank you for being so brave."
Damon’s eyes well with tears as he looks at the pictures. "I don't know what to say. Thank you. These are... These are amazing."
The boys beam with pride, and their parents smile at Damon with so much gratitude I can feel it in my bones.
Quin and I look at each other, both of us on the verge of crying from witnessing, what I imagine will be, one of the most profound moments in Damon’s life.
My gaze drift down to Damon, and I see the man I fell in love with.
A man who battled his demons and won. A man who doesn’t need forgiveness.
A man who conquered his fears. A man that came back.
A man that won’t run. Not anymore. Not from fear. Not from danger.
A man that is brave. A man that’s not a monster.
A man who was never truly a monster.
Damon’s trembling hand reaches out to gently trace each drawing, slowly, almost as if he’s worried it’s all an illusion. But it’s not. This is real. This is life. It’s messy and sad and heartbreaking, but it’s also beautiful. The light inside his soul, is beautiful.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Cavanaugh,” the mother says. “Don’t ever doubt that.” She smiles at the three of us. “We’ll let you get some rest now. Boys?”
The boys run over, waving goodbye to Damon as the family leaves the hospital room, but their words, their appreciation, will stay with us forever.
Damon stares at the drawings for several minutes before handing one to me and Quin.
“Here.” He places the angel in my hand. “This one’s for you, Emery. Because you’re an angel. Because you saved me from myself. Because you never lost faith in me.” He glances at Quinton. “And you.” He smirks. “I guess you’re my hero, aren’t you? Super Quin.”
Quin grins, tracing the crayon drawing with his finger. “A bit lanky for my taste, but I accept.”
Damon expels a calming breath. “I’ll keep the knight.”
“Why the knight?” I ask, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Because…” He presses his lips to my forehead, gentle and tender. “Because no one is born a knight. It’s earned.”
The path to acceptance, to forgiveness, is never linear. It’s complex and difficult and can take years to complete. But no matter the conditions, no matter how treacherous the roads may be, peace and redemption await those who are brave enough to make the trek.
Damon’s reached his destination. He’s made it. I truly believe that he’s made it.
And so I ask, hopeful and confident, “Have you earned it, Damon?”
He doesn’t hesitate. Not this time. Not anymore. There’s no doubt. There’s no uncertainty. He feels it. He knows it. The words are strong on his tongue. Unwavering. Full of beautiful conviction.
“I have.”
And so have I. And so has Quin.
Our quests were different, but we arrived.
All of us. Together. United. A union.
Whole. Healed.
Home.