25. Hailee
Chapter twenty-five
Hailee
“W hat’s wrong?” Beth frowns as she looks between us. It’s one in the morning—no wonder she’s alarmed to find me pounding on her door like a madwoman.
“You’re getting a new heart,” I announce. It takes a second for the gravity of it to sink in, but when it does, her face lights up with a radiant smile that could rival the sun.
“Hell, yeah! About time!” She pumps her fist in the air.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the hospital—Beth’s bag has long been packed in preparation for this moment. A flurry of activity begins as soon as we step through the doors. We’re whisked from one specialist to another—the cardiologist, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist—each one briefing us on their role in the procedure ahead. The nurses bustle around us, preparing Beth for surgery with quiet efficiency. Everything moves so quickly that I don’t get a chance to fully process the enormity of what’s happening. Or check in with Beth.
Dameon’s steady presence by my side is a relief as we navigate the flood of information. True to his word, everything outlined in the contract has transpired seamlessly. The team of professionals he has arranged for Beth’s surgery are nothing short of exceptional, and I know she’s in safe hands.
Before they wheel her away, I’m granted a quiet moment alone with my sister.
“How are you feeling, Betty Boo?” I gently sweep back a stand of hair from her forehead.
“You know I hate that name,” she grumbles.
“Alright, alright, poo brain, chill out,” I tease, holding my palms up. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”
“I’m good. I’m ready.” She nods with determination, her gaze steady.
“Are you sure? It’s okay to feel scared or nervous.”
“No, seriously, I’m good. We’ve been waiting forever for this, and now that it’s finally here, I’m just… relieved.” She blows out a deep breath.
“You’re in good hands. And you’ll come out of this bigger, better, faster, and stronger,” I assure her.
“I don’t want to be bigger,” she retorts, frowning.
“Okay, wrong choice of words. Not bigger. Better, faster, and stronger, though. You know what I mean.”
“I do.” She squeezes my arm, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I love you very much, and I’ll see you on the other side.”
“What?!” she splutters.
My eyes widen. “The other side of surgery! Not the other side of the tunnel. Just don’t go toward the light,” I add hastily.
“God, you suck at pep talks,” she laughs, shaking her head.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m doing my best!” I say, wincing.
A nurse pops her head around the door. “We’re ready for you now, Beth,” she announces softly.
“Let’s do this,” Beth says, her voice clear and sure.
The nurse fusses around the bed, preparing to wheel Beth to the operating room. Before she goes, I lean down and place a tender kiss on her forehead, silently conveying all the love and support I can muster into the press of my lips. I follow them out of the room and join Dameon in the corridor. He wishes Beth luck with a wink before she disappears behind the double doors of the operating theater.
With a heavy heart, I stare at the doors for a beat longer. All I can do now is trust the skilled hands of the medical team, knowing they will bring her back to me. They have to.
***
The one constant in life, the bedrock upon which everything else rests, is time. It moves forward steadily, indifferent to our desires or fears. Every second passes without fail, an unyielding march toward an unknown future. We know and accept that time moves forward, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, reverse it, or change it. Each tick of the clock repeats at the same pulse forever.
Yet, despite its unwavering nature, time has a peculiar way of bending and warping depending on the circumstances. On vacation, having the time of your life? It slips through your fingers like grains of sand, each day blending seamlessly into the next.
But in the sterile confines of a hospital, waiting for news that could alter the course of your life? It slows to a crawl; the second hand of the clock drags around the face. Each passing moment stretches out into an eternity of anticipation and anxiety. I’m convinced time doesn’t just stand still here; it goes backward. I would know, as I’ve been staring at the clock relentlessly, willing it to go faster. And I could have sworn at one point that I saw the second hand hesitate, faltering in its forward momentum before flickering backward. I’ve even entertained the notion that the clock itself might be faulty. I’m on the verge of lodging a complaint with the nurse. But I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Time will do that to you. Maybe I simply need another cup of coffee to jolt me back to reality.
It’s been six hours, thirty-eight minutes, and twenty-two seconds. No, twenty-three seconds. But it feels like it’s been days.
“I’m going to get a coffee. Want one?” I announce, springing up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and shooting a silent fuck you at the clock.
“I’ll get it,” Dameon offers, pocketing his phone.
I wave him off. “I could do with a walk. If I don’t focus on something else, I’m going to murder that clock.”
He arches his eyebrows, silently questioning my sanity.
Don’t worry, so am I.
I’ve annoyed everyone at the nurses’ station by repeatedly asking for updates. Dameon eventually intervened, threatening to restrain me to the chair with the bondage rope he keeps in the car if I asked again. And I know it wasn’t an idle threat. He would do it. So I bypass the nurses’ station without pausing to study their expressions for any hint of what’s happening. Why it’s taking so long.
I will my feet to keep moving until I spot Dr. Sanchez emerging through those double doors. His head swivels, searching for me amid the oppressive silence of the waiting room. His expression is stoic, and I can’t get a read. Without hesitation, I jog up to him, unwilling to wait another second.
“Any news? Is she okay?” I blurt out.
“Beth is doing really well.” His calm voice is a welcome relief. “The surgery was a success; it was a routine procedure, and we didn’t encounter any complications.”
“Oh, thank God!” I exclaim, my hand flying to my chest. The relief and tension drain from my body, leaving me feeling nothing but exhaustion. I’m too spent to even muster up excitement or happiness for Beth. Dameon appears behind me and enfolds me into his chest. His arms support my frame just as my knees threaten to collapse beneath me.
“She will be moved into ICU for a few days before transitioning back to her room in the ward for a couple of weeks to recover,” Dr. Sanchez explains. “She’ll feel brand-new in six months. But as you know, the risk of organ rejection is high during the first year, so we’ll need to monitor her closely. But Beth’s a fighter.” He squeezes my shoulder, offering a kind smile.
“Thank you, Doctor,” I manage to say before he makes his way toward the nurses’ station. Dameon gently turns me around in his arms and cradles my head, his comforting presence a balm to my frazzled nerves.
“Look at me. Beth is going to be fine. Just breathe… I’ve got you,” he soothes. “In this moment, nothing else matters.”
He’s right. Beth’s health is paramount right now. But his acknowledgment of that fact, and his willingness to put his own needs aside for the time being, means the world. Dameon’s been nothing but kind, attentive, and supportive. Every touch, every caress, feels intimate. He presses his lips to mine, and in that simple act, I find solace.
I’m fucked.
Every fiber of my being is screaming that this is real. There’s no aspect that feels transactional anymore. I can no longer mask this feeling as ignorant bliss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, neither in a relationship nor with a client. Our connection runs soul deep.
I’m so fucked.
“Hailee, Beth is settled in ICU if you want to see her now?” One of the nurses interrupts my inner freak-out.
“Go, I’ll wait for you out here,” Dameon says.
“Thank you,” I reply softly, pulling away from his embrace and following the nurse into the ICU. As I walk away, the weight of everything hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’m beyond fucked.
***
“Gin,” I declare, tossing my cards onto the bed.
“God, you suck! How do you keep on winning?”
“No, you suck. That’s how.”
“Whatever.” Beth rolls her eyes.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I shrug.
“Please don’t ever say that again,” she says flatly, and we both burst into laughter.
Beth throws her cards on the bed and I gather them up, shuffling. I glance at the time. It feels like we’ve been playing cards for hours, but it’s only been forty minutes. The clock and I are now mortal enemies, locked in a battle of wills over the passage of time.
“How long is this going to take?” she whines.
“Patience, Beth. We’ve been here for four weeks; another hour isn’t going to make a difference.”
Beth is being discharged today, and we’re waiting on the doctor for final sign-off. Every time someone walks past our door, our heads snap up in hope that it’s Dr. Sanchez.
We’re itching to get out of here. What was supposed to be a two-week recovery ended up stretching to four weeks after she became seriously ill with a nasty infection, thanks to her compromised immune system. It was terrifying to watch her weakened body struggle to combat the infection. At one point they were even considering moving her back into ICU, but she made a turn for the better just in time.
I’ve stayed by her side the whole time, only leaving to shower, change, and bring back more of her things. My back is completely messed up from sleeping on the pull-out bed. The mattress is so thin, the springs poked through. But it was a small price to pay to stay with her. After I spent the first night awkwardly sleeping on the visitor’s chair, Dameon demanded the hospital provide a bed for me. I wasn’t going to complain about the lousy trundle bed; if I had, he would have arranged for a proper bed with a full-size mattress to be brought in and installed.
Dameon has been incredible throughout Beth’s recovery. He visits us every day, even though he’s swamped with work, and spends hours by our side. He brings us food, despite the fact we’re easily able to order Uber Eats ourselves when the hospital meals don’t cut it. He’s been my backbone, my rock. And with each passing day, I find myself falling a little bit harder. There’s no stopping it now; it’s a runaway train.
With all this time on my hands, I’ve had ample opportunity to scrutinize my feelings for him. My days have revolved around Beth, assisting her with everything from showers to walks to boosting her spirits with Big Macs when she turns her nose up at the hospital stew. We’ve passed the time playing cards, watching TV, and reading books together. But during the quiet moments, especially at night when the loud noises of the ward kept me awake, my mind would wonder, and my thoughts would inevitably drift to Dameon.
What would have happened if we hadn’t met at Eden, but under different circumstances? What would our life be like if we had crossed paths in a random café instead? I’ve wrestled with the question of whether to tell him how I feel and if so, when to do it. Should I speak up now, or wait until our contract is over? And then there’s the nagging doubt—does he feel the same way? Though I’m fairly sure he does, there’s always that lingering uncertainty. Would he even want to date me for real, knowing my profession? Or has he been too scarred by his past relationship to open himself up to vulnerability again?
And then there’s Mark, the inevitable shadow looming over everything. How on earth am I going to explain what I’ve done? It’s a conversation I know I need to have, and I don’t intend to keep it hidden forever. Once Beth is fully recovered, at the six-month mark, I’ll tell him everything. Including my feelings. By then there won’t be much of the contract left, and I can only hope I haven’t waited too long and missed my opportunity.
“What’s taking sooo long?!” Beth groans.
“Let’s play another game. Poker this time,” I suggest, trying to placate her. I shuffle the cards and deal them out.
A few moments later, Dr. Sanchez waltzes through the door, and both Beth and I throw our hands up in the air, cheering. The cards fall down around us like autumn leaves, and his cheeks tint pink at our dramatic response to this entrance.
“I hear you ladies want to get out of here.” He smiles.
“Damn straight, a month here is a month too long.” Beth’s already grabbing her bag, ready to make a run for it.
“I totally understand. Please remember everything we’ve told you and take it easy, as your body is still recovering. I’ll schedule a follow-up for you in a couple of weeks,” he adds, handing me the discharge paperwork. We thank the doctor, and with the paperwork in hand, we’re ready to leave this place behind for good.
Dameon is waiting for us at the entrance with his Porsche SUV. He insisted on driving himself to pick us up. Leaning against the car, he looks devastatingly handsome in his dark suit, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands in his pockets. When he spots us, his dimples appear, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hi, gorgeous.” Dameon greets me with a peck on the lips. His endearment is cute but I feel far from gorgeous. In fact, I feel more like a grotesque troll with matted, oily hair, frumpy clothes, and the stench of hospital clinging to my pores—a lovely combination of bleach and death.
“Welcome home, Beth,” he says, helping her into the backseat of the car.
“Let’s get this show on the road. I want my own bed, and I want my own space. This one has been up my ass for weeks.” She jerks her chin at me.
He chuckles, and that sound does delicious things to my neglected core.
“Didn’t I tell you?” I tease as I slide into the front passenger seat while Dameon takes the wheel. “I’m coming to stay in your apartment to help look after you.” Dameon visibly stiffens.
“What?” Beth gasps. “Hell, no!”
“Relax, I’m joking,” I assure them both, laughing. I squeeze Dameon’s thigh and shoot him a playful wink.