37. Luna
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LUNA
My hands clench and unclench as I watch him struggle. The nightmares won’t let him go.
Nico’s body shakes, and his breath is uneven. His face twists in a silent battle against whatever torment is pulling him under. Every few minutes, he mutters something, barely understandable, but the desperation in his voice is unmistakable.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay still even though every instinct tells me to do something. I glance toward the doctor; he’s watching Nico closely as the fever holds him hostage.
“Is this normal?” My voice is shaky, and I force myself not to break down in front of everyone.
The doctor fiddles with the screen, then answers.
“For what’s happening to him? Yes, his body’s just trying to manage all the stress.
” But he massages the back of his neck. He’s uneasy.
“If the fever doesn’t break soon, we might have to change our plan.
And quick.” My mind’s already racing, running through possibilities, through options.
Do I call in another team? A specialist? Someone with more resources? Would Nico even allow that if he were awake?
I grip the side of the chair, torn between what’s right and wrong. He’ll pull through. He has to, I try to convince myself. But watching him fight demons I can’t reach makes that belief harder to hold onto.
I’m relieved when I see Mateo step inside. His presence is a comfort to me because he genuinely cares about Nico. It’s not out of obligation either; it’s because he matters to him.
He looks at me, then back at Nico. “No change?”
I shake my head. “He’s burning up. Fighting something in his head—memories, maybe. Nightmares. I don’t know.”
He steps closer to Nico’s bedside, his gaze sweeping over him like he’s searching for something the doctors missed.
“I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should call in another specialist. Someone with more experience overseeing this kind of trauma.”
Mateo’s stare matches my own. “You think they could be doing more?”
I bite my lip, considering. “I don’t know. They say he’ll pull through, but watching him like this, I don’t want to take any chances.”
“If you think we need to call in someone else, say the word. I’ll take care of it.”
The relief should be immediate, but it isn’t. Because the truth is, I don’t know if bringing in someone else will change anything. I know I can’t just stand here and do nothing.
Antonio clears his throat and moves toward us. “You don’t need another team.” His tone is calm, but it’s laced with a sarcastic undertone. “I’m the best there is, and I get why staying quiet matters.”
There’s no hesitation in his gaze, or any reason to doubt him. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Anyone else will stir up trouble and ask too many questions. You need someone who is discreet and knows how to oversee this quietly. That’s me.”
Mateo scrutinizes him, then admits, “He’s right.”
Every instinct tells me to do more, to exhaust every possibility, but I know that exposure is a risk we can’t afford.
I glance back at Nico, the fever still holding him in its grip. “Then do whatever it takes.”
Antonio moves quickly, snapping on fresh gloves as he turns back to Nico. His movements are precise.
“We’re switching his antibiotic,” he says. “His body isn’t responding the way I’d like. We’ll clean the wound again, make sure there’s no underlying infection, then start the new course.”
I watch him carefully unwrap the bandages, revealing the injury beneath. The sight of it. The deep, angry wound, the swelling around the edges. It makes something tighten in my chest.
Mateo watches, and I see the hint of concern in his gaze.
The doctor doesn’t waste time. He cleans the wound thoroughly before applying a fresh dressing. “This should help stabilize him,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “We’ll check his response to the new medication. If it works, the fever should break soon.”
I inhale slowly, trying to catch my breath. “And if it doesn’t?”
Antonio meets my gaze. “Then we reassess.” I don’t like uncertainty. But I need to be patient and let the new medication do its job.
Watching Nico suffer through it, helpless, caught in nightmares, has worn me out. I’m exhausted, but I refuse to leave him.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Mateo. He hasn’t left. “I hate to bother you, but the women are getting restless with his presence down here. They need an update,” he says.
“I know. I just... I don’t think I can do it this minute.”
Being vulnerable is a curse I can’t afford, but I trust Mateo, and he doesn’t push.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep it simple, keep them calm.”
“Just make sure they know he’s stable. No unnecessary details.”
“You got it.”
I press my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of him there. I stare down at my husband, pale and still fighting like hell, and something inside me splits wide open.
I didn’t mean for this to happen.
There were days I thought about ending him. At night, I convinced myself I could.
But now?
Now I’m sitting here, praying he makes it through the night.
Somewhere between the arguments and the silence, the conflict and the fire, I fell for him.
Hard.
And now, watching him like this, I can’t pretend anymore.
I love him.
God help me, I love him.
The realization tightens my chest since I’ve spent years avoiding attachments, keeping my world carefully controlled, keeping people at arm’s length. Playing my part just to survive.
But now, here I am. Watching Nico fight for his life. And how I spent so long trying not to love him. Now I don’t know how to lose him.