Chapter 3
Chapter three
Emma
Damien took control of the room while I remained useless—unable to follow the medical language, unable to comfort Rosie the way I wanted to. If she'd been Candace, if we'd had years instead of minutes, I would have pulled her into my arms and let her fall apart there.
But I couldn't.
So instead, my gaze drifted to the man lying in the bed.
I picked apart the similarities between him and the others in the room. Both sons had Rosie's complexion, her dark hair, her coloring. But Damien and Sebastian shared a feature she didn't have—the same strong nose, slightly crooked at the bridge.
It came from him.
Their father. The one Damien hated.
Rosie's tears flowed freely once again, my presence no longer a distraction.
"Thank you, Dr. Jefferson," Damien said, shaking her hand.
"I'll add you as a primary contact to his file," she answered, updating the chart. "We'll give you a call if anything changes."
Then she was gone, off to the next person who needed saving.
Damien looked past me to the bed. I crossed the room to his side and wrapped my arms around him.
"He'll be okay," I whispered.
His arms tightened around me. Briefly, the machines faded. We held on to each other, everything else falling away.
By Sunday, the hospital hallways had worked their way under my skin—fluorescent buzz, sharp disinfectant. Damien and his mother barely left Sebastian's side all weekend, never sleeping, never stopping. I helped where I could—food, drinks, clean clothes—anything to feel useful.
The truth was, nothing I did would heal what was broken in that room.
Still, I learned things. Enough small pieces of their world that I could belong at the edges of it.
Damien had told the truth—Rosie did swear like a sailor. Another reason I was growing fond of the woman.
I'd learned about Sebastian, too. How he really did steal Damien's race cars and sell them for Popsicles when they were kids.
Now, as the hospital quieted and visitor hours neared their end, a different weight settled on my shoulders.
Tomorrow would be my first day at Falkirk headquarters.
And I wasn't the least bit prepared.
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
Candace's name lit up the screen, and I tensed.
She'd wanted to celebrate. Champagne, dinner, the works—a proper send-off for the contract signing, the merger, the total annihilation of Gregory Davidson. Weeks ago, I would have been right there with her, riding the high of everything we'd fought for.
But that was another life.
Sebastian's fall had swallowed the victory whole. The champagne sat unopened somewhere in my apartment. The reservation Candace made had come and gone. And every time she texted to check in, I'd given her the same hollow reassurances—I'm fine, just busy, we'll celebrate soon.
I swiped to answer.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself." Her voice was careful. "How's he doing?"
"About the same," I said, stepping into the hallway where the air cooled against my skin, so my voice wouldn't carry. "No changes."
"And the others?"
"They're okay. Or as close to it as they can be right now. Rosie's stopped crying as much. And Damien managed to eat lunch today, so that's something."
"That's good, at least," she said, though her voice didn't brighten at all.
I should have called more.
I'd barely checked in since she left Garrett. A few scattered texts. One rushed phone call between hospital runs. She was rebuilding her entire life, and I'd been too buried in someone else's crisis to show up for hers.
"How's the move going?" I asked.
"It's going," she said lightly. "Susan and Ava have been helping. I finally got cable hooked up, so that's a win."
"Candace, I'm sorry I haven't—"
"Stop." Her voice cut through. "You've had enough on your plate, Em. I'm a big girl. I can unpack boxes without supervision."
Her attempt at humor didn't hide the exhaustion in her tone.
"That's not the point."
"It's exactly the point. You're allowed to focus on Damien right now. I'm not going anywhere."
My voice thinned. "I feel like a shitty friend."
"Well, you're not. You're the furthest thing from it, actually. So knock it off."
A tired smile tugged at my mouth.
"I think Damien's going to try to bribe the nurse to spend the night again. Do you want to meet for drinks?"
"I'd love that."
An hour later, we slid onto stools at the best bar in town. Warm light pooled across polished wood, and low music thrummed beneath the clink of glasses. My way of apologizing—expensive drinks on me.
"What can I get you ladies?" A handsome bartender asked, his attention catching on Candace.
"An espresso martini, please," she said, leaning forward more than necessary, voice smoky.
He flashed a grin, eyes lingering one second longer before they slid to me. "And you?"
"Lemon drop, please."
"No problem." He hurried off, grabbing vodka from the shelf on his way.
I turned to face her. "Someone's feeling feisty, huh?"
She shrugged. "What can I say? It's been a while."
I laughed. "It's been like a week."
She shot me a look. "Yeah. Three days longer than my limit."
"You're ridiculous," I teased as the bartender slid our drinks in front of us. He tossed Candace a wink along with a folded piece of paper—his number, no doubt.
I licked the sugary rim before taking a sip. Liquor and citrus.
God, I needed this.
"So how have things been with you?" I asked.
Her face lit up—far too brightly. "They've been great. I bagged another sponsorship. Ten thousand dollars every month. All they asked was that I tag their product in every video I put out."
I whistled. "That's great! What's the product?"
"Something about dentures. I'm not really sure."
"Dentures?" I choked on my sip.
She giggled. "Yeah, they said I had great teeth."
"That's amazing," I said, clinking my glass against hers.
But the brightness didn't last. A shadow crossed her face, dimming the spark she tried to hold onto.
"Garrett texted me last night."
I stiffened. "No. What did he say?"
"That he was sorry. That he wanted to make things right." She traced the rim of her glass with a slow drag of her fingertip, not meeting my eyes. "That he's going to therapy."
I went cold. "Please tell me you didn't respond."
A long pause.
"Candace."
"I didn't let him come over," she said quickly. "I just... I texted back. That's all."
I breathed. Didn't react the way I wanted to—which was to grab her phone and block his number myself.
"What did you say?"
"That I needed time."
The words hung between us.
I wanted to scream. To shake her. To remind her of the fading yellow and green still clinging beneath her left eye.
But I didn't.
Because I'd read enough to know that pushing too hard would only push her back toward him.
"Okay," I said carefully. "And how do you feel about that?"
She let out a hollow laugh. "Like shit, honestly. I know what he did. I know what he is. But there's this stupid part of me that keeps remembering the good stuff. The way he used to look at me. The trips we took. The way he'd hold me after a bad day."
Her voice cracked.
"And then I hate myself for missing any of it." She downed the rest of her drink, hissing. "I'm pathetic."
"No." I reached for her hand, squeezing hard. "Leaving took more strength than most people will ever have to find. You're not weak for grieving what you thought it was."
Tears slipped free before she could catch them. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, laughing bitterly.
"God, I'm a mess."
"You're allowed to be."
She sniffled, grabbing a cocktail napkin and dabbing at her mascara. "When did you get so wise?"
"Damien." I shifted on my stool. "And a lot of screaming into pillows."
A wet laugh escaped her. "Maybe I should try that."
"Stay away from my man," I warned, teasing. "Although, I will loan you my favorite scream pillow. It's incredibly absorbent."
"The pink one you keep in your closet?"
My hand flew to my chest. "How did you know about Pinky?"
She grinned. "Anyway, you get to see your man every day now. Aren't you excited?"
"Not really. Nobody knows we're together. It's—" I paused, searching for the right word. "Complicated."
She arched a brow. "Complicated how?"
"Like, we-just-merged-our-companies-and-I'm-sleeping-with-my-new-boss complicated." I took a long sip. "If anyone finds out, it'll look like I traded Elion for a relationship. Everything we built—everything I built—gets reduced to pillow talk and favoritism."
Candace winced. "That's bleak."
"That's corporate America."
"So what's the plan? Pretend you hate each other? Secret hallway glances? Bathroom rendezvous?"
I nearly choked on my drink. "No bathroom rendezvous."
"Boring." She pouted. "What about a supply closet? Very retro."
"Candace."
"Fine, fine." She waved a hand. "But seriously—how long do you think you can keep it quiet?"
I stared at my glass, the lemon wedge floating at the bottom.
"I have no idea."
And that was the truth.
I drained the last of my lemon drop and set the glass down.
I'd figure it out the way I always did.
One step at a time.
Starting tomorrow. Whether I was ready or not.