Chapter 18 Damien
Chapter eighteen
Damien
One second my brother was barely conscious—foggy, disoriented, struggling to piece together the room around him. The next, his eyes flew wide, fixed on Candace with startling intensity.
"That's her," he rasped. His hand lifted from the bed—fingers reaching toward nothing. "That's the voice."
Candace froze. I watched confusion flicker across her face, her eyes darting to me, then my mother, then back to Sebastian waiting for someone to explain.
"I'm sorry?" She let out a nervous laugh. "I don't—"
"The angel." Sebastian hadn't looked away. "You were here. You were talking to me."
"Candace has been watching over you," I said, stepping closer to the bed. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm, the only sound in the sudden stillness.
Sebastian's brow furrowed, his gaze locked on Candace.
"She volunteered," I continued. "Sat with you for hours. Held your hand."
Candace shifted on her feet, uncertainty crossing her face. "It was nothing. Really. I just—"
"You talked to me." The words scraped out raw. "I remember."
The color drained from Candace's cheeks.
"I couldn't make out all of it," he continued, each word clearly costing him. "But I heard you. Your voice. You sounded..." He paused, searching for the word. "Sad."
Candace's throat bobbed. Tears gathered, her eyes darting between Sebastian and the door like a trapped animal calculating escape routes.
"I should go," she blurted, already stepping backward. "I don't want to intrude—"
"You're not intruding," my mother said gently.
But Candace was already retreating, her grin too bright, too brittle. "No, really. I've been here all day and you guys haven't seen him awake yet. This is your moment."
She grabbed her purse from the chair.
"Candace—" I started.
"Tell Emma I'll call her later." One pause. One last look at Sebastian. "I'm glad you're okay."
The door clicked shut behind her.
The room went quiet.
Sebastian stared at the door. His head fell back against the pillow, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
"What did I say?" he asked.
My mother smoothed the blanket over his chest, her touch feather-light. "Nothing, sweetheart. She's just overwhelmed. It's been a long day for everyone."
But Sebastian's brow creased, a shadow passing behind his eyes.
"She was crying. I remember that. She was crying and talking about..." He trailed off, face scrunching with the effort of recall. "Someone who hurt her. A man."
Garrett.
"How are you feeling?" my mother asked, already fussing—adjusting his blanket, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, her hands never still. "Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?"
"I'm okay, Mom." He caught her hand, stilling it against his chest. "Just tired."
"You scared us half to death." She tapped him lightly on the arm. "Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?"
A shadow crossed his face. "I know. I'm sorry."
"We don't have to talk about that now," I said quickly. The last thing he needed was guilt on top of everything else. "Just focus on getting better."
Sebastian caught my gaze. An understanding passed between us—an acknowledgment of all the conversations we'd eventually have to have. The hard ones. The ugly ones.
But not tonight.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"It's... it's been a while," I answered. Each day carved into memory.
Shock registered. "Jesus."
My mother launched into a recap of everything he'd missed—the merger, Emma, the weather, Mrs. Patterson's hip surgery two doors down. Sebastian listened with half-lidded eyes, occasionally humming acknowledgment, clearly fighting to stay present.
I let her talk. Let the normalcy of her rambling fill the room.
Footsteps echoed down the hall—quick and sharp. I knew the cadence before I saw her.
Emma appeared in the doorway, breathless. Her blouse was wrinkled, hair escaping from the twist she'd pinned it in this morning. She looked like she'd sprinted from the elevator.
Her eyes found mine first—a flash of unfinished business, the audit hanging between us like smoke. Then her focus shifted to the bed.
To Sebastian. Awake. Alive.
She braced against the doorframe.
"Oh thank god," she breathed.
"Emma." My mother rose, drawing her into a hug. "He's okay. He's okay."
I watched Emma's face over my mother's shoulder. Watched the tension in her start to crack. Tears threatened as she stepped back, pressing a hand to her mouth.
She turned to me. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here," she said, words thick. "The meeting ran long and I couldn't—"
"You're here now," I said, pulling her close.
The anger wasn't gone. Not entirely.
But seeing her here—part of this, part of us—I knew we'd survive it.
"So this is the famous Emma," Sebastian rasped.
She stepped back, wiping her eyes with a small laugh. "Famous?"
"Damien won't shut up about you." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Even when I was unconscious, apparently."
Emma glanced at me, eyebrow raised.
"I talked to him. The doctors said it might help."
"He told me you were beautiful." His gaze moved to Emma, assessing. "He undersold it."
My mother barked a laugh. "That's my boy. Already flirting."
"I'm not flirting," Sebastian protested, though his grin widened a fraction. "Just stating facts."
Emma's cheeks flushed. "Well. I can see the charm runs in the family."
"Unfortunately for you," I said, sliding an arm around her waist, "you're stuck with the less charming brother."
Sebastian snorted—then winced, hand flying to his side. "Don't make me laugh. Everything hurts."
"Sorry." I wasn't sorry at all. The sound of his laugh, even pained, was the best thing I'd heard in days.
My mother settled back into her chair, her hand covering Sebastian's again. The monitors marked the seconds. And for the first time since that phone call shattered our night, the room didn't feel like a place for grief anymore.
Emma leaned into my side, her hand slipping into mine.
"We still need to talk," she murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
"I know." I pressed a kiss to her temple. "But not tonight."
She nodded against my shoulder. For now, that was enough.