Chapter 30 #2
I scrub a hand down my face, exhaustion and guilt bleeding together until I can’t tell where one ends, and the other begins. “She’s furious. Because of yesterday and how I ended it. Because she thinks I didn’t protect Ivy.”
Julian doesn’t contradict me.
“I love her,” I murmur, the truth tearing loose before I can stop it. “I love her, Julian.”
He meets my gaze without hesitation. “I know.”
The word lands harder than I expect. “What do you mean, you know?”
Julian lets out a short breath, almost incredulous. “Any idiot could see you’re madly in love with her.”
“And I might never get the chance to tell her,” I croak.
Julian steps closer, his voice firm now, grounding. “Don’t go there. Not yet. That kind of thinking won’t help anyone.”
He rests a hand briefly on the edge of the desk. “Focus on what you can do. We’ll find her, and when we do, you’ll deal with everything else.”
I nod, even though my chest still feels caved in by fear.
I don’t know how long we wait. Minutes stretch into something unrecognizable until time stops meaning anything at all.
It could be hours. It could be years. It feels like punishment, like the universe has decided going through it once wasn’t enough.
Eventually, I stand and move to the window, like I’ll find the answer I’m looking for there.
The office is wrecked—papers scattered across the floor, a chair tipped on its side—but I barely see it. I’m standing at the window, palms pressed to the glass as if that might keep me upright, when there’s a soft knock.
Julian doesn’t tell her to come in. She steps inside anyway, headset still looped around her neck. She looks at Julian first, not me, and something in her expression makes my stomach pitch.
“I’ve confirmed an admission,” she says. “Ivy Vale. She was brought in early this morning.”
My heart stops.
Julian straightens slowly. “Where?”
“St. Catherine’s,” she replies. “ER intake after a motor vehicle collision. They won’t release condition details without next of kin consent, but—” She hesitates, just a fraction. “She’s alive.”
Alive.
The word lands like both a blow and a lifeline. My knees weaken, and I grab the edge of the desk to keep from folding in on myself. Alive doesn’t mean okay. Alive doesn’t mean awake. Alive doesn’t mean untouched.
“Thank you,” Julian says to his PA. “Keep the line open. If anything changes, I want to know immediately.”
She nods and slips out, closing the door softly behind her.
I’m already reaching for my jacket.
“Dane,” Julian says, but there’s no reprimand this time—only understanding.
“I know,” I rasp. “I’m going.”
Alive.
It’s the only thing keeping me on my feet.
I don’t remember the drive. I sit in the back, useless hands clenched into fists. Every red light is agony. Every second stolen. My phone is silent in my palm no matter how many times I refresh the screen.
“Faster,” I say to Kent, who obeys without question, weaving in and out of traffic like his life depends on it.
The hospital looms out of the rain, my only silver lining. Last time I was in this situation, they didn’t even make it to the hospital, and I’ll take any small mercy I can right now.
My heart is in my mouth as I push through the entrance. I give Ivy’s name at the front desk, my voice sounding wrong in my own ears. I analyze the nurse’s face as she checks the screen, terrified to see something I won’t like, but she remains impassive, looking up at me with polite distance.
“She’s in observation. Family only at the moment.”
“I-I,” I say, hesitating long enough for her to doubt me. “I’m her partner.”
Or I was before I fucked it up.
She shakes her head. “You’ll have to wait outside the ward. It’s on level three.”
I sit outside the ward, on a hard plastic chair, the closed double doors before me a monument to my stupidity. Every time the door swings open, my heart kicks violently. A vending machine hums somewhere behind me, the sound needling my nerves.
A nurse passes. Then a porter with an empty gurney. Not her.
Minutes drag. Or hours. Time has no edges here, just the soft churn of waiting rooms and the indistinct murmur of voices drifting from behind the glass.
Eventually, the door swings open, and Sloane comes out with Jennie beside her. I’m on my feet before I’ve realized I’ve moved.
They both look wrecked in different ways. Jennie’s face is thick with grief, mascara-streaked tears still fresh on her face. But Sloane’s expression carries a hint of relief. At least now she’ll look at me. Earlier, she could barely meet my eyes.
“She’s stable,” Sloane says immediately.
The air rushes back to my lungs so fast it almost hurts.
“She has a concussion,” she continues. “And significant chest wall bruising and muscle strain. They said the pain can feel worse than a break, but it’ll heal faster. They’re keeping her overnight for observation. They sedated her because of the crash trauma, so she is sleeping.”
I swallow. “Can I see her... please?”
Sloane hesitates.
Then, quietly, she admits, “She asked for you.”
The words land harder than anything else she’s said.
My chest tightens. “When?”
“When she was half-awake. She didn’t even open her eyes properly.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
“I have to pick up Elsie, and I’ll take Jennie home. You can go in, but don’t try to wake her yet.”
I don’t wait a second longer. I push through the doors before I lose my nerve.
The second my eyes land on her, it hits me harder than I expect. How hopelessly in love I am. How close I came to throwing it all away. How utterly broken I’d be if today had ended differently.
Even if she never wants to see me again, I can live with that. I can live with anything as long as she’s okay. There are some things you can’t come back from. Losing Ivy would be one of them.
She looks smaller in the bed than she should, dark hair swallowed by white sheets, monitors beeping softly beside her.
There’s a bruise on her temple, darker than it has any right to be.
I swallow back a fresh stab of guilt. Ivy told me she loved me, and I dismissed her callously.
If fate had worked differently, that could have been her last memory of me.
“Ivy,” I say, voice soft, almost like I’m dreaming.
Her lashes flutter but don’t lift, like she recognizes the sound of me.
I sit and take her hand. It’s warm. Solid. Fucking alive.
“Ivy, I’m here,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m not sure how long I stay like that—long enough for my heart rate to slow to match hers.
I have to physically drag myself back when Sloane reappears with Elsie holding her hand, small and solemn, clutching a drawing she must have made for Ivy.
“Everything okay?” Sloane asks, shock and fear still knitted into her brow.
“Yeah. No changes,” I say, rising. “I’ll give you some time.”
“Who are you?” Elsie asks, eyes wide and curious. With her dark hair and big blue eyes, she looks so similar to Sloane and Ivy.
I crouch so we’re at eye level.
“I’m Dane.”
“Elsie, this is my boss, Mr. Black.”
Elsie looks me up and down with frank appraisal, her head tipping slightly to one side.
“Oh,” Elsie says, a shy smile curving her mouth.
“Are you here to see Auntie Ivy?”
“I am.”
“Is that because you’re a doctor?” She asks. “Ivy said you were a doctor.”
“No,” Sloane says quickly, smiling despite herself. “He’s not a doctor.”
Elsie frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Because Ivy used to call you Dr. Ev..”
“Elsie!” Sloane cuts in, color flooding her cheeks.
For the first time today, a smile finds my face.
“She did, huh?” I say, amusement threading through the tension. “That sounds like something Ivy would say.”
Elsie brightens, pleased she hasn’t done anything wrong after all. She studies me again, more carefully, then leans in.
“You don’t look like a doctor,” she says, voice serious.
“No?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “You look like a prince.”
Sloane groans. “Oh, God.”
I feel something in my chest loosen.
“I’m not a prince,” I say, my mouth tilting. “But if anyone qualifies as royalty, I’d say that is you.”
That earns me an adorable smile, her cheeks pinking before Sloane ushers her away.
“Come on,” Sloane says. “Let’s see, Ivy.”
The door closes, leaving me in the waiting area. A few minutes later, the door creaks open, and Elsie’s face appears, eyes shining.
“She’s sleeping,” she whispers loudly.
“That’s good,” I whisper back.
She nods, satisfied, and then disappears, reappearing again not long after.
“She has a big bruise,” she informs me.
“I know.”
“And a big Band-Aid.”
“I saw.”
She thinks about this, then adds, “She’s still pretty.”
Something tightens behind my ribs.
“Yes,” I say. “She is.”
“That’s probably why Matty from the school bus said his dad wants to invite her for a date.”
“He does?” I smirk. “Well, tell Matty’s dad to stay away, as Ivy already has someone.”
“She does?”
“Yes, me.”
“Oh,” she giggles, her hand covering her mouth.
Eventually, Sloane comes back out, her expression softer now, fatigue edging out the earlier tension.
“I’m taking Elsie home. Ivy’s resting. They want her to sleep as much as possible.”
She hesitates, then meets my eyes.
“You can stay,” she adds. “If you want to.”
Relief hits me so hard I have to steady myself.
“I do,” I say. “I really do.”
Sloane nods. “I’ll be back in the morning.” She looks back at her sister one more time, her voice dropping. “Look after her. I’m doing this because I know she loves you. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. You have my word.” Sloane just nods, holding Elsie a little tighter. Elsie watches me as they leave, a mischievous grin lighting up her big blue eyes, pulling another smile from me. God, she’s too cute; no wonder Ivy dotes on her.
When I return to the room, Ivy hasn’t moved. She is still so beautiful even against the hospital bed, lashes resting dark against her cheeks, breath slow and even.
I sit.
I don’t leave again.
Later—sometime deep in the night—Charlotte slips in, trying and failing to be quiet. Her composure fractures the moment she sees Ivy.
“Oh, Dane,” she whispers.
She pulls me into her arms, her grip tight, desperate. I feel her tears against my cheek, soaking into my collar, and I close my eyes because it’s suddenly easier to let her cry than to hold it all in myself.
“Julian told me,” she says. She pulls back, cupping my face. “Thank God she’s alive.”
“Yes,” I say, voice rough. “Thank God.”
“I won’t stay long,” she says. “I just needed to see with my own eyes that she’s okay. That you’re okay?”
She sits with me. I’ve no idea how long, every so often squeezing my hand. After a while, Charlotte presses a kiss to my cheek before slipping out, leaving the room quiet again.
Sometime later, deep into the night, I feel Ivy stir.
Her breathing quickens. Her brow furrows. A sound catches in her throat, half-formed, frightened.
“Ivy,” I murmur, leaning closer. “Hey. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, panic flaring briefly as if she’s back in the car, back in the moment everything went wrong.
I take her hand carefully. “It’s okay. You’re in the hospital. I’m here.”
She relaxes inch by inch, fingers tightening weakly around mine.
“Dane?” she murmurs, barely audible.
“Yes.”
That seems to be enough. Her grip loosens. Her breathing evens out. She drifts back under, the tension slowly leaving her face.
I sit in the chair beside her bed and stay there.
Hours pass in fragments—her breathing evening out, nurses drifting in and out, the city thrumming faintly beyond the glass.
I stay all night. I don’t sleep. I just watch her, counting each rise and fall of her chest, guarding the quiet, knowing that whatever comes next, I’ll never let her out of my sight again.