Chapter 3
Damon
I Had One Job: Stay Unbothered.
I don’t know why I expected Sabrina to be anything other than dramatic. Maybe the knock to the head made me optimistic, or stupid, or both. But the moment she stepped into the room with that fake-ass concern and "I own you" tone, I should’ve known I was in for a migraine worse than the concussion.
“Alicia,” I’d said, eyes darting to the door like I could somehow pause her, tell her to stay without actually saying it. But of course, she left. Of course, she walked out with her chin high and eyes cold, like it didn’t bother her. Like I was just another patient. Another idiot.
But I saw it. That flickers. That blink-too-long hesitation. And it wrecked me.
Sabrina slid closer, fingers brushing my hair like she was still entitled to that. “I was worried about you,” she said, her voice syrupy and full of lies. “You didn’t answer any of my calls.”
“You also sent like, ten texts in one hour,” I muttered, leaning away.
She blinked. “Because I care, Damon.”
“You care when it’s convenient.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “So now you’re keeping score?”
“I’m just saying, Sabrina, you don’t show up until there’s a headline involved.”
Her hand froze in midair, and that smile dropped. There it was—the real her. Under the Chanel gloss and fake sympathy. I used to find that part of her impressive. Savage. Now, it just looked… tired.
“You’re in a hospital bed,” she snapped. “This isn’t about press.”
I tilted my head. “Isn’t it?”
Silence. For three full seconds.
Then, she smoothed down her blazer as that made her morally superior. “I thought we were still something.”
“We weren’t.”
“We had plans.”
“We had hookups and a habit of ignoring each other.”
She scoffed, and her eyes flicked toward the door—toward where Alicia had disappeared. "Let me guess. This is about her.”
Something about the way she said it made me sit up straighter. “What?”
“You always do this, Damon,” she said, like she was lecturing me. "You chase after the next shiny thing. And when it doesn’t fall for you immediately, suddenly it’s ‘real.’ Suddenly she’s ‘different.’”
I didn’t say anything.
Because maybe—just maybe, that was true.
And maybe it scared the hell out of me.
But Sabrina leaned closer, her voice lower now. “You think she’s not going to leave either? You think she’ll put up with all the chaos that follows you?”
“Maybe not,” I said quietly. “But at least she doesn’t pretend she’s here for me when she’s really here for the Instagram post.”
Her face twisted. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” I said, eyes locking on hers. “I get that a lot.”
She stood there for a second longer, like she wanted to slap me or cry or both, and then stormed out, heels echoing like gunshots.
The silence she left behind felt like gravity doubled. I sat back, hand on my chest, breathing slowly, letting it all settle.
I thought about Alicia.
The way she’d stared me down earlier, like she knew exactly what kind of guy I was and was ready to deal with it or walk away from it. The way she touched my wrist while checking my pulse, all efficient and firm, but her fingertips lingered just a millisecond longer than they had to. That moment after, I called her Angel, when she didn’t smile—but she didn’t correct me either.
It was stupid. Dangerous. And completely out of my control.
Which was probably why it was the only thing I could think about.
Later that night, I caught her again. Not in a creepy way, more like fate being nice to me for once. I was sitting up, flipping through a magazine I didn’t care about, pretending not to see the door. Then I heard her voice in the hallway.
“You already gave Mr. Gleeson his pain meds?” she asked someone. Her voice was lower, a little hoarse from the long shift. I knew that sound. I knew exhaustion.
But when she walked in, she froze.
Her eyes immediately swept the room, and then landed on me like she regretted entering at all.
“Oh. You’re still here.”
“Don’t act so surprised. You think I’d leave without saying goodbye?”
“I was hoping you’d fall asleep and save me trouble.”
I chuckled. “Angel, if I’m in trouble, you’re in the full emergency room.”
She rolled her eyes, and that almost-smile was back. I lived for that almost-smile.
She checked the chart at the foot of my bed, her brows furrowed. “Your pressure’s stable. No signs of internal bleeding. You might survive after all.”
I leaned forward, trying to get a better look at her tired eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
She didn’t look up. “Depends on how dumb the question is.”
“Why’d you leave earlier? When Sabrina walked in.”
This time, she froze.
The clipboard still in her hand, she slowly raised her eyes to mine. “Because I don’t do drama, Damon. And I definitely don’t have men who have ‘complications’ on their heels.”
Fair. Brutal. Accurate.
“But I wasn’t…” I scratched the back of my neck. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Didn’t look that way.”
“You always judge a story by the first chapter?”
She raised a brow. “You want to talk about books now?”
“I want to talk about… you.”
That made her blink. Once. Twice. She looked away.
“You don’t even know me,” she said finally.
“I know your name. I know you hate nonsense. I know you believe love is brain chemicals and bad decisions. I also know you pretend you’re immune to flirting when you’re definitely not.”
She stared at me. “You think I’m not immune?”
I smirked. “If you were, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”
That caught her off guard. Her lips parted, then shut. Then they parted again like she was going to deny it—but didn’t. She looked down at the chart again.
“Rest, Damon,” she said, her voice softer now. "Your scans come back tomorrow. If you’re all clear, you can go.”
I nodded, watching her turn.
But just before she reached the door, I called, “Hey, Alicia.”
She paused without looking back. “Yeah?”
“I meant what I said earlier.”
Silence.
Then, her voice, low and calm. “Which part?”
“That you’re not getting rid of me.”
She didn’t reply. Just stood there for a breath too long. Then she walked out.
But this time? She smiled as she did.
