Chapter 7

Alicia

The next morning, I found him sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, chatting casually with Evan like it was the most normal thing in the world. He’d taken off the hoodie, leaving just a plain black t-shirt that did entirely too much for his shoulders. His hair was still messy from sleep because of course Evan had insisted he crash here instead of driving back in the middle of the night.

He looked… at ease. Comfortable. And I hated that a part of me liked it.

“You’re still here,” I said flatly.

He glanced up at me and grinned. “Good morning to you too.”

I ignored the way my stomach dipped. “Don’t you have a stadium to be at? An entourage to entertain?”

“Day off.” He sipped his coffee. “Figured I’d spend it dodging your death glares.”

Evan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

I shot him a look. Whose side are you on?

But Damon leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Alicia. Not until you believe me.”

My throat went tight. He said it so simply, like it was a fact. Like I didn’t get a vote.

And maybe that was what scared me most, not that he’d leave, but that he wouldn’t. That he’d keep showing up. That he’d keep proving me wrong until I had no defenses left.

I forced myself to scoff, to look away. “Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Then I’ll wait.”

And just like that, my walls cracked a little more because the truth was, no one had ever waited for me before.

Later that morning, I thought maybe the fog in my head would clear. Work usually did that for me. The hospital had a way of stripping everything else down to essentials; patients first, emotions second, me dead last. It was easier to focus on blood pressure monitors and IV drips than the man who had stolen far too much of my mental real estate.

But the second I walked into the ER, I knew it wasn’t going to be that kind of day because standing by the nurses’ station, perfectly coiffed and smug as a cat in cream, was Sabrina.

I stopped dead. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating from sleep deprivation. But no the red lipstick, the designer heels that didn’t belong anywhere near a hospital floor, the perfume cloud strong enough to suffocate a small child… it was all real.

And worse, she was waiting for me.

“Dr Collins,” she said sweetly, like we were best friends catching up over brunch. “Or should I say Nurse Collins? You never did clarify.”

My stomach dropped. My name. She’d made it a point to know who I was.

I pasted on my professional smile. The one I wore for difficult families and patients who yelled. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, don’t be so cold,” she cooed, tilting her head. “I came to warn you. Woman to woman.”

My grip tightened on the chart in my hands. “If this is about Damon...”

“Of course it’s about Damon.” Her smile sharpened. “It’s always about Damon. He’s… addictive, isn’t he? Makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. Until you realize you’re just another room.”

I forced my voice steady. “This is wildly inappropriate. If you want to play whatever game this is, you can do it somewhere else.”

Her laugh was low and knowing. “Sweetheart, I’m not playing. I’m reminding you. Damon doesn’t do forever. He does now. And when he’s bored, he moves on. Just ask me.”

Something ugly twisted in my chest. I hated her. Hated the way she spoke like she owned the narrative, like I was already doomed.

But the worst part? A small, traitorous part of me believed her.

“Enjoy your shift,” she said lightly, and then, just like that she clicked her heels down the hall and vanished, leaving behind the faint trail of her perfume and a storm in my chest.

I stood there for a long time, clutching the chart, trying to breathe through the weight pressing against my ribs.

I could’ve told Damon. Maybe I should’ve told Damon. But even as the thought surfaced, I shoved it down because if I told him, it would sound like jealousy. Like insecurity. And I refused to give Sabrina the satisfaction of turning me into that girl.

So I swallowed it. I plastered on my professional mask.

For the rest of the shift, every time I caught myself smiling at a patient or laughing with a colleague, I wondered if Sabrina was right. If I was just another room Damon would eventually walk out of and the scariest part? I didn’t know if I had the strength to find out.