Chapter 8 - Scars and Solitude
The private trauma surgical suite in the basement of the Calder mansion smelled of sterile iodine and ozone.
Dr. Robert Vance, the Calder family’s trusted private surgeon for over two decades, stripped off his bloody surgical gloves and tossed them into the biohazard bin.
Outside the recovery room, Nora sat on an aluminum bench, her hands covered in dried blood, her clothes torn, her face as white as paper. Lucy was fast asleep in an adjacent room under the watchful eye of a female pediatric nurse Frank had brought in, with Bishop lying across the doorway, refusing to leave the child's side.
The heavy door opened. Dr. Vance stepped out, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Nora shot up instantly. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive, Mrs. Bennett,” the doctor said, offering an exhausted smile. “The man has the constitution of an angry bull. The vest absorbed the majority of the blast, but three pellets clipped his right shoulder and upper arm. We took them out, repaired the arterial tear, and closed the wound. He lost a fair amount of blood, but he’s awake and asking for you.”
Nora let out a shuddering, broken breath, pressing her trembling hands against her mouth as fresh tears spilled over her lashes.
“Can I see him?”
“Ten minutes. He needs rest, though I doubt anyone in Chicago has the authority to make Vincent Calder sleep if he doesn't want to.”
Nora pushed the door open quietly.
The recovery room was softly lit. Vincent lay propped up on the medical bed, an IV drip running into his left forearm, his broad chest and right shoulder tightly bound in heavy white medical dressings. Despite the pallor of blood loss, his dark eyes snapped open the second she crossed the threshold.
“Nora,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel.
She couldn't hold it back anymore. She crossed the room in two strides, falling onto her knees beside his bed, carefully wrapping her arms around his uninjured left side. Her tears soaked the crisp hospital sheets.
“You idiot,” she sobbed against his chest. “You absolute, reckless idiot. You took a bullet for my baby.”
Vincent’s left hand rose slowly, his large, warm fingers tangling gently into her chestnut hair, holding her close against him.
“I told you,” Vincent murmured softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. “Nobody touches you. Nobody hurts her.”
“You could have died, Vincent!” she cried, lifting her tear-streaked face to look at him. “Do you understand that? You could have died!”
“Then I would have died keeping the only two things that matter to me alive,” Vincent answered without a shred of doubt. His gaze held hers with an intensity that took her breath away. “I spent thirty-nine years building an empire out of fear, Nora. But lying on that garden floor, shielding you and Lucy… that was the first time my life ever had real purpose.”
Nora leaned up and kissed him—a soft, reverent, desperate kiss that tasted of salt and promises. Vincent’s good arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until the steady beep of the heart monitor sped up noticeably.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were glowing. “Dr. Vance said I should let you rest.”
“Dr. Vance works for me,” Vincent growled softly, though a genuine, warm smile curved his mouth. “Stay here. Right beside me.”
“Always,” she whispered.
Just then, the door creaked open. Lucy peeked her head into the room, holding Captain Carrot tightly in her arms. Behind her, Bishop padded in silently, his tail wagging slowly.
“Boss Doctor?” Lucy asked hesitantly.
Vincent looked at the little girl, all the hardness in his face melting away entirely. “Come here, Princess.”
Lucy hurried over, climbing carefully onto the edge of the mattress, looking wide-eyed at the heavy bandages on Vincent’s shoulder. She touched the white gauze with extreme gentleness.
“You have a scar now,” Lucy whispered, her lower lip wobbling. “Like Captain Carrot.”
Vincent chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made his ribs ache, but he didn't care. He reached out with his left hand and ruffled Lucy’s curly hair.
“Yes, I do,” Vincent agreed softly. “And do you remember what I told you about scars?”
Lucy nodded solemnly. “They belong to the survivors.”
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“That’s right,” Vincent said, reaching out to wrap both Lucy and Nora into his uninjured arm. “And from now on, we survive together.”
***
