Chapter 4 - Three pairs of gray eyes
The red light above the operating room doors finally flickered off after four agonizing hours.
Dr. Vance walked out into the corridor, looking exhausted but carrying an expression of quiet triumph. He pulled down his surgical cap and wiped his forehead with a sleeve, letting out a long breath as Damian and I rushed forward.
"The defect is repaired," Dr. Vance said, before we could even speak. "The patch held securely, and his rhythm stabilized right on the table. He’s tough, that little guy. He’s already in recovery."
My knees nearly buckled. Damian caught me by the elbow, his grip firm and steady, anchoring me to the floor as the wave of overwhelming relief washed over me. I pressed my hands to my face, letting out a ragged sob that had been trapped in my chest since morning.
"Can we see him?" Damian asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"In about thirty minutes once he's settled in the pediatric ICU," Dr. Vance replied with a reassuring smile. "Go get some coffee, both of you. You look like you've been through a war."
We didn't get coffee. Instead, we sat side by side on a pair of vinyl chairs outside the recovery ward, watching through the large observation window as Evan lay small and pale beneath a tangle of monitoring wires, his chest rising and falling in a steady, rhythmic pattern.
The silence between Damian and me had shifted. The jagged edges had smoothed into something heavy and expectant.
"Noah and Caleb," Damian said softly, breaking the quiet. "Where are they?"
"At school," I answered, keeping my eyes fixed on our son through the glass. "Lincoln Elementary, two miles from here. They should be finishing up after-school care around now."
Damian didn't ask for permission. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen twice, and held it to his ear.
"Marcus," he said into the phone, his voice reverting instantly to the commander of empires. "I need an SUV and a security detail at Lincoln Elementary in twenty minutes. Pick up Noah and Caleb Cross. Bring them here. Yes, my sons. Do not argue, do not ask questions, just execute."
He hung up before Marcus could reply and slid the phone back into his pocket.
I turned to stare at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. "You sent men to pick up my boys? Damian, they’re six years old! They don't know you! You'll terrify them!"
"They won't be terrified," Damian said, his voice dropping into a calm, reassuring register that I hadn't heard in years. "Marcus is good with kids. He’s been with me for a decade. He knows how to handle things without causing a panic. They need to be here, Claire. Their brother just had open-heart surgery, and their father has just returned from the dead. We are going to be in one place."
"You can't just dictate my children's lives like they’re corporate assets!"
"They are my children too," Damian countered, his dark gray eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity that brooked no argument. "For five years, you carried the burden alone. I respect that more than I can possibly express. But that era is over. From this moment on, we share every weight."
I opened my mouth to retort, to remind him of the divorce, of the distance, of the five lost years that no amount of money or power could buy back. But before I could speak, the doors at the end of the hall swung open.
Footsteps hurried down the linoleum.
I turned and saw Marcus—a towering, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal overcoat—walking down the corridor. And trailing behind him were two identical little boys wearing matching blue backpacks and sneakers with mud caked on the soles.
Noah and Caleb.
They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me, then immediately spotted the tall, imposing stranger standing beside me.
"Mom!" Caleb yelled, breaking away from Marcus and sprinting down the hall, his sneakers squeaking against the floor.
I stood up and dropped to my knees just in time for Caleb to crash into my chest, wrapping his small arms tightly around my neck. Noah followed closely behind, his quieter, more observant nature making him hang back a step, his gray eyes darting between me and Damian.
"Mommy, why are we here? Marcus said Evan was sick," Noah asked, his lower lip trembling slightly. "Is he okay?"
"He's okay, baby," I whispered, burying my face in Caleb's dark curls, blinking back fresh tears. "He had his surgery, and his heart is all fixed up. He's sleeping right now."
Caleb pulled back, wiping his nose with his sleeve, and finally turned his attention to Damian, who was standing a few feet away, watching them with an expression of such raw, unfiltered adoration that it felt like looking straight into a man’s soul.
"Who’s that?" Caleb asked, pointing a small finger directly at Damian.
Damian swallowed hard. He took a slow step forward, knelt down so he was at eye level with the twins, and let out a shaky breath.
"I'm Damian," he said, his voice unusually gentle. "I'm... an old friend of your mom's."
Noah narrowed his eyes, studying Damian’s face with an analytical intensity that was terrifyingly reminiscent of his father. He looked at Damian’s dark hair, his sharp chin, and then down at the way Damian held his hands.
"You have the same eyes as us," Noah observed astutely.
May you like
Damian let out a choked, wet laugh that sounded halfway between a sob and a sigh. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he rested it gently on Noah’s shoulder.
"Yes," Damian whispered, a single tear finally spilling over his eyelashes and tracking down his cheek. "I suppose I do."
