Page 39 of Damon

“Not an option,” I retort. “I need to speak to Emma.” The woman narrows her eyes in annoyance, obviously not used to being challenged. She straightens her shoulders in an attempt to pull herself up to her full height. I still look down on her, and she lifts her chin further.

“The doctor has not allowed visitors, sir. Please leave now or I will call security.” I pull my police badge from its usual resting place in my back pocket. She blinks at the silver shield. “Is that thing real?” I scowl at the argumentative bitch.

“Yes,” Emma confirms from behind her, distracting us both from the debate. “Damon is a policeman. A Chief Constable.”

“But is he family?” she asks her patient upon turning back to her.

“I don’t have any family,” she replies sadly, and my chest strains. “It would be impossible for them to visit. Damon is…” Her words trail off. Who knows what the hell I am.

“I’m a close friend,” I tell the nurse, who looks back at me. “Please ma’am, I only want a few minutes of Emma’s time, then I will leave if she wants me to.”

“Are you okay with this?” she asks, glancing at the weakened woman beside her. Emma nods. “Very well, but no stress. If I so much as hear that heartrate monitor increase in speed, I will remove you myself. Policeman or not.”

“Chief Constable,” I correct her. She ignores me, and we watch her leave. As the door closes, I move to sit beside Emma. She doesn’t look in my direction, only stares blankly toward the window, but there’s nothing to see but the night sky.

After settling myself in a royal blue wing-backed chair, which is placed precisely at a right angle beside the bed, I lean forward and take her nearest hand gently between my two. She glances at me briefly, her cheeks flush a soft pink. It’s nice to see a little color again on her pale skin.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

“I tried to kill myself, supposedly.” Her voice is hard but quiet; it’s difficult to hear with her turned away. I squeeze her hand gently, and frightened blue eyes flick to mine. “But I didn’t.” Silence fills the void between us. Unsure what to say, I simply hold her hand. “I didn’t,” she repeats, louder this time. “Or do you not believe me like that nurse? I would never take my own life. I’ve survived too much.”

“I believe you,” I reassure her, and she visibly relaxes with my words. “Can you tell me about it?” She sighs, then shakes her head slowly. “Emma,” I repeat, “you’re safe now. Please tell me what happened so I can help you. Are you in some sort of trouble?” Her statement about having survived so much sits at the forefront of my mind—there is a lot I don’t know about this woman. I’ve had an inkling before that all wasn’t how it seemed, but now, I’m certain she’s hiding information regarding her past. The policeman within me needs to know the truth, especially if she is in danger.

“Go away, Damon. This isn’t your concern. It was burglars. I interrupted them. They knocked me out and threw me in the bath.”

I know what she is saying isn’t true. It makes no sense. Why would burglars stage her suicide? Why not just tie her up or shoot her dead? Someone wanted us to believe she made this decision herself, that she slit her own wrists and climbed into steaming hot water to die.

Before I can protest, she speaks again. “Why are you here? Where is Constance?” she asks.

I pause, taken aback by the question. Her concern for my daughter is startling.

“Well,” she prompts, “surely you know where your daughter is?”

“Harrison phoned me and told me you were here. Constance is outside this room with him.”

“It’s late,” she tells me. “She should be at home in her bed, not here with you visiting a random woman she doesn’t know.” Her words sting. That’s how she sees herself in my eyes, unimportant and disposed of. It’s a statement that couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Go home, take your daughter with you. I don’t need you here.”

“No, I promised to support you. I’m staying with you until I know you’re all right.”

“The contract has been fulfilled. I am no longer your obligation. Leave.” Her gaze moves everywhere apart from me. The words past her lips are heavy and detached, a false confidence that I suspect is masking outright fear.

“I’m not leaving.” She freezes, her breathing increasing slightly in pace. The machine she’s attached to beeps faster. “I will be here until I speak to the doctor. Then, once we know what your recovery requirements are, you’ll be coming home with me.”

“I will not,” she hisses, her furious face snapping round to look at me. “I will be going home to my apartment.” The beeps in the background become more rapid; I half expect the nurse to fly through the door and throw me out.

“That won’t be happening,” I state bluntly. She glares wildly, leaning forward to emphasize her anger. “Until I know who was in your apartment, and why.” My voice raises slightly on the word why. “You will be staying with me, where I can keep you safe.”

“And what has me being safe got to do with you?” she snarls. She’s an independent woman, that hasn’t changed in our time apart. It’s a quality that is both endearing and infuriating.

The question causes my emotions to rise, and the panic I had experienced on route to the hospital flies to the surface and explodes.

“I fucking care about you!” I stand, still holding her hand. She recoils into her pillow as I lean down. “Is that not fucking obvious? I’m here because I care.”

“But why?” she whispers, emotion cracking each syllable.

“Because you’re amazing,” I answer on impulse. “And the thought of you not walking this earth terrifies me.” Unshed tears coat her eyelashes; she blinks, and it causes them to flow onto her cheeks. “Emma, I don’t know what this is, and I can’t promise you much right now. I’m broken. But I can give you a safe place to stay and support to achieve the life you want. Please let me do what I can. I need to know you’re safe. I need to know you have what you want.”

“Will you be in that life?” she asks. Her wide blue watery eyes hold mine. “Does my new life have Damon McKinney in it?”

---