Page 82 of Shattered Hate

My heart leaps into my throat. “Daxton!” I cry out, louder this time. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Another squeeze, slightly stronger this time. Tears of relief and joy stream down my face as I frantically press the call button for the nurse.

“He’s responding!” I tell her breathlessly when she rushes in. “He squeezed my hand!”

The next few minutes are a whirlwind of activity as doctors and nurses flood the room, checking Daxton’s vitals and running tests. I’m gently but firmly pushed aside, my hand reluctantly leaving Daxton’s as the medical team works.

“Mr. King, we need you to step out for a moment,” a nurse says kindly but leaving no room for argument.

“But I—” I start to protest, my eyes never leaving Daxton’s still form.

“We’ll update you as soon as we can,” she assures me, already guiding me to the door.

I find myself in the hallway, my heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear. Bray, Kal, and Cope appear moments later.

“What’s happening?” Cope asks, his eyes wide with concern.

“He squeezed my hand. He responded to me.”

Bray and Kal exchange a look of hope. “That’s great news, Tray,” Kal says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

We wait in tense silence, minutes stretching into hours. Doctors come out and go back in. Not giving us any information. Finally, the door opens, and a doctor emerges, looking straight at me.

“Mr. King,” he says, addressing me. “Daxton is showing signs of regaining consciousness. This is a positive development, but I want to caution you that the process can be slow and unpredictable.”

“Can I see him?” I ask immediately.

The doctor nods. “Briefly. He’s still very weak and may drift in and out. We have removed the tubes for now to see how he gets on with his breathing. Try not to overwhelm him.”

I nod vigorously, already moving toward the door.

As I step back into Daxton’s room, my heart races with anticipation. The machines still beep steadily, but there’s a palpable change in the air—a sense of awakening.

I approach the bed slowly, almost afraid to believe what I’m seeing. Daxton’s eyes are still closed, but there’s a flicker of movement beneath his eyelids. His chest rises and falls with slightly more irregular breaths.

“Dax?” I whisper, gently taking his hand in mine. “Can you hear me?”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Then, ever so slowly, his eyelids begin to flutter. My breath catches in my throat as I watch, hardly daring to move.

Finally, his eyes open—just a sliver at first, then blinking sluggishly as they adjust to the light.

They’re unfocused, clouded with confusion, but they’re open. Those beautiful eyes I’ve been desperate to see again.

“Dax.” I breathe, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s me. It’s Trayton.”

His gaze drifts toward me, struggling to focus. A small crease forms between his brows as he tries to process what he’s seeing. I wait, barely breathing. He frowns more, and the sinking feeling slowly pulls me under. I wait with bated breath.

Please know who I am, please.

And then he smiles.One. My whole list for today is complete.

“Tray.”

Chapter forty-one

Daxton

Three months later

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