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I place my hand on her shoulder. “You can’t think like that, June. Not now. He needs you to be strong.”
“Strong?” She shoves me off of her. “That’s all I have been, Dominic. And where the fuck hasthatgotten me.” June pokes her hand into my chest. “This isyourfault.” She shoves me harder. “Youdid this. With your lies. Your secrets." She balls her hand into a fist and slams it into me. "If Coen dies, this isyourfault.” She hits me with her other fist. “Do you hear me?” June sobs and pounds her fists against my chest. “Your fault.”
I wrap my arms around her and she collapses into me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “You’re right. Every word of it.” I hold onto her and hug her for what might be the last time. Because even if Coen doesn’t die, the damage has already been done, and there is no coming back from what I have put her through.
"Love," Simon approaches and peels June from my chest. He drags her into his arms. "Come on. Let's take a walk. You and me." He offers me a sympathetic glance but it does nothing to soothe the aching in my chest.
Magnus bursts into the waiting room and frantically looks around before rushing over to June. He plants his hands on her cheeks and tilts her face up toward him. “You’re okay.”
But she shakes her head. June might be uninjured, but she is the furthest thing from okay.
And it is my fault.
I glance over at Johnny and Claire who sit in the corner of the room, quietly chatting between them, their hands interlocked together. If it weren’t for those two getting to that fucking house, I’m not so sure any of us would be standing here right now.
I once questioned whether he had what it took or not, but I was wrong about him, too.
I was wrong about Johnny. About June. About Simon. I was wrong about everything.
And maybe I was wrong to think I would be the best fit for running this organization. Maybe I was overzealous and foolish to assume I had what it took.
Because being here, watching June hate me, and Coen dancing so close to death—I want none of it. My whole life has been me working toward gaining that position, but I’d trade it all in a heartbeat to fix any of this. To make her hate me any less. To be the man that she deserves. But that ship sailed a long fucking time ago, and if I give up the throne, I give up the only remaining thing that I still have.
I will lose her. I will lose Coen and Magnus, and the alliance I had with Simon.
My heart, my soul, my fucking humanity. It will be gone and the only thing that will be left is a shell of a man.
Minutes pass. They turn into an hour. Maybe two. We take turns pacing the room.
June gravitates toward Magnus and Simon, and sometimes joins Johnny and Claire. She avoids me at all costs, and I don't blame her. I hate myself, too.
Alec arrives at some point to tell us he got Cora home safely. Tells us that she was worried about everyone leaving but that she had a good time. He brought a change of clothes for June, who despite wearing something a little less revealing, is still covered in someone else’s blood.
Bram must have been notified, because he shows up, too. Carlos, his cook, at his side with two big bags of food and a vat of coffee.
June rushes over to Bram and buries her face in his chest.
He doesn’t pay any mind to the blood and hugs her, muttering something as he makes small circles with his hands on her back.
I've never felt more like an outsider than I do at this moment. Like I'm not even here, just a fly on the fucking wall.
More minutes pass. Simon persuades June to take a few bites of a sandwich. She nestles a cup of coffee in her grasp, her knees pulled up to her chest in her chair. She periodically takes sips of the coffee and stares blankly ahead.
Magnus and Simon take turns trying to comfort her, then break off to have a conversation of their own before returning to her sides.
Finally, after what feels like a fuckin eternity, the door opens again. Only this time, it’s a man dressed in hospital attire and a clipboard in his grasp. He lowers the face mask and glances around the room, unsure of who he’s supposed to focus on.
June rises to her feet and stares directly at this man like he holds all the answers to the universe.
Because to her, he does. Coen was her first love. And he is her universe.
Even if he’s been a royal fucking prick to her lately.
But how can I fault him when I have been no better?
I hold my breath and wait for him to speak, to say anything to let us know if Coen survived.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting. The surgery took much longer than we expected," he explains. "The damage was more extensive once we opened him up. But we were able to successfully repair what had been done. Mr. Hayes has a long road of recovery ahead of him, and he's still not out of the woods yet."
