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Just then, the door flies open, and Curt bursts in with cops trailing behind him.
“Damon!” Curt roars just as the cops start to run towards me.
James steps away from me, hands raised in the air. I stagger on my feet and start to topple backward. Someone breaks my fall, and I open my eyes to see Dana. We're both seated on the ground with her cradling half of my body in her arms, crying profusely.
“Please, Damon…” she murmurs, her hand shaking badly as she tries to apply pressure on my wound. “Please… please…”
“Don't cry, kitty,” I say weakly. I try to wipe her tears, but my hand falls limply to my side. “I-I'm so sorry…”
I take in a raspy breath, unable to continue.
"You don't have to say anything," Dana says, gripping my hand tightly in hers as tears continue to stream down her face. "Please… Please, don't die, Damon."
I close my eyes, not because of the dizzying weakness that's overcome my body, but because I can't bear to see the pain in those gorgeous green eyes.
I force my eyes open one last time, and the last thing I see before succumbing to the insistent tug of darkness is the police escorting James out in cuffs.
At least my angel is safe… That's all that matters.
Chapter Eight
Dana
"You should go in now. He's been asking for you," Mr. Ford says as he and his wife step out of Damon's hospital room. He looks different from the man that I met weeks ago in their home estate; he looks weary and much older, like he's aged a decade in the past three days.
Mrs. Ford steps forward and takes my hands in hers, smiling solemnly into my eyes. Despite the difficult past few days, she looks as elegant as ever in a gorgeous blue dress and hot red stilettos. However, I can see the anguish in her vibrant blue eyes –so like Damon’s.
“Thanks for coming clean about the whole fake engagement,” she says, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “We want you to know that we don't blame you, and we're thankful for your effort in the past few days.”
I press my lips together, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears threatening to spill down my face. “I-I'm sorry for deceiving you both,” I say, looking from Mrs. Ford to her husband. “I'm so sorry.”
"Don't be," Mr. Ford says. "It's not every day that my son takes a knife in the gut for a woman. Fake engagement or not, you must be pretty special to him."
"Thank you," I say, stepping back as Mrs. Ford lets go of my hand. "I'll go in now."
“See you around,” Mr. Ford says as he walks away with his wife.
I take in a deep breath before pushing the door open. Damon is half-sitting on the bed with an arm slung over his eyes. He sits up the moment I walk in, his deep blue eyes instantly locking on mine. He smiles, and my heart trips violently in my chest. Even now, with three day’s worth of stubble on his face, he still looks so damn good.Distractingly so.
“Hey, kitty,” he says, his smile widening. “You're not going to stand by the door all day, are you?”
I walk further into the room to stand by his bedside. I glance at his stomach, suddenly accosted by the memories of a knife jutting out from his flesh. The memory of his blood on my hands as I watched him slip away replays in my head. Guilt settles heavily in my chest, and the suppressed emotions of the past few days rush up at me.
“I'm so sorry, Damon, I…” I trail off as my chest tightens. “This is all my fault; I should have called the cops when you suggested it and…”
“Don't you dare take the blame for that bastard,” he cuts in quietly, his gaze steady on mine. “You were a victim, and it was a good thing I got there in time. I don't know what I'd have done if – if anything had happened to you.”
"I'm sorry for confessing to your parents about our fake engagement; it's just…" I trail off with a helpless shrug. "I couldn't bear to drag the lie out any longer. They were so worried and I-I felt horrible. I'm so sorry."
"I guess that worked for the best. They were just here to apologize for being terrible parents. Not like I know what to do with that; I guess I'm indifferent at this point."
He isn't indifferent, if the fleeting play of emotions in his eyes as he talks about his parents is any indication, but I don't point that out. It’ll take time, probably years, to mend his relationship with his parents, but they'll get there as long as both parties are willing.
The thought gives me a little comfort knowing what's going to happen next.
"I suppose this is the end of our game," I say, avoiding his gaze this time. In the past three days, I've thought countless times about this moment where we say our goodbyes, but nothing prepared me for the pain rippling through me. I'd resolved to do this as quickly as possible, but I can't seem to get the words past the lump in my throat.
"It's time for everyone to get back to their lives," I continue, forcing my words out. "Thank you for the amazing past few weeks and... I should go now."
