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He looks like he’s seeing a miracle.
“Heartbeat is strong,” the doctor says. “Everything looks great.”
My chest floods with relief. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I exhale it all in one go. The technician excuses himself, leaving us to ourselves.
But Damien’s still staring.
“You okay?” I ask him softly.
He nods, but his voice cracks a little. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see something like this. Not with everything I’ve done.”
I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love, Damien.”
His eyes flick down to meet mine. There’s so much in them—remorse, awe, fear, and something else…something softer.
“I thought I was protecting you by keeping you away,” he says, voice low. “But I was just protecting myself. From how much I need you.”
I blink fast, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“You came for me,” I whisper. “You saved me.”
“I’d die for you,” he replies without hesitation. “But I’d rather live for you. For both of you.”
A tear slips down my cheek. I don’t wipe it away.
“I love you,” I say, the words rushing out, wild and sure. “Even after everything. Maybe because of everything. I love you, Damien.”
His hand cups my cheek as he leans in, forehead to mine.
“I’ve loved you since the first time you cursed me out in an elevator,” he murmurs.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask quietly.
His head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing just slightly in confusion. “What?”
“For not telling you sooner. About the baby,” I murmur, cheeks hot. “I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d take it, and then everything happened so fast and?—”
“Sasha,” he says, cutting me off with just my name.
His thumb strokes over my knuckles, steady and warm.
“I could never be mad at you. Never.”
I look at him, at the seriousness etched into every line of his face, and something tight in my chest finally loosens.
“You were carrying our child,” he says, softer now. “Alone. In danger. And still fighting. You think I could ever be angry at that? At you?”
My eyes sting again.
He leans down, presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering there as he whispers, “I’m the one who should’ve been there sooner. You don’t owe me anything, Sasha. But you have me. Completely.”
God, I’m so gone for this man.
“How can I make it up to you?” he says.
“You already have,” I say, squeezing his hand, but then I think of something. “Well, there’s one thing—you can kick Brittany out of the company.”
He frowns. “Who the hell is Brittany?”