Page 13 of Fallen Empire

The nurse tapped something on her tablet, then turned to leave.

But she stopped.

Her eyes narrowed as they landed on the figure standing just outside the door.

Jaxson.

He hadn’t even fully stepped in yet, like he was still deciding if he was allowed to.

His eyes locked on Savannah, and the raw emotion that crossed his face was enough to make my own throat tighten. He looked like a man on the edge of something final. Like seeing her again was both a blessing and a curse.

The nurse stepped into his line of sight, squaring her shoulders.

“Mr. Westbrook,” she said flatly, her voice low and firm. “You're lucky Dr. Alvarez cleared your name to be here.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

“But let me be very clear.” She pointed to the bed without breaking eye contact. “That woman right there? She’s the priority. Not your guilt. Not your grief.Her.”

Still no response from him. Just the sharp rise and fall of his chest.

The nurse softened just slightly, but not by much.

“She’s trying to come back. If you’re here to help her do that—stay. But if you’re going to fall apart and make this about you, do it somewhere else.”

She turned, tablet clutched tight to her chest, and pushed open the door with her shoulder as she mumbled something under her breath.

And then she was gone.

Leaving only me, Ben, Savannah—and the man who looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath since she collapsed onto the ground.

Chapter 4

Jaxson

I heard every word the nurse hissed under her breath as she pushed past me.

“I don’t know who you are to her, but if you pull anything, I swear to God, I’ll have you escorted out myself.”

She didn’t even wait for a response. Just kept moving.

She had every right.

I didn’t try to defend myself. Didn’t argue. Because for four days, I hadn’t been who Savannah needed. I’d been selfish. Angry. Consumed by grief and shame and whiskey. Lost in my own storm while the woman I loved lay here—fighting for breath.

I should’ve been better. I should’ve been strong enough to sit at her side and talk to her instead of slipping in and out of a drunken stupor. I should’ve held her hand. Read to her. Whispered that I was here, even if she couldn’t respond.

But I didn’t.

Because I didn’t know how to live in a world where she didn’t open her eyes again.

I didn’t drink, not like that. Not in years. But seeing her broken, hooked up to machines, barely clinging to life…

It felt like drowning in slow motion. And I didn’t have a single lifeline left.

She chose it. Threw herself in front of a bullet to save me.

Not the empire. Not some mission.Me. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.