Page 36 of Gamble (Black Light #38)

REAGAN

T he steady rhythm of the heart monitor had become Reagan’s metronome over the past hour, a reassuring beep that told her Elijah was stable, healing, alive.

She’d positioned herself in the corner chair where she could see all his vitals but remain out of his immediate line of sight when he woke up.

The last thing she wanted was for him to see her and think he was hallucinating—or worse, try to leave against medical orders the way Nalani had warned her he might.

Reagan shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, her scrubs rustling as she adjusted her position for the hundredth time.

She’d been at the hospital since before his surgery started.

Even though she was off today, she’d scrubbed in before his surgery just so she could be closer to Elijah.

She knew it was silly, but after being ghosted by him for over two weeks, she’d needed to see him up close—to squeeze his hand and reconnect, even if he went under before they could talk.

After the surgery had started, she had watched through the observation window as Dr. Jennings worked with methodical precision to replace the joint that twenty-five years of stunts and one stupid ladder had destroyed.

Four days. That’s how long it had been since Nalani had led her through the velvet curtain into Elijah’s world, and Reagan was still processing everything she’d seen and felt.

The research she’d done since then had been.

.. illuminating. Educational. And if she was being honest with herself, aroused in ways that both excited and terrified her.

She’d spent hours reading about BDSM relationships online, trying to understand what she’d glimpsed at Black Light, but she wasn’t ready to open that can of worms with Elijah yet.

First, she wanted to see how this week went.

If they could navigate his recovery together, if they could rebuild the connection they’d had in Vegas, then maybe she’d be brave enough to tell him she knew about his other secret life.

If things didn’t go well... well, there was no point in complicating an already difficult situation.

One week at a time, she told herself.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Meena: Any word yet? Is he awake?

Reagan typed back quickly: Still sleeping. Surgery went well. Dr says everything looks good.

Meena: And you’re sure you want to do this? Take a week off to play nursemaid to the man who broke your heart?

It was a fair question, one Reagan had been asking herself since she’d decided. But sitting here, watching Elijah’s chest rise and fall with each breath, she knew she’d made the right choice. Not because she was a glutton for punishment, but because she understood why he’d pushed her away.

For the first time in her dating history, a man had chosen to hurt her out of a sense of chivalry, thinking he was doing the right thing for her and not himself.

Tristan had cheated and lied because he was selfish.

Her ex-husband had been emotionally unavailable because he was immature.

But Elijah... Elijah had sacrificed his own happiness because he genuinely believed she deserved better.

He was wrong, of course. Dead wrong. But his motivations came from a place of love rather than selfishness, and that changed everything.

He’s worth fighting for, she texted back. Even if he’s too stubborn to see it.

The soft whoosh of the curtain separating post-op recovery suites drew her attention, and Jennifer, the pre-op nurse she’d worked with many times, stepped in near Elijah’s bed.

“How’s our patient doing?” Jennifer asked with a knowing smile.

“Vitals are all good. He should wake up anytime now.”

Jennifer moved to check Elijah’s monitors, making notes on her tablet. “You know,” she said, “I heard someone was calling the hospital multiple times last week trying to find out when you’d be working. Very persistent. Used different voices and everything.”

Reagan felt her cheeks warm. “Really?”

“Mmm-hmm. Poor guy. He tried to convince Susan in scheduling that he was your cousin from Seattle with a family emergency. His accent was terrible.” Jennifer grinned. “Susan called me, laughing about it. Said whoever it was needed acting lessons.”

Despite everything, Reagan felt a smile tugging at her lips. The image of Elijah trying to avoid her while simultaneously being too proud to just ask was both heartbreaking and endearing.

“He went through a lot of trouble to make sure he wouldn’t run into me,” she said softly.

“Well, he’s going to be pretty surprised when he wakes up then, isn’t he?” Jennifer winked. “I’ll leave you two alone. But Reagan? Be gentle with him. Men like this one don’t know how to be vulnerable gracefully.”

After Jennifer left, Reagan returned to her vigil, thinking about those words.

She’d seen Elijah’s dominance, his confidence, the way he could take control of any situation with effortless authority.

But she’d also glimpsed his insecurities about his age, his battered body, his fears about not being good enough for her.

The research she’d done over the past four days had taught her that dominance and submission weren’t just about what happened in the bedroom.

They were about trust, communication, and the delicate balance of power between two people who created their own dynamic.

The dominant partner wasn’t just taking—they were also protecting, nurturing, providing.

And the submissive wasn’t just giving up control—they were offering the most precious gift they had: their trust.

She thought about the couples she’d seen at Black Light, the way they moved together like dancers who’d rehearsed the same routine a thousand times. There was an intimacy there that went beyond physical attraction, a connection that seemed to reach the soul level.

Was that what she wanted with Elijah? That kind of deep, all-consuming partnership?

The answer came without hesitation: yes. Absolutely yes.

The question was whether he’d be brave enough to let her try.

A soft groan from the bed pulled her from her thoughts. Elijah’s head was moving against the pillow, his brow furrowed as consciousness slowly returned. Reagan stayed in her chair, wanting to let him wake up without the shock of seeing her.

“Where the hell am I?” he mumbled a minute later, his voice thick with residual anesthesia.

The door opened again, and Jennifer returned with perfect timing. “Good morning, Mr. Keaton. You’re in recovery at Cedar-Sinai. Your surgery went very well.”

Reagan watched as Elijah tried to orient himself, his eyes still heavy-lidded but increasingly alert. He attempted to shift position and grimaced.

“Christ, that hurt,” he groaned.

“That would be your new hip telling you to take it easy,” Jennifer said, checking his IV line. “The good news is Dr. Jennings says everything went perfectly. The bad news is you’re going to be sore for a while.”

“How long was I out?”

“About three hours total. Surgery was two hours, and you’ve been sleeping off the anesthesia for about an hour.” Jennifer made notes on her tablet. “Pain level on a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven. Maybe eight.”

“I can give you something for that. Dr. Jennings left orders for pain medication as needed.”

Reagan saw Elijah’s jaw tighten at the mention of more drugs. She knew from her research—and from Nalani’s stories—that he had a complicated relationship with pain medication. Too many surgeries, too many recoveries, too much time dependent on pills to function.

“I’ll manage,” he said through gritted teeth.

Jennifer exchanged a look with Reagan, who shook her head. Not yet. Let him be the tough guy for a few more minutes.

“Well, I’ll leave it up to you,” Jennifer said diplomatically. “But there’s no prize for suffering. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”

She gave Reagan another wink before leaving them alone.

“Fuck,” Elijah muttered to himself as the door closed behind her. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.”

“What didn’t you want to happen?” Reagan asked softly, still from her position beside him.

Elijah’s entire body went rigid. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to find her, his eyes widening when he saw her sitting in the corner chair.

“Reagan?” His voice was barely a whisper. “What... how are you here?”

She stood and moved into his line of sight, noting how his eyes tracked her movement like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Hello, Elijah.”

“You’re not supposed to be working today,” he said, confusion clear in his still-groggy voice. “I checked. You weren’t on the schedule.”

“I’m not working,” she confirmed, moving closer to his bedside. “I’m off duty.”

“Then why are you here?” Confusion mingled with pain in his eyes.

Reagan reached out and touched his hand, noting how he flinched at the contact. Not from pain, but from surprise. From vulnerability.

“To take care of you, of course.”

“Reagan, you don’t understand?—”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead, silencing his protest with the first olive branch meant to mend the cavern that had grown between them. When she pulled back, his eyes were wide with something that looked like wonder.

“Does that feel like a dream?” she asked softly.

“I thought... when I was going under, I thought I saw you. But the drugs...” He was struggling to make sense of her presence, his analytical mind trying to process information while still clouded by anesthesia.

“It wasn’t the drugs. I was there.” After moving the chair closer, she settled back in—close enough to touch his hand but far enough to give him space. “I’ve been here since before your surgery started.”

“Why?” The single word carried so much pain, so much confusion. “I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again.”