Page 12

Chapter twelve

D amien

She was exactly where I thought she’d be.

By the river.

Always the river.

The gala buzz faded behind me, replaced by the quiet hush of water lapping against stone and the faint rustle of leaves. Ruby stood near the edge, her back to me, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was holding her own world together.

The moonlight caught her profile—high cheekbones flushed from the cold, shoulders drawn in like she was bracing for a storm that had already hit. Her violet gown looked like it belonged on a red carpet, not beside a muddy riverbank, but she wore it like armor.

She didn’t turn when she heard me.

But I knew she heard me.

“You walked away,” I said softly.

Her head dipped, her fingers tightening on her arms.

“Because silence said everything,” she replied, her voice raw.

I took a step closer. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes, and still, she didn’t look at me.

“Ruby…” I exhaled her name like a confession. “No. It didn’t. It didn’t say nearly enough.”

She turned then, just slightly, enough for me to see her eyes. They were glassy, but not from tears alone. There was a fire in them too. She was always fire and ache and beauty all tangled together.

“Then why did you say nothing?” she asked. “Why did you let me walk away without a word?”

“Because I was scared,” I admitted. “Not of you. Not of this. Of me.”

That got her attention.

I stepped closer until we were nearly toe to toe, the river whispering behind her and my pulse roaring in my ears.

“I was scared,” I said again, slower this time, “that I wasn’t enough for you. That if I let myself fall into this... into you... I’d forget who I was. Or worse, I’d remember everything I ran from.”

She blinked, confusion flickering beneath the hurt.

I looked out across the dark water for a second, collecting pieces of the truth I’d buried for years.

“I spent a decade saving lives and losing pieces of myself in the process. In that world, everything is precise. Controlled. Clinical. And then you came in with your glitter and chaos and too many questions, and suddenly, I wanted things I didn’t think I deserved. ”

Ruby’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

“You terrify me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Because you make me want to stay. And I don’t know how to stay without screwing it up.”

Her chin lifted. “I don’t need perfect, Damien. I never did. I just needed honest. And tonight... you were a wall.”

I nodded, taking it in like a scalpel to the ribs. Deserved.

“I know. And I’m sorry,” I said. “For not answering you. For hesitating when I should’ve told you what I’ve been feeling since the second you made fun of my clipboard.”

That earned the tiniest hitch of a laugh from her.

“I love you,” I said, no hesitation this time. “You infuriate me. You dazzle me. You make me want to live a life outside of patient charts and sterile rooms. You make me want a future that doesn’t require credentials or exit strategies.”

The wind shifted, catching the edge of her hair, brushing it across her face. I reached out and gently tucked it behind her ear, my fingers grazing her cheek.

“I love you,” I repeated, softer. “And if you’ll let me, I want to try. Not as some perfect version of myself. Just as a man who’s trying to be brave for the first time in years.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching me like she was trying to decide if I was real.

Then she said, “You waited until I was in a ball gown by a muddy river to say all that?”

A breath escaped me—half laugh, half groan. “I’ve never had great timing.”

“No,” she said, her lips twitching, “you haven’t.”

And then, finally, she stepped forward. Closed the gap. Rested her hands on my chest like she needed to feel my heartbeat before believing a word I said.

“But you’re here now,” she whispered.

“I am,” I said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The river kept whispering behind us, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t listening for an escape. I was rooted right here—with her.

And that terrified me.

But more than that?

It made me feel alive.

Ruby and I stood by the river like the world had cracked open and only we could hear the truth tumbling out. Her fingers were still resting against my chest, grounding me more than I wanted to admit. Maybe more than I could survive if she let go.

So, I didn’t let the silence settle. Not this time.

“There’s more,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head, the moonlight brushing against her cheekbones, softening every line of hesitation on her face. “I’m listening.”

I stepped back just enough to breathe, and it all started to unravel.

“When I was six, a cardiologist came to my school. Gave a little talk about the heart and passed around a plastic model. I took it apart and reassembled it perfectly before he even finished his sentence.”

Ruby’s lips parted in surprise.

“By nine, I was shadowing in the hospital where my mom worked. By thirteen, I could recite surgical protocols better than some residents. Everyone called me a prodigy.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “That sounds like a lot for a kid.”

“It was,” I admitted. “But I didn’t know any better. I thought success would keep me safe. That if I was always the best, I couldn’t lose anything important.”

I looked out across the river, the way the moonlight shimmered off the surface like it knew too many secrets.

“My father used to say, ‘Love makes a man weak.’ He believed vulnerability was a flaw. Said people only love you when you’re useful, and the moment you slip, they leave.”

Ruby’s hand tightened around mine.

“I didn’t believe him—not at first. But then Mom got sick. Real sick. And suddenly, no amount of medical knowledge could fix her.”

I paused, feeling the old, familiar burn behind my eyes. “The day she collapsed at the hospital… I just stood there. Frozen. Watching the strongest woman I knew cry on a cold linoleum floor. And I couldn’t do a thing.”

Ruby didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. The warmth in her eyes was enough to keep going.

“I burned out two years later. On the outside, everything looked perfect—press coverage, awards, cutting-edge surgeries. But inside? I was unraveling. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe. I started snapping at patients, staff… myself. One day I walked out of the OR and never went back.”

I turned to face her again. “Coming here was supposed to be a stopgap. A breather. I didn’t expect this town to feel like something I’d been missing. I didn’t expect you.”

Ruby blinked, slowly. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes shimmered, and not from the moonlight this time.

“You scare me,” I said again, voice rough. “Because with you, I don’t have to be perfect. And I’ve never… I’ve never let anyone see me when I’m not.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away.

“And that,” I whispered, “makes me want to stay more than anything else ever has.”

She was quiet for a long beat. Then she reached up, cupping my cheek with a touch so gentle it made my knees ache.

“I don’t want perfect,” she said. “I just want real.”

“You have it,” I said. “All of it. The messy, cracked, healing pieces.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed along my jaw. “Then we’re already halfway home.”

I pulled her close, resting my forehead against hers.

The past didn’t vanish. It never does. But it stopped holding me hostage.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I had to run.

Not from her.

Not from this town.

Not from myself.

Ruby’s voice was barely louder than the breeze off the water. “I’m messy. I get scared. I screw things up. But I never once thought you weren’t enough.”

Something inside me cracked. Not violently. Quietly. Like the sound a heart makes when it begins to believe it’s finally safe.

She stood there, arms crossed tight, like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

I stepped forward, slow but sure, and reached for her face.

My hands framed her cheeks like I was afraid she’d vanish if I didn’t hold on.

Her skin was cold from the night air, but the tear sliding down her cheek was warm.

I brushed it away with my thumb. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” My voice trembled, and for once, I didn’t try to hide it. “I love you, Ruby.”

Her breath hitched.

She didn’t smile right away. She just stared up at me like she was searching for cracks, for signs that I’d bolt like I always used to. But I didn’t move. I let her look, let her see everything—my fear, my hope, the part of me that hadn’t dared speak until now.

And then, finally, she closed her eyes and leaned in, her forehead resting against mine.

We stood there like that for a beat—breathless, shaking, real.

Then her hands found my shirt collar, and she pulled me in.

Our lips met in a kiss that was nothing like the ones we’d stolen before. This wasn’t about chemistry or tension. This was about everything we’d been carrying—the ache, the doubts, the stubborn hope. Her mouth moved against mine like a prayer she hadn’t known how to say until now.

And I kissed her back like I was answering it.

My hands slid around her waist, drawing her closer. She sighed into the kiss, and it echoed down my spine. My heart beat hard against her chest, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel hollow.

I felt whole.

When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads stayed pressed together. Her breath was uneven. Her eyes shimmered, but this time it wasn’t from sadness—it was from something that felt suspiciously like joy.

“So…” she whispered, the word feather-light. “Are you staying?”

I exhaled, my smile slow and certain. “Only if I get to build a life with you in it.”

Something in her face softened. She reached up, hand trembling slightly, and pressed her palm flat against my chest—right over my heart.

“Then we start over,” she whispered, voice full of wonder. “Together.”

I closed my eyes, holding the moment like a lifeline. The world around us kept spinning—water lapping at the shore, wind rustling through the trees—but everything that mattered was standing right here in front of me.

And this time, I wasn’t walking away.