Page 36 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

SLOANE

S ome mornings, I woke gasping.

The dreams hadn’t always made sense. Sometimes, it was the crash—the screech of tires, the way the world had tilted and vanished beneath us.

Sometimes, it was the plantation house, its rotting grandeur closing around me like a tomb.

And sometimes, it was nothing but silence—a kind of absence that had felt worse than any scream.

But then I opened my eyes and remembered where I was. Dominion Hall.

Safe.

Alive.

And not alone.

The room was flooded with late morning light, the heavy curtains pushed halfway open. A breeze fluttered through the window, stirring the edge of the linen sheets. Charlie’s side of the bed was empty, already cool to the touch, but his presence lingered, his scent in the pillows.

I stretched, bones popping, body still aching in the ways trauma liked to linger. But there was a softness, too, a quiet I hadn’t known in years. Not silence—peace.

When I made my way downstairs, barefoot and wearing one of Charlie’s flannels that swallowed me whole, the smell of bacon, biscuits, and something citrusy pulled me in. Delphine was at the stove, moving with the efficiency of someone who didn’t need help.

“Well, well,” she said without turning. “Sleeping Beauty emerged.”

I grinned, rubbing my eyes. “I thought we agreed to call it beauty recovery rest.”

She snorted. “Girl, you earned three weeks of that and then some.”

Charlie was already at the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tablet and a stack of papers in front of him. But he set them aside the second he saw me.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing to press a kiss to my temple. “How’d you sleep?”

I shrugged, curling into the chair beside him. “Better than yesterday. Worse than tomorrow.”

He nodded like he got it. He did.

Delphine set down a towering stack of pancakes, followed by eggs, sausage, and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit that smelled like mango and mint. She poured us coffee without asking, then disappeared with a muttered, “Don’t need to hear your love story play-by-play.”

Charlie smirked. “She likes you.”

I laughed under my breath. “I’m adorable. What’s not to like?”

We dug in, and for a while, it was just quiet chewing and the occasional stolen glance.

My appetite had returned, mostly. My nightmares were fading, slowly. And Charlie? He was solid. Constant. The immediate danger had passed, but he was still the kind of man who checked the locks, just in case.

I was head over heels for him.

It wasn’t just the way he’d thrown himself into the fire for me, though I’d never forget it. It was the way he watched over everyone in this house like they were pieces of his own soul. It was the steadiness, the grit, the kind of love that didn’t make a scene but stood its ground.

I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I didn’t want to.

Which was wild, considering I’d once dismissed him at the Charleston airport like he was just some guy fixing a plane.

I’d thought I had him pegged—gruff, broody, probably inflexible. And sure, he was all those things. But he was also warm in ways I hadn’t expected, fierce when it counted, and somehow mine.

I hadn’t known what I needed that day. But I did now. I needed him.

After a few minutes, he leaned back, coffee mug in hand. “I was thinking …”

“Oh, no,” I teased, “that’s never good.”

He grinned. “About what’s next.”

I paused, setting my fork down. “Yeah. Me, too.”

He waited.

“I need to go back to Palm Beach,” I said, my voice quieter. “There are things I have to take care of. The house. The business. My life … before.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

“But I don’t want to stay there,” I added quickly. “Not long. Maybe not at all.”

“Sloane—”

“I want to be with you,” I said, cutting him off gently. “That’s what I know. The rest? I don’t care. Charleston, Palm Beach, a cabin in the woods—I don’t give a damn where we are as long as we’re together.”

His jaw tightened, but not from tension. Emotion, maybe. Relief.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

I reached for his hand across the table. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Charlie gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. “Only thing on my calendar this week is making a donation to a local medical clinic. Thought maybe you could help me craft a pitch to raise some funds from friends, maybe expand.”

I blinked. “Oh?”

He nodded. “They’re good people. Underfunded, though. I like to drop in sometimes—quietly—find someone falling through the cracks. Give them the money, the referrals, whatever they need to get help.”

My chest tightened. Not from sadness—just from the sheer size of him. His heart.

“You do that a lot?”

“Often as I can,” he said, like it was no big deal. “Most people don’t need saving. They just need someone to see them.”

The back door creaked open somewhere down the hall—probably one of the brothers coming in from a run or a meeting or some not-so-secret mission. The house hummed with quiet activity. Life kept moving.

But right there, right then, everything inside of me was still.

We sat in the sunshine, holding hands, letting the world turn around us. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was running from anything. I was ready to run toward something instead.

Charlie squeezed my hand once, then let out a slow breath like he’d been holding it for days. “I want us to take the yacht,” he said. “Today.”

I blinked. “The yacht?”

He nodded, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes. “We’ll head down the Intracoastal Waterway. Just you and me. A few days to be together before we hit Palm Beach. No chaos. No noise. Just good food, open water, and time to figure things out—on our terms.”

My heart stuttered in the best way.

“We’ll stop at little restaurants along the way,” he continued, his voice soft and certain. “Sleep under the stars on the deck, drink too much wine, maybe pretend we’re normal people for once. You can steal my sweatshirts. I’ll steal your fancy shampoo.”

I laughed, breathless. “That sounds … perfect.”

“As normal as we can be,” I added, grinning, “on a massive yacht with a crew that probably knows how to filet a sea bass and break someone’s kneecaps in the same afternoon.”

He smirked. “Multitasking. It’s a lost art.”

We laughed together.

“It’ll give you time to decide what you want to do with the place down there,” he added. “And give us time to talk about everything else. Without pressure. Just us.”

Just us.

I pushed my chair back and stood, sliding into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms came around me automatically.

I rested my forehead against his. “But … can you really leave right now?” I asked quietly. “Your brothers, Dominion—everything you’ve all been dealing with. Department 77’s still out there. Your mom’s still …”

My voice trailed off, but he knew what I meant.

Charlie didn’t flinch. He cupped my jaw, grounding me.

“I’ve talked to them,” he said. “They get it. After everything, they want this for me—for us. If something urgent comes up, they’ll get in touch.”

I searched his face. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said, steady as ever. “They’re my brothers, but you’re my future.”

My breath caught.

“I’m in,” I whispered against his ear. “Let’s go today.”

He pulled back enough to look at me. “You’re sure?”

I kissed him once, slow and deep. “Let’s sail, Captain.”

His grin was wicked. “You trying to get me to wear a uniform?”

“I mean,” I said, pretending to think, “if it’s lying around …”

We spent the rest of the morning packing.

Just a few bags between us—casual clothes, sunscreen, a worn paperback I’d been pretending to read, and a silky nightgown I tossed in last-minute.

By afternoon, we were stepping onto the yacht.

It gleamed in the sun, all sleek lines and polished teak, like something out of a dream.

Tom, the actual captain, greeted us at the gangway with a nod and a quiet, “Welcome aboard.”

The crew was efficient but warm, treating me like I’d always belonged there.

Charlie moved through the space like it was second nature, checking our course, asking about the crew, running through logistics with Tom like the ex-military man he was.

I trailed behind, sunglasses perched on my head, letting the wind tangle my hair as we pulled away from the dock.

As Charleston faded into the distance, I settled beside Charlie on the upper deck. We toasted with champagne—because why not—and watched the coastline blur into a watercolor of blues and greens.

That night, after dinner under the stars and too much wine, I curled into bed, my skin still warm from the sun. The gentle rocking of the water soothed something deep inside me, like a lullaby I hadn’t known I needed.

Charlie stepped out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, and crawled in beside me. His hair was damp, his eyes unreadable.

“You good?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded. “Better than good.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, and when he turned back, he was holding a small velvet box.

My breath caught.

“I’d thought about making this a whole thing,” he said, voice low and serious. “Big gesture. Fancy restaurant. Fireworks over the water. The works.”

He opened the box. The ring inside was simple. Timeless. A single diamond, set in a band that shone like moonlight.

“But then I realized,” he continued, “you’d had enough drama to last a lifetime. What you need isn’t spectacle. It’s real. It’s quiet. It’s this—me and you. No noise. No fear. Just the truth.”

My heart pounded so hard it drowned out the gentle slap of waves against the hull.

He took my hand. “Sloane Carrington, you are the most stubborn, brilliant, infuriating, brave, beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

You didn’t just walk into my life—you crash-landed in it.

And I thank God every day that you did. I want to be the one who stands between you and anything that tries to hurt you ever again.

I want to be the man who makes you laugh if the nightmares come back. I want to be your home.”

I swallowed hard, my throat too tight for words.

“So,” he said, almost shyly, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and then louder, steadier, “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit like it was always meant to be there. And when he kissed me, it wasn’t fireworks. It was better.

It was peace.

It was home.

The moonlight spilled through the cabin’s porthole, painting our skin in silver as Charlie’s lips lingered on mine, soft at first, then deepening with a hunger that mirrored my own.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his shoulders, the scars that told stories I now knew by heart. The ring on my finger caught the light, a quiet promise anchoring me as our kisses grew urgent, a tangle of breath and need.

I tugged at his towel, letting it fall away, and he chuckled against my mouth, low and rough. “Impatient,” he murmured, but his hands were already sliding under my clothes, calloused fingers grazing my thighs, my hips, sparking heat that pooled deep in my core.

I arched into him, the fabric slipping up and off, leaving nothing between us but skin and want. The yacht rocked gently, a rhythm that matched the pulse of our bodies as we moved together, no rush, just the slow burn of us.

His lips traced my jaw, my throat, pausing at the curve of my collarbone as he whispered my name like a prayer.

I gasped when his hand found my pussy, teasing, exploring, drawing out every shiver until I was trembling beneath him.

“Charlie,” I breathed, my nails digging into his back, urging him closer.

He met my gaze, his eyes dark with love and fire, and when he entered me, it was like coming home—whole, complete, ours.

We moved as one, the world fading until it was just his warmth, his weight, the way he filled every empty space I’d ever carried.

Pleasure built, sharp and sweet, cresting like the waves outside.

I clung to him, my cries soft against his shoulder as he followed, his breath ragged, his arms tightening around me.

We stayed there, tangled, hearts racing, the afterglow wrapping us in quiet. His lips brushed my forehead, and I smiled, my hand resting over his heart, the ring glinting in the moonlight.

And then we didn’t stop.

We made love again—and again—chasing bliss and claiming each other in every possible way. Sometimes slow, sometimes frantic, but always with that same fire behind it. Like we’d both survived the storm and finally reached the shore.

This was us—raw, real, forever.