Kneel Alpha: The Surgeon Omega's Revenge

Chapter 12

Damien's POV

Sleep came in pieces. The machines beside my bed kept perfect time all night. A soft beep. A slow drip from the IV. Footsteps outside my door every hour.

Hospitals never really slept. Neither did I. I looked at the clock on the wall. 2:17 AM.

My side ached where Nora had stitched me back together. The pain wasn't bad anymore. It was the kind that reminded you healing was happening. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

The room stayed quiet. The night nurse looked up from her station when she saw me standing in the doorway. "You need something?"

Her voice was gentle, like she didn't want to wake the whole floor. "I do."

She smiled. "Water?"

I shook my head. "Paper."

She blinked. "And a pen."

A minute later she came back with a small hospital notebook and a black pen. She handed them to me without asking why. "Don't stay up too late," she said.

I almost laughed. Three years too late for good advice. Back in my room, I sat against the raised hospital bed and stared at the blank page. The pen rested between my fingers. I knew who I was writing to. I just didn't know how to begin.

Dear Nora.

No. I crossed it out. Too familiar.

Dr. Quinn.

That felt worse. I tore the page out. Started again. The paper stayed blank. An apology sat at the front of my mind.

I'm sorry. Two words. Simple. True. Wrong. Not because they weren't real. Because they wanted something. Forgiveness. Understanding. Relief. I had no right to ask for any of those. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So I pushed the apology aside.

Facts. Facts were honest. I could give her those. I lowered the pen. I didn't know you were pregnant. The words looked small. Too small for what they carried. I stared at them for a long time before writing again. If I had known, I never would have stood at that altar.

I stopped. Read it twice. Crossed it out. It sounded like another promise. Promises hadn't earned the right to exist between us. I turned the page. Started over. The summit lasted three days. That was a fact. The elders met every morning before sunrise. Another fact. Selara attended every discussion. She always had documents. Always had numbers. Always had answers ready before anyone asked the questions. At the time, I thought she was prepared. Now I wondered how much of it had already been planned. I wrote about the council chamber. The long oak table. The maps spread across it. The land disputes. The debts. The pressure. I wrote about Elder Cass. About the way she looked at me whenever I hesitated. Like hesitation was something an Alpha couldn't afford. I wrote about believing duty had only one shape. I wrote until my hand cramped. Then I stopped. The room had grown quieter. Even the machines sounded softer. I looked down at the pages. Nothing on them excused me. That was good.

Nothing should. I folded the papers once. Then again. I slid them beneath my pillow. Not hidden. Just... away. I turned off the bedside lamp. Sleep found me sometime before dawn.

The next day passed the way hospital days always did. Vitals. Medication. Walking laps. Protein shakes I didn't want. Nora came during rounds. Professional. Calm. She checked my incision. Asked about my pain. Made notes on the chart. She never looked at me longer than she needed to. She left before I could think of something worth saying. After she was gone, I reached beneath my pillow. The folded letter was still there. I thought about giving it to her. The image lasted maybe three seconds. Her opening it. Reading it. Looking up. Then what?

Nothing.

The letter wasn't for today. I folded it again. Put it back.

The next night I asked for another sheet of paper. The same nurse smiled when she handed it over. "You writing a book?"

"No."

She laughed softly. "Good. We don't have enough paper for that."

After she left, I looked at yesterday's letter. It wasn't wrong. It just wasn't enough. I started again. This time I left out the parts that sounded like explanations. No one likes explanations from the person who hurt them. I wrote only what belonged to me. I should have asked more questions. I should have noticed what was happening around me. I should have looked for you after the wedding. I should have made sure you were safe. Every sentence started the same way. Not because I planned it. Because every road led back there. I should have. I finished just before sunrise. It was shorter than the first letter. Better. Cleaner. Still not something I deserved to hand her. I folded it. Slipped it beneath the pillow beside the first. Two letters. Neither of them delivered. Maybe there would be ten before I got one right. Maybe a hundred.

The door clicked open. I looked up, expecting a nurse. Instead, a tiny backpack appeared first. Purple. Covered in little stars. Then Iris stepped around the doorframe. She smiled like she'd found exactly who she was looking for. "Hi."

My chest tightened. "Hi."

She walked into the room without hurry. Her backpack bounced against her shoulders with every step. She stopped beside my bed and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I made this."

She held it toward me with both hands. I took it carefully. The paper was warm from being inside her backpack. I unfolded it. Two wolves smiled back at me.

One was big. One was small. Both had enormous round heads and crooked ears. The sun sat in the top corner. Purple flowers covered the grass. Everything was slightly uneven. Everything was perfect. I smiled before I realized I was doing it. She pointed proudly at the larger wolf. "That's you." Then the smaller one. "And that's Dammy."

I looked at the drawing again. The two wolves stood shoulder to shoulder. Happy. Safe. Like that was the most normal thing in the world. My fingers tightened around the edges of the paper. I couldn't seem to look away. I held it for a long, long time.