In Love With Him

Chapter 33

Dominic’s POV

The hallway was colder than I remembered. My footsteps echoed softly off the linoleum as I made my way down to the hospital’s café. I didn’t have much money on me—just enough cash in my pocket for the flowers and maybe something cheap. I spotted a vending machine near the corner and slid in a few crumpled bills, punching in the number for a soda.

As the can clunked to the bottom, I leaned my forehead against the machine, closing my eyes for a second. She was okay. She was alive. That should have been enough to settle my nerves. But it wasn’t.

I grabbed the soda and turned to head back to her room, taking the hallway a little slower this time. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe part of me just wanted to stall—to replay that moment in my head where she smiled at me and said “Let’s start over.”

But just as I turned the corner and came within view of her room, I froze.

I heard their voices—loud voices.

Marty.

Finn.

I stopped, out of view from the door but close enough to hear. I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. But the second I heard Marty say:

“Okay but seriously. What the hell happened with Liam? I saw him kiss you. And then poof, you disappeared.”

My chest tightened like a fist had clamped around my ribs.

He kissed her?

He actually kissed her?

My mind immediately started racing, every terrible scenario rushing in like floodwater—his hands on her waist, her smiling into the kiss, him saying some slick bullshit. My jaw clenched, my fingers curled around the soda can so tight I was surprised it didn’t crush in my grip.

But then...

Kennedy’s voice, soft but honest:

“It was... awful.”

I blinked, my grip loosening slightly.

I leaned just a little closer, heart pounding, and listened.

“I don't know. It was... he was too aggressive,” she said. “Like, his lips were stiff. And wet. And—ugh—he tasted like way too much mint. I could practically taste his Altoid addiction.”

I stifled a laugh. God, she was funny even when she didn’t mean to be.

Marty and Finn burst into laughter, and then there was a pause… followed by Marty’s voice again, lower, teasing:

“It wasn’t Dominic.”

Everything inside me went still. I held my breath.

Kennedy didn’t deny it.

She didn’t say no.

All she said was a soft, flustered: “Shut up.”

But I heard the smile behind her voice. And my stomach... did an actual backflip.

I stood frozen for a few moments longer, letting those words echo in my head like they were the only thing holding me upright. Then I finally exhaled, fixed my expression, and walked in like I hadn’t just been camped outside the door like a creep.

Marty and Finn turned as I entered, both of them smirking. Finn gave me a slow once-over, and Marty raised an eyebrow as if she knew everything.

“We’ll call you later, babe,” Marty said, leaning in and giving Kennedy a gentle hug.

“Yeah,” Finn added dramatically. “Get your rest, queen. You look like you lost a duel with a surgical knife.”

They both snickered and gave me one last glance before strutting out the door, leaving the room quiet again.

I walked over and gently set my soda on the side table. Kennedy smiled faintly at me, eyes tired but warm.

Then the door opened again and a doctor entered, flipping through a clipboard. “Let’s take a quick look, sweetheart.”

I instinctively stepped back toward the wall as he pulled the blanket down and gently lifted the bottom of Kennedy’s gown. But the moment I saw it—my entire body tensed.

Her stomach.

The pale skin was bruised and discolored, surrounding a clean but angry-looking incision running vertically down the center of her belly. Fresh stitches. Redness. And the faint rise and fall of her breath, clearly in pain.

My jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The doctor gently pressed around the incision with gloved fingers.

Kennedy inhaled sharply, biting back a cry.

Without thinking, I rushed to her side and grabbed her hand.

Her fingers curled around mine almost instantly, like muscle memory.

The doctor glanced at me briefly, then continued. “It’s healing well,” he said, his voice calm but honest. “We had to perform an open pancreas surgery. Her pancreas was inflamed and close to rupturing. We managed to clean out infected tissue and drain the fluid, but if you’d brought her in even a minute later…”

He paused, his expression grim.

Kennedy’s voice wavered. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

The doctor softened, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You were lucky. We caught it in time. Now, I want to keep you overnight, just to be safe. If everything looks good tomorrow morning, you’ll go home.”

She nodded silently.

He gently lowered her gown and replaced the blanket, gave us both a nod, and slipped out of the room.

The door clicked shut.

I looked down at Kennedy, still holding her hand. Her eyes were closed, but I could tell she was awake—just overwhelmed, exhausted.

And maybe, just maybe… holding on to me for more than just comfort.

“Rest up, princess,” I whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I didn’t leave her side.

As soon as the doctor stepped out and the room fell quiet again, I gently pulled the chair closer to the bed, not letting go of her hand for even a second. I sat down slowly, careful not to shake the mattress or disturb her. Her fingers were still loosely wrapped around mine, warm and soft—even through the hospital chill.

I looked at her.

The way her lashes fluttered lightly against her pale cheeks. The faint, steady rise and fall of her chest under the blanket. Her lips parted just slightly as she breathed, still glossy from the chapstick the nurse must’ve applied. Even pale, sick, and stitched up—she looked beautiful. Fierce, fragile, and everything in between.

I couldn't help but think about what I overheard earlier—what she said about Liam.

“It was... awful.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a flicker of satisfaction. Okay, maybe more than a flicker. Full-blown relief, if I’m being honest. But then came the guilt. It wasn’t fair to feel that way—not when she was in a hospital bed recovering from a damn surgery. And still…

The truth was, I needed to hear that. Because ever since I kissed her, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. It wasn’t just the feel of her lips—it was the way she kissed me back. The way she let me in.

And now I knew that even drunk, even with my brain spinning, I gave her the kind of kiss that Liam couldn’t. The kind that stuck. The kind she felt.

I smirked to myself, just slightly, my thumb brushing against the top of her knuckles.

God, I was glad she liked it.

And that made me even more determined to never screw it up again.

I looked at her one more time—studying every tiny detail. Her nose, the way a strand of her hair had fallen across her face. I carefully reached out with my free hand and tucked it behind her ear.

She didn’t stir.

I felt the exhaustion finally start to creep in, wrapping around my limbs like a weighted blanket. I hadn’t slept much—if at all—since she camd home sick from the dance. My body was sore from adrenaline and stress, but I refused to move. I wouldn’t leave her.

Ever.

Instead, I leaned forward and rested my head against the mattress beside her arm. My forehead brushed the edge of the blanket. I was close enough to feel her warmth, to smell the faintest hint of her shampoo under the sterile hospital air.

I let my eyes close, still holding her hand in mine.

And somewhere between the steady rhythm of her heartbeat on the monitor and the safety of knowing she was alive, I drifted off—right there, beside her.

Still holding on.