CHAPTER 10: IN YOUR ARMS, I FOUND HOME

Damian was already beside the car when I ended the call with the hospital. He opened the passenger door, his expression sharp with concern.

"Get in, Elena. We are going to Seabrook."

I climbed inside with trembling hands. He entered the address into the navigation, then covered my fingers with his.

"We will get there," he said.

"You cannot promise that."

"No. But I can promise you will not face this drive alone."

Rain streaked the windshield as we left Boston behind. I called the bakery twice, but no one answered. Each unanswered ring tightened the fear around my chest.

"Drive faster," I whispered.

"I am already pushing the limit. Breathe in for me."

"I cannot breathe when my mother might be dying."

"Then take one breath at a time. For me."

I tried, but the air caught in my throat. I had spent years believing that depending on someone was the first step toward being disappointed. Yet when Damian reached for my hand, I held on as if his touch could keep the worst from happening.

"Elena." Damian glanced at me. "Look at me for a second."

I turned.

"You did not cause this. You have been trying to save everyone by yourself. You are allowed to be scared."

"What if I lose her before I can tell her everything?"

"Then tell her when you get there. Do not spend this drive punishing yourself for a moment that has not happened."

Seabrook appeared beneath a grey morning sky. The harbor road, the familiar shops, and the bakery sign my mother had painted herself blurred past the window. Home had never looked so fragile.

At the hospital, a nurse hurried to meet us. Martha had collapsed after struggling to breathe, but the team had stabilized her. They were monitoring her heart closely now.

Through the glass, I saw her pale beneath a blanket, an oxygen tube beneath her nose. My knees nearly gave way. Damian caught me around the waist and steadied me.

"Look at me, Elena."

"I cannot lose her. I was supposed to get the money for her surgery."

"You love her. That does not mean you can control every outcome." He brushed a tear from my cheek. "You do not have to earn the right to be scared."

When the nurse let me inside, I took my mother by the hand. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Elena, sweetheart," she said, her voice thin but still hers. "You look terrible."

A broken laugh escaped me. "You are in a hospital bed and you are insulting me?"

"Someone has to keep you humble."

"You scared me."

"I am sorry." Her gaze moved toward Damian by the door. "And who is this handsome man you brought?"

"Damian. He drove me here from Boston."

"Six hours?" She raised her eyebrows. "That is either love or a serious traffic violation."

"Mother."

Damian stepped closer. "I am glad you are awake, Martha."

"If you are going to look that worried, young man, you might as well call me Martha."

When she fell asleep again, I went into the corridor to arrange help at the bakery. Damian took the list from my hand.

"I can handle it," I said.

"I know you can. I am offering to help, not taking over."

That difference mattered. Daniel had made every favor feel like a debt. Damian made his help feel like a choice.

I listed the morning orders, the flour delivery, and the neighbor who could open the shop. He arranged everything on his phone, then returned with soup and a sandwich.

"Eat," he said.

"I am not hungry."

"Three bites. Then you can argue with me."

"That sounded like an order."

"It was." His mouth curved. "I am allowed one when you are trying to run yourself into the ground."

Despite everything, I smiled. He sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.

"I want you, Elena," he said quietly. "Not because you need help. I want the woman who challenges me, who refuses to be impressed by my money, and who keeps standing when she is terrified."

My throat tightened. "I do not know how to be loved without feeling that I owe something back."

"Then let me show you. You owe me nothing, Elena."

I looked down at our joined hands. I had spent so long protecting myself from disappointment that accepting comfort felt almost as frightening as losing it. Still, I did not pull away.

Outside, the rain thickened against the windows. By evening, Martha remained under observation, and a storm had blocked the harbor road completely. The local inn had one room left. The innkeeper looked at Damian, then at my muddy boots, and smiled as if we were newlyweds lost on the way to Portland.

Damian accepted the key only after looking at me for permission. "One room. You take the bed. I will use the chair if you want me to."

"I do not want you in the chair."

His gaze held mine. "Tell me what you do want, Elena."

I reached for his hand. "You. Beside me. Not because I am frightened. Because when you are here, I do not feel like I have to be strong every second."

"Then I am staying right here with you tonight."

In the room, he held me while I told him how my father had left and how love had become another bill to pay. Damian admitted his former fiancee had accused him of loving control more than people.

"I do not want to own you," he said. "I want to be the man you choose when you have every reason to walk away."

I kissed him slowly. He paused, searching my face, and I drew him closer. I wanted him, not as an escape from fear, but as the man who had driven through the storm to stand beside me. We came together beneath the rain, and for once I did not feel I had to leave before morning tonight.