Chapter 2 : “Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?” 

It was just past midnight when Javier finally went searching for his phone.

Despite Clarabelle’s strict orders for him to stay away from anything work-related, the urge to check his emails gnawed at him. His ever-scheming little sister had made sure he couldn’t cheat the system—she’d insisted he leave his laptop locked in his office two days before the honeymoon.

Now, here he was, prowling through the quiet house in his pajama bottoms, hair tousled, and eyes still heavy from sleep.

“Damn it… where did I put that thing?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the dimly lit living room. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock were the only sounds accompanying him. His phone wasn’t on the table, or the counter, or anywhere obvious. Finally, he started digging through the couch cushions like a man on a mission.

Five minutes later, he found it wedged between the pillows. He exhaled a small sound of triumph, thumb hovering over the screen to unlock it—just as it buzzed to life in his hand, startling him.

The sudden vibration made his pulse jump. Half-asleep and caught off guard, he instinctively rejected the call before realizing who it was.

Draven.

He frowned, confusion cutting through his drowsiness. Draven wouldn’t call him at midnight unless something serious had happened. He was just about to call back when the phone rang again.

This time, it was Thornton.

A ripple of unease passed through him. Two calls in the middle of the night—something was wrong. His chest tightened as he answered on the first ring.

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“Finally!” Thornton’s voice came through heavy, shaky with exhaustion and stress. “You need to get here, Javier—fast. She’s in critical condition.”

Javier’s blood went cold. His heart began pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. “Who?” His voice cracked, unrecognizable even to himself.

“Have you not seen our messages?!” Thornton snapped, panic laced in his tone. Then, almost immediately, his voice softened as guilt took over. “Sorry. I forgot you just got back. You must be exhausted. I just… I can’t believe this is happening right now.”

“It’s okay,” Javier said quickly, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Who’s in critical condition? I’ll leave right now.”

“It’s Clara.” Thornton’s voice broke on the name. “She was in a multi-car collision—driving home after dinner with Autumn. I can’t believe it… she’s in surgery.”

For a moment, everything around Javier seemed to still. The sound of the clock, the hum of the fridge—all faded under the weight of that single word.

“Clara…” he breathed, already pacing the length of the living room, his bare feet soundless on the hardwood. “Is Autumn okay? Was she in the car? Tell me she’s fine.”

“Autumn’s okay. Tyler picked her up,” Thornton replied, relief faint but audible. He’d never fully approved of his daughter’s relationship, but right now, that was irrelevant. “I can’t say the same for Clarabelle. The doctors say she’s lost a lot of blood. She might need a transfusion. You and the twins are the only matches. I can’t ask Mom—she’s not strong enough for this.”

“I’m on my way.”

Javier was already moving—taking the stairs two at a time. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Ella’s still asleep,” he said more to himself than to his brother. “I’ll leave her a note before I go.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed as gently as possible, not wanting to wake her. In the faint glow from the bedside lamp, Ella looked peaceful, her hair spilling across the pillow, lips parted slightly in sleep. The sight made his heart ache all the more.

He turned quickly toward the dressing room, grabbing the first pair of jeans he could find and pulling on a plain white long-sleeved T-shirt. His movements were sharp, hurried, his mind a whirlwind of panic and disbelief.

When he came back for his phone, Ella stirred. Her lashes fluttered open, her eyes sleepy but instantly alert as they found him standing there, half-dressed, the tension in his body unmistakable.

“What are you doing?”

Ella’s voice came out soft but confused as her sleepy eyes flicked toward the clock on the bedside table. “It’s only fifteen minutes past midnight.”

Then something in Javier’s expression pulled her upright. She pushed herself up quickly, sheets pooling around her waist. Her long dark hair was a wild halo from sleep, but her eyes were instantly alert.

“Are you planning another surprise?” she teased faintly, still trying to shake off the haze of sleep. But as she stepped closer, the dim light spilling from the bathroom doorway revealed the truth — the tension carved across Javier’s face, the fear shadowing his normally calm blue eyes.

Her breath caught. “You look… serious. What’s wrong?”

Javier hesitated, torn for a moment between protecting her peace and giving her the truth. She’d barely rested since they got home — her exhaustion still clung to her like a second skin. But he’d promised himself long ago never to hide things from her again.

He swallowed hard. “Clara’s had an accident,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. “Thornton just called. She’s in the operating room. They think she might need a blood transfusion.”

The air seemed to vanish from the room.

Ella didn’t waste a second. “Oh my God—” she gasped, throwing the covers aside and jumping out of bed. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re exhausted,” Javier said quickly, stepping in front of her as she moved toward the dressing room. He reached out, gently catching her wrist. “You need rest. It’s okay, I’ll handle this. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“There’s no way I’m staying here,” Ella said firmly, her voice shaking but resolute. She laid her hand over his and carefully pried his fingers from her wrist, her touch soft but unwavering. “Jiev, I know Clarabelle is technically your sister—but she’s mine, too. I love her. I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s in surgery. Please don’t ask me to.”

He met her eyes and knew there was no use arguing. There was strength in her gaze — quiet but unyielding — the kind that had drawn him to her from the very beginning.

Ella disappeared into the dressing room, and Javier sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. The weight of dread pressed against his chest like a physical ache.

True to her word, Ella reappeared less than five minutes later — dressed in dark jeans, an oversized sweater, and her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. There was no makeup, no hesitation, only quiet determination.

Within minutes, they were in the car. The night outside was eerily still, the streets half-drowned in mist and streetlight glow. Javier gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the empty road ahead.

Beside him, Ella held his phone, scrolling through messages. Her brows furrowed as the notifications piled up — dozens of missed calls and unread texts.

“There are so many messages,” she murmured, voice laced with guilt. “She’s been in surgery for two hours already.”

Javier reached across the console, taking one hand off the wheel to find hers. Their fingers intertwined, grounding each other in the shared silence.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t feel bad. She’s strong. She’s gonna be okay.”

Ella turned to him, her eyes glistening faintly in the dim dashboard light. “I know,” she whispered, squeezing his hand back. Then, more quietly — and with a knowing edge — “You shouldn’t feel bad either.”

Her words hit home. She knew him too well — how he always blamed himself when the people he loved were in pain.

And as the city lights blurred past the windshield, Javier could only hope that, this time, hope itself wouldn’t betray them. 

---

Ballard General Hospital glowed under the pale wash of fluorescent lights, the kind of cold brightness that made everything feel too quiet, too sterile.

Javier barely let the engine die before tossing his keys to the valet and rushing through the glass doors. His heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the corridors until he spotted a familiar cluster of faces in the waiting area.

The Summers family had practically taken over the space. Thornton sat rigid on a chair near the vending machine, his wife Ava asleep against his shoulder; Piers and Declan were talking quietly with their wives; even Declan’s pregnant wife, Qingshan, was there — her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly.

“You brought your pregnant wife?!” Javier said in a low, incredulous whisper as Declan rose to greet him.

Declan exhaled deeply, his expression tired but calm. “She insisted. And when my wife insists on something, there’s not a force on Earth that can stop her.” He ran a hand through his hair and added dryly, “And yes, you’re the seventh person to mention it.”

He then glanced past Javier toward Ella, who stood quietly at her husband’s side, concern written across her face. “Wait, why did you bring your wife? Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

Before Javier could answer, Ella offered a faint but steady smile. “I insisted too.”

Declan’s lips curved. “Clara’s going to be thrilled when she wakes up and realizes we’re all here.”

Javier nodded, his throat tightening. His gaze drifted across the room again, taking in the sight of his family—each person carrying their worry differently. Ava, the ever-composed newscaster, was slumped in exhaustion, her head resting against Thornton’s shoulder. Despite her demanding career and brutal morning shifts, she was here, waiting for news, like the rest of them.

“Where’s Draven?” Javier asked after a moment, realizing that his brother’s unmistakable energy was missing.

“Getting his blood drawn,” Declan replied. He jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Actually, speak of the devil—there he is. And apparently, he’s already made a friend.”

Sure enough, Draven was striding toward them with that easy swagger that came as naturally to him as breathing. Walking beside him was a nurse, her posture perfectly professional, but her expression just a touch amused — the look of someone who’d been on the receiving end of Draven’s charm for the past five minutes.

Declan shook his head with faint amusement. “Some things never change. The man could flirt with a wall if it smiled back.”

Javier turned, ready with a quip — but then he saw her.

The nurse.

Ella squinted, frowning slightly. “Wait… I know her from somewhere.” She took a step forward, peering more closely through the harsh hospital light. The face was familiar, though the setting made it hard to place.

Javier, however, recognized her instantly — and every muscle in his body went tense. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

The curse slipped out before he could stop it. His eyes flicked toward his second-oldest brother, Piers, who was standing near the far wall. Their gazes met, and the flat line of Piers’s mouth said it all — he wasn’t happy about her being here either.

The air in the room seemed to tighten, the faint hum of the hospital lights suddenly louder.

Whatever storm was about to unfold… it wasn’t just in the operating room.