Chapter 171
Chapter 171
The hospital waiting room smelled of bleach and coffee gone cold. Camille sat rigid in an uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the double doors where they’d rushed Stefan an hour ago. Blood stained her clothes, his blood. She hadn’t changed, couldn’t bring herself to leave, even when a kind nurse had offered scrubs.
“He’ll pull through,” Alexander said, his fingers laced with hers. “Stefan’s tough.”
Camille nodded without speaking. The image of Stefan leaping in front of her, taking the bullet meant for her chest, played on endless loop in her mind. His body jerking backward. The surprised look in his eyes. The spreading red stain on his shirt.
“Why did he do it?” she whispered. “After everything…”
Alexander squeezed her hand. “He wanted to make things right. In the only way he could.”
Thunder rattled the windows. The storm that had masked their approach to the cabin now battered the hospital, as if nature itself shared their turmoil. Camille shivered, suddenly aware of her damp clothes and hair.
“Here,” Alexander said, draping his dry jacket over her shoulders. The warmth of it, the faint scent of his cologne, steadied her
somehow.
“What did you say to Rose?” she asked. “When they pulled her from the water?”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “I told her that no matter what happened with Stefan, she would spend the rest of her life paying for what she’d done. That no judge would show mercy once they saw what she did to you. To the people at the gala. That her story
was over.”
Camille had never heard such coldness in his voice, not even during their confrontation with Herod Preston months ago. It should have frightened her, but instead she felt oddly comforted by his ferocity.
“Miss Kane?” A doctor appeared, still wearing his surgical cap. Camille and Alexander jumped to their feet. “You’re listed as Mr. Rodriguez’s emergency contact.”
“Yes,” Alexander said. “This is Camille Kane, his…” He hesitated.
“Former wife,” Camille finished for him. “How is he?”
The doctor looked between them. “The surgery is ongoing. The bullet missed his heart but damaged major blood vessels. He’s
lost a lot of blood. We’re doing everything we can, but I need to be honest, it’s going to be touch and go.”
Camille swayed, the room tilting beneath her feet. Alexander’s arm went around her waist, holding her upright.
“Is there anyone else we should contact?” the doctor asked. “Family?”
“His parents are in Madrid,” Alexander said. “I’ve tried reaching them, but…”
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A commotion at the waiting room entrance cut him off. Margaret and Richard Lewis burst through the doors, rain–soaked and worried.
“Camille!” her mother cried, rushing forward. She stopped short, taking in her daughter’s bloody clothes and bruised face. “Oh my God, baby…”
Richard stood behind his wife, his face pale with concern. “We came as soon as Alexander called. Is Stefan…?”
“Still in surgery,” Camille said, her voice cracking. “He took a bullet for me.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. Without hesitation, she pulled Camille into an embrace. Unlike the awkward, tentative hugs of their recent meetings, this one felt real, a mother’s genuine concern for her child.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I should get back. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
He disappeared back through the double doors, leaving the family in tense silence.
“How are you holding up?” Richard asked, his hand gentle on Camille’s shoulder.
The simple question broke something inside her. Tears she’d held back for hours suddenly poured out, her body shaking with
sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped between breaths. “I can’t seem to stop.”
“Don’t apologize,” her father said. “You’ve been through hell. Cry all you need to.”
Alexander brought her a paper cup of water, his presence steady and calm beside her. The storm continued its assault outside,
rain lashing against the windows.
“Where’s Rose?” Margaret asked quietly.
“In FBI custody,” Alexander answered. “She’ll face charges for everything, the bombings, the kidnapping, attempted murder.”
Richard shook his head, his expression haunted. “I still can’t believe it came to this.”
The waiting room fell silent again, except for the drumming of rain against the windows. The nurse at the desk tapped at her
computer. A television mounted in the corner played muted news footage of the burning cabin.
A scratchy voice broke the stillness. “I see I’m not too late.”
Victoria Kane stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on a cane. Her face was gray with exhaustion, her body frail from cancer
treatments, but her eyes burned with the same fierce determination Camille had come to know and love.
“Victoria,” Camille breathed, rushing to her side. “You shouldn’t be here. Your doctors…”
“My doctors don’t tell me what to do,” Victoria snapped, though without real anger. She let Camille help her to a chair.
“Alexander called. Said you needed me.”
Margaret immediately moved to make room. “Victoria, please sit here. It’s more comfortable.”
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The gesture wasn’t lost on Camille, her mother and Victoria had come a long way from their first icy meeting months ago. The
tentative respect they’d established had clearly deepened during Camille’s abduction.
“How is he?” Victoria asked, settling into the offered chair with barely disguised relief.
“Fighting,” Alexander said. “The bullet damaged major blood vessels, but they’re working to repair them.”
Victoria nodded, her gaze drifting to Camille’s bloodstained clothes. “And you, child? Are you hurt?”
“No,” Camille said. “Not physically, anyway.”
Victoria reached for her hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her weakened state. “You’ve survived worse than this. We all
have.”
Richard brought coffee for everyone, the small act of kindness filling the awkward silence. Camille noticed how her father treated
Victoria with a mixture of respect and gratitude, a far cry from the tension that had marked their early interactions.
“Thank you for coming,” Camille said to her parents. “I know it’s not easy, being here.”
“Of course we came,” Margaret said, her voice gentle. “We’ve missed too many moments when you needed us. We won’t miss any
more.”
Alexander took the seat on Camille’s other side, completing their strange circle. “Stefan’s parents are trying to get a flight from
Madrid. I’ve arranged for my jet to meet them.”
A nurse pushed through the doors, carrying a clipboard. “Family of Stefan Rodriguez?”
“Yes,” five voices answered at once.
The nurse blinked, taken aback. “The doctor asked me to update you. He’s stable for now. They’ve repaired the main damage, but
he’s critical. The next twenty–four hours will be decisive.”
Camille felt her knees weaken with relief. Alexander’s arm slipped around her waist again, supporting her weight.
“Can we see him?” she asked.
“Not yet,” the nurse replied. “He’ll be in recovery for several hours, then intensive care. It might be morning before visitors are
allowed.”
She left them with that mixed news, Stefan alive, but barely. The strange gathering fell silent once more. Outside, the storm
began to ease, the thunder growing more distant.
Victoria reached for Camille’s hand again. “Sit down, child. You look ready to collapse.”
Camille obeyed, sinking into the chair beside Victoria. For the first time, she truly looked at the older woman, noting the new lines of pain around her mouth, the thinness of her wrists. Victoria’s cancer battle had taken a toll.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Camille said softly. “You need to rest.”
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Victoria’s lip curled. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. Which, contrary to my doctors‘ predictions, won’t be today.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Victoria, I hope you know how grateful we are. For everything you’ve done for Camille.”
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Victoria waved her hand dismissively, but Camille caught the subtle softening around her eyes. The two families had formed an
unlikely alliance during Camille’s abduction, their shared concern bridging years of misunderstanding.
“We brought something for you,” Margaret said, handing Camille a small paper bag. “We found it when we were looking through
old photos.”
Camille opened the bag. Inside lay a small silver frame holding a photograph of herself at eight years old, standing proudly on the
dock at Cedar Lake, fishing rod in hand. Her father’s arm was around her shoulders. Her mother smiled from the background,
setting a picnic on a checkered blanket.
“Our happy girl,” Margaret whispered. “Before everything changed.”
Tears welled in Camille’s eyes again, but different this time, not the desperate sobs of earlier, but something gentler. Sorrow for
what was lost, for the innocence she’d never reclaim.
Victoria studied the photo over Camille’s shoulder. For once, her face softened. “So that’s where it comes from,” she murmured.
“That spark I saw in you the night we met. It was there all along.”
Camille looked up, meeting Victoria’s gaze. “You saw me when I couldn’t see myself.”
“I recognized you,” Victoria corrected. “Because I’d been you, in my own way. Broken but burning still.”
Alexander’s hand covered Camille’s. “And now here we are. All of us.”
An unlikely family, Camille thought, looking around the circle. The parents she was slowly rebuilding a relationship with. The
mentor who had given her a second chance. The man who had loved her through her darkest days.
And somewhere beyond those double doors, fighting for his life, the man who had once betrayed her, then given everything to
save her.
“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” Victoria asked suddenly. “About pain?”
Camille nodded. “That pain can destroy you, or transform you. It’s your choice.”
“Stefan made his choice today,” Victoria said. “Perhaps his first truly selfless one.”
“He loved you, in his way,” Richard added quietly. “Even when he didn’t know how to show it.”
Camille didn’t answer. Her feelings for Stefan were too complex to untangle now, the betrayal, the pain, but also the years of
shared history, and now this final sacrifice.
The morning would come with its own challenges. Stefan’s uncertain fate. Rose’s prosecution. Victoria’s cancer battle. The
continuing journey of reconciliation with her parents.
But for now, in this strange moment of calm between storms, Camille felt something she hadn’t expected: peace. Not the absence
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of pain, but something deeper, the knowledge that whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.
The surgery doors swung open. The doctor appeared, his face solemn but no longer grim.
“He’s asking for you,” he said, looking directly at Camille. “Just a few minutes. He’s still very weak.”
Camille rose on shaky legs. Alexander squeezed her hand before letting go.
“We’ll be right here,” he promised.
Victoria’s eyes met hers, conveying strength without words.
Margaret touched her arm. “Take your time, honey.”
Richard simply nodded, his support silent but clear.
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Surrounded by this unlikely circle of love, Camille gathered her courage. Then, with a deep breath, she walked forward to face whatever came next.
