Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 20

Twenty

A t James's insistence, Tristan reluctantly took a shower in the physician's locker room. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and sweat of the long, grueling week. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the warmth, but the memories of the last few days clung to him, heavy and unyielding. When he finally stepped out, he felt marginally better, though he was still filled with worry and guilt.

Tristan found the surgeon’s lounge, a place where he could lie down and attempt to rest. Sleep came fast and hard, but it was not peaceful. He dreamed Sophie died, her lifeless body slipping away from him no matter how desperately he tried to hold on. The dream was so vivid, so real, he woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest.

Panic gripped him as he slid his feet into his shoes and ran for the ICU. The corridors were a blur, his mind filled with images of Sophie, fragile and broken. When he finally reached her room, he found her lying there like Sleeping Beauty, her face serene despite the bandages and monitors.

Her sister Isobel was sitting beside her, keeping a silent vigil. She looked up as Tristan entered, her eyes filled with empathy and understanding. Seeing the worry etched on his face, she vacated her seat and gestured for him to sit beside Sophie. “Go ahead. She needs you.”

Tristan nodded, gratitude and relief mingling in his heart. He slipped his hand around Sophie’s, holding it tightly as if his touch alone could keep her tethered to life. Isobel watched him for a moment, then gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

Tristan shook his head, his eyes never leaving Sophie’s face. “I should have protected her,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I failed her, Isobel. I wasn’t there when she needed me the most.”

Isobel crouched beside him. “You did everything you could. None of this is your fault. If anything, I failed her. I’ve spoken to women who fled the Eldon Sect. I knew how sick Damon Whitlock was.”

“This wasn’t your fault.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I promised her. I promised I would keep her safe. And look at her now.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Sophie wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. She needs you to be strong, to be here for her. You can’t carry this guilt. It’s toxic to both of you.”

Tristan nodded, though his guilt felt unbearable. He sat with Sophie for a long time, his heart aching with the desire to take her pain away, to make things right.

James found his brother later, staring blankly at a cup of cold coffee. Tristan looked up as James sat down across from him, concern etched in his features.

"Tristan, there's something we need to talk about," he began, his tone serious.

Tristan frowned, setting down his cup. "What is it?"

"I spoke with Kay Birdham earlier," James said, watching Tristan's reaction carefully. "She tried to interfere in my conversation with Audrey and Jenna about Sophie and you. I warned her off, but I have a bad feeling she’s going to be trouble."

Tristan's face darkened at the mention of Kay. "What did she say?"

"She was dismissive of Sophie's condition," James replied, shaking his head. "Seemed more interested in stirring up drama than showing any real concern. I told her you needed a clean slate. You need to move on from past relationships and start fresh with Sophie, without any interference from her. I told her to stay out of it, but she didn’t seem to care."

Tristan clenched his jaw, anger bubbling up inside him. "Kay has recently been a thorn in my side. She wants me back, but our relationship died five years ago. I don't need her making things worse right now, but I do need her to maintain her staff position. She carries a significant patient load. I’ll call Chris Skylar.”

"Exactly," James said, his voice firm. "You need to focus on Sophie and yourself. Avoid her as much as possible."

Tristan nodded. "Thanks for the heads-up, James. I'll let Chris deal with her. I can’t fix her jealousy issues or let her interfere in my relationship with Sophie.”

James hesitated before continuing, "There's something else. I spoke with Dr. Ellen Boyle. She's your new psychiatrist at the Blackwell Institute. I arranged for you to have a session with her. I think it will help."

Tristan wet his lips. "I don't know, James. I'm not sure talking to a stranger will make a difference."

"Tristan, you need someone to talk to," James insisted. "You can’t carry your feelings too long. It’s noxious. And when Sophie wakes up? Isn’t this what you preach? Give Dr. Boyle a chance."

Tristan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Okay. I'll give it a try."

* * *

Later that day, Tristan found himself standing outside Dr. Ellen Boyle’s office at the Blackwell Institute. Her new nameplate on the door gleamed in the corridor’s bright light. With a deep breath, he knocked and waited for the invitation to enter.

"Come in," a warm voice called from inside.

Tristan pushed the door open and stepped into the cozy office. Dr. Boyle stood to greet him, her smile genuine and welcoming. She was a woman in her mid-thirties, with kind eyes and a demeanor that instantly put him at ease, one of the reasons the board hired her.

"Tristan, it's good to see you.” She extended her hand. “Chris speaks highly of you.”

He shook it, feeling a small measure of comfort in her firm grip. "Thank you for seeing me."

"It’s hard to say no to the boss,” she joked. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to a comfortable chair by the window.

Tristan rolled his eyes, but she was right. As the boss, he could ask her to sign off on the session. But for Sophie, he’d do anything. And this was why he started the Blackwell Institute.

"James told me a little about what you’ve been going through. I’m here to help in any way I can."

“I see my brother is taking advantage of his new board seat. My father passed away less than a week ago, and James inherited his seat.” He chuckled. “I’m glad it was James.”

“He cares a great deal for you.” Ellen smiled.

Tristan sat down, his hands nervously twisting in his lap. "I don’t even know where to start."

"Why don’t you start with what’s on your mind right now?" she suggested gently.

Tristan took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the view outside the window. "I feel like I’ve failed Sophie. I promised to protect her, and now she’s lying in that hospital bed because of me."

Dr. Boyle listened attentively, her expression empathetic. "It's natural to feel that way after something traumatic happens to someone you care about. But it's important to remember that what happened to Sophie isn't your fault."

"I know that logically," Tristan said, his voice strained. "But it doesn’t stop the guilt, the nightmares."

"Tell me about the nightmares," Dr. Boyle prompted.

Tristan hesitated before his words tumbled out in a rush. "It was the first time I fell asleep. I kept seeing her hurt, calling out for help, but I couldn’t reach her. It was like I was stuck, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t save her."

Dr. Boyle nodded, her expression understanding. "Nightmares like that are common after a traumatic event. It's not a burden to ask for help, Tristan," she said gently. "You’ve been through a lot, and it’s okay to need support. That’s what I’m here for, and that’s what your friends and family are there for."

"I just want to be strong for Sophie, to be there for her."

"And you can be," Dr. Boyle assured him. "But you also need to take care of yourself. We’ll work through this together, one step at a time."

As the session continued, Tristan found himself opening up more, sharing the fears and guilt that had been eating away at him. Dr. Boyle listened without judgment, offering insights and coping strategies to help him manage his emotions.

By the time the session ended, Tristan felt a sense of relief. It was just the beginning, but he was grateful for the chance to talk, to begin the healing process.

"Thank you, Dr. Boyle… Ellen," he said as he stood to leave. "I appreciate this more than I can say."

She smiled warmly. "You’re welcome. Remember, you’re not alone in this.”

He left the Blackwell Institute and headed back to the hospital, feeling less anxious.

* * *

Brad Killian walked into Sophie's ICU room. He found Isobel sitting beside her sister, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She held Sophie's hand, her face filled with grief and exhaustion.

Brad approached quietly, his presence a gentle intrusion. He looked at Sophie, her face serene despite the bandages and tubes, then he turned to Isobel with deep affection. "How is she doing?"

Isobel looked up, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "She's stable, for now. The doctors say we just have to wait and see."

Brad nodded, his heart aching for both of them. "And how are you holding up, Belle?"

She shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I'm trying, but it's so hard. Seeing her like this... knowing what she went through... it's unbearable. I should have told you what I knew about Damon Whitlock. But I?—"

“No, you told me what you legally could. I waited too long to go in.” Brad reached out and gently placed a hand on hers. "I know it's hard. But Sophie is strong, and so are you."

“I guess there’s enough guilt to go around.” Isobel managed a weak smile, her gratitude evident. "Thank you."

Taking a deep breath, Brad sat down beside her, his expression turning serious. "I need your help with something, Belle. We're working on profiling Damon Whitlock, and I think you can provide some valuable insight."

Isobel's brow furrowed in confusion. "But don't you have enough evidence to put him away? He did this to Sophie."

Brad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The problem is, no one saw him attack Sophie directly. We need her to identify him. We have witnesses to what his men did and what they stole, but to put Damon away, we need more. We need to understand him, to build a stronger case. The tribal council requires more to help us put him away."

Isobel's eyes widened in shock. "You mean, even with all this, he might not be convicted?"

"Without a direct eyewitness account of his actions against Sophie, it's going to be tough," Brad admitted, his frustration evident. "Damon is clever. He knows how to cover his tracks. The DNA evidence was weak to nonexistent. He poured chlorohexidine on and inside her.

Isobel clenched her jaw, anger flashing in her eyes. "What do you need from me, Brad?"

Brad hesitated for a moment, knowing what he was about to ask. "I need you to think back on any interactions Sophie might have had with Damon. Anything she might have mentioned, no matter how small. We need to build a profile that shows his obsession, his motives."

Isobel took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Okay. I'll do whatever it takes to help. Sophie deserves justice."

“We'll get him, I promise. We'll follow up on any leads and make sure Damon Whitlock pays for what he did."

Isobel nodded, her resolve unwavering. "Just promise me one thing, Brad."

"Anything," he replied.

"Promise me you won't rest until he's behind bars," she said, her voice steady but filled with emotion.

Brad looked her in the eye, his expression fierce. "I promise, Belle. We won't rest until justice is served."

He squeezed Sophie's hand, whispering, "We'll get him. I promise you that."