Page 21 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

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The riverwalk was empty, quiet in that early-morning kind of way where every step echoed.

I wandered past the footbridge and followed the curve of the riverbank until I found my favorite bench, the one tucked beneath the willow tree that leaned like it was always listening.

I sat hard, chest heaving, the cold air slicing through the fog of panic I hadn’t been able to shake.

And then, finally, I broke.

Tears spilled fast and silent, my shoulders shaking as I buried my face in my hands. The river whispered behind me. A breeze rustled the reeds. I let myself cry—ugly, messy, no-holding-back tears.

Because it wasn’t just about the water damage.

It was about everything.

Trying to prove I belonged. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying not to fall apart when someone like Damien kissed me like I meant something… and left like I didn’t.

I didn’t hear the footsteps on the bridge.

Didn’t see the shadow that paused.

Didn’t know that across the wooden railing, hidden by early fog and his own hesitation, Damien stood watching.

His jaw was clenched. His eyes locked on me, unreadable. Haunted.

But I didn’t see any of it.

Because I was too busy falling apart—completely unaware that the one person I’d tried so hard not to need… was the only one who couldn’t look away.

Chapter six

Damien

I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get involved. That stepping back was the mature, measured, self-preserving thing to do. That whatever happened between Ruby and me at the inn had been a storm-fueled fluke—a detour, not a destination.

Then I saw her on that bench.

Collapsed in on herself. Shoulders trembling. Fingers pressed to her face like she was trying to hold everything in—tears, breath, grief, maybe even the pieces of whatever she’d built that was now crumbling around her.

I didn’t call out to her.

Didn’t move from where I stood on the bridge, half-hidden in the morning fog.

Because I recognized that look—the one that saidI’m trying to be okay, but I’m losing.I’d seen it once before. When I was nine years old.

My mother had been crumpled on the floor of a hospital corridor, knees tucked to her chest, arms around herself like they were the only things keeping her from shattering. Dadhad been in surgery. Complications. Hours of waiting with no updates.

She hadn’t seen me standing there, watching.

But I remembered everything. The sterile smell. The flickering fluorescent light. The quiet sobs she thought no one could hear.

That morning had changed me.

It was the first time I’d sworn I’d never feel helpless again.

And now, here I was—watching someone else I cared about break… and doing exactly the thing I promised myself I never would.

Nothing.

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