Chapter 22: The One Who Was Supposed to Protect Him

Zach’s POV He didn’t eat much, despite the warm food and the usual banter bouncing around the table. Zach smiled when he was supposed to, chimed in with a sarcastic comment when the moment called for it—but his mind wasn’t there. Not really. It was still back in the wreckage. The memory snuck up on him more often now. The screech of tires. The shattering glass. The terrifying tilt of the SUV as it spun, then hit. He could still smell the scorched rubber. Still feel the metal bend in ways metal shouldn’t. It had been a direct hit to the passenger side—Gray’s side. And Zach had been right there. He wasn’t supposed to let that happen. Their SUV had been customized for protection—reinforced panels, armored glass, enhanced safety tech—because when your best friend was a billionaire with a last name that moved stock markets, you didn’t take chances. Especially not in New York traffic. Especially not when there were cameras, opportunists, threats that didn’t always come with a warning. But that day? It hadn’t been a threat. Just a freak accident. A car swerving out of nowhere, clipping the median, coming at them too fast, too hard. Zach had tried to react—he had reacted. But not fast enough. And now Gray was in that bed, silent and still, while the rest of them danced around the edges of hope, pretending not to notice how long it had been. Zach forced a breath through his nose and looked across the table. Amelia was laughing. Something Isabel had said, no doubt. She looked so at ease now, like she belonged here—tucked into the family, unaware of the weight her presence carried. She didn’t know the truth. Not about Gray. Not about who any of them really were. And yet, she showed up. Sat by Gray’s side. Talked to him like he could hear her. Brought her book, her sketchpad, her voice. Her kindness. And maybe that was why Zach couldn’t stop feeling this growing knot in his chest. Because Gray had spent months looking for her. Obsessing. It had started with the bookstore. That quiet afternoon when Zach had caught Gray standing in the middle of the sidewalk like someone had hit pause. Staring through the glass like he’d seen a ghost. Except ghosts didn’t make you look like that—like the world had just cracked open and you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t name. He remembered what Gray had said later, when Zach had asked if everything was okay. “She was just… there. And I didn’t know her name. But I swear I’ve been waiting for her longer than I’ve been alive.” Poetic nonsense, maybe. But Gray wasn’t like other people. He didn’t do small talk or dating apps or flings. He did silence, strategy, and twenty-hour workdays. Until her. After that day, everything shifted. He changed his routes. Walked past that bookstore more often. Spent late nights running image searches. Had his tech team comb through digital dust just to find a name—Amelia Wilson—and even then, it had taken weeks. And then the crash. The cruelest timing Zach had ever witnessed. He swallowed hard. He should’ve gotten Gray out of the city that night. Should’ve driven him back to the estate. Should’ve— Zach scrubbed a hand down his face. “Hey,” Isabel murmured beside him, catching the shift in his energy. “You good?” He nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just thinking.” “You think loud,” she said with a smirk, but there was something more in her eyes. The kind of knowing only someone who’s known you too long can carry. Zach looked back at Amelia. She was leaning in toward Charles now, laughing as he described one of Gray’s childhood disasters—something about a potato-powered robot on rollerblades. If only Gray could see this. He was missing everything. The woman he’d looked for. The family warming to her. The lightness that had returned to these sterile walls since Amelia had shown up. Zach wished he could trade places with him. Just for a day. Hell, for an hour. Let Gray see what he’d found. Let him feel what it was like to have the thing he chased so long finally sitting at his side, sketching his hand like it mattered. The sketchpad. Zach had flipped through it when Amelia wasn’t looking earlier. Pages of gentle lines, quiet emotions captured in pencil. A steaming mug. A crumpled blanket. Gray’s still hand, delicate and strong all at once. She wasn’t just doodling—she was documenting something. A connection. A slow unfolding. Zach didn’t understand love the way Gray did. But he did understand timing. And the universe had the worst sense of it. After dinner, he helped clear the table, listening to Amelia thank Vivienne too many times, to which Vivienne insisted “you’re not a guest anymore, you’re family.” That word again. Family. It echoed in his ears as he walked back to Gray’s room, hovering just behind Amelia, watching her pause at the door before stepping inside. She smiled like she was home. Zach lingered by the wall for a second before peeling away toward the hall. He couldn’t watch tonight. Not because he didn’t care. But because he cared too much. And because he was still carrying the truth in his chest: He’d been the one driving. And no matter how many doctors reassured them, how many monitors beeped steady and calm, Gray still wasn’t awake. And until he was— Zach wasn’t either.