Gemma's POV.
Dmitri is lying in bed, wearing a hospital gown, one leg suspended in the air, encased in a cast. He hears the door open and instinctively turns his head, his expression freezing.
"Dmitri, this is the victim's family member, Miss Gemma Dawson," says the officer to Dmitri.
The officer then turns to introduce Dmitri to me.
"Hello," I say, looking at the hospital bed.
"Hello," Dmitri responds, his expression still tense.
"I came to thank you," I continue, my eyes drawn to a pile of clothes beside Dmitri's bed. It's a blue suit, now stained with blood. But since the accident happened hours ago, the blood has dried and darkened, looking more like coffee stains.
"It's nothing. I happened to be passing by, saw what was happening, and acted instinctively," Dmitri says.
"What exactly happened?" I ask.
Dmitri pauses, then says, "It was just after 3 p.m. I saw a man crossing the street, holding a fishing rod in one hand and a bucket in the other."
"He must have just come from fishing, being cautious, waiting at the crosswalk until the light turned green. He was careful while crossing, checking his surroundings — it's Independence Day, so there should have been a lot of people, but it's a small town, and there was only one car on the road. The car wasn't speeding, so the man probably thought it would stop in time, but the driver was on the phone and didn't notice the traffic light. So I ran up and pulled the man away."
"We both fell, but I was okay, just a broken bone. The man — your father — wasn't so lucky. He's older, the body more fragile, so his condition is worse."
"And then?" I ask.
"The driver, still holding the phone, stuck his head out of the window to look, then sped off. I could only call an ambulance first, then the police."
"Luckily, this young guy reacted quickly," the officer standing beside me adds. "He noted down the license plate number and described the driver's appearance, which has been very helpful for our investigation."
"It's nothing, just what I should've done," Dmitri replies. Then he looks at me again. "It wasn't until the police used your dad's phone to call you that I realized he was your father."
"You know each other?" The officer looks surprised.
"Yes," I nod.
Dmitri falls silent after that, his eyes downcast as if he knows I don't like him. Through the glass window, I see Dmitri's reflection.
The officer's phone rings. He answers, then tells me they have new information on the driver before turning to leave.
I also leave, heading back to the surgery room to wait for updates with my mom.
Half an hour later, I return to Dmitri's room and see him reaching for the cup of water on his bedside table. His leg is suspended, and the distance his hand can reach is limited, so his movements are slow.
I push open the door and bring the cup to his lips.
"Thank you," he says, tilting his head slightly to take small sips.
After he drinks, I place the cup back on the table.
"Why were you near my house?" I ask.
"I was working nearby, then remembered you grew up in that town, so I went to take a look," Dmitri says, turning slightly away from me, not meeting my gaze. "Of course, I was hoping for a bit of luck too. It was Independence Day, with a three-day holiday, so I wondered if you might come home. Maybe we'd run into each other."
"But don't overthink it. I only wanted to see you from afar, not to bother you." Dmitri glances quickly at my eyes, then looks down. "I know I can't repay you for the cornea. If I were you, I wouldn't forgive me either. So I just wanted to see you. I know you're happier in a world without me."
"But, Gemma, when I found out the man hit was your dad, I was truly glad I saved him."
Dmitri pauses and then asks, "How is he now?"
"He's stable. My dad has a severe fracture, but he's been moved to a hospital room."
And after thait, I called a taxi for Mom and sent her home; she looked like she could collapse at any moment. I'll stay at the hospital with Dad.
Dmitri exhales softly, smiling at me. "Glad to hear that."
"Thank you again for today," I say.
Afterward, I return to my dad's room, putting the toiletries I bought from the convenience store into the bathroom.
The anesthesia hasn't worn off yet, so Dad is still asleep in bed. The window is open slightly, and even though it's summer, the breeze feels a bit chilly. I close the window and draw the curtains.
Then, I sit beside the bed, looking at Dad and his graying hair. My vision blurs.
These past years, I've been so focused on escaping California, on fleeing from the place that scarred me, that I forgot the people I treasure most are still here. If Dmitri hadn't been there today, Dad would've been crushed under that car... I can't even bear to think any further.
I tuck Dad in, wipe away my tears, and request time off from work through my phone. After that, I prepare the small bed in the room for the night.
The next morning, Dad wakes up. His leg still hurts, but the doctor says he's recovering well and prescribes him some painkillers.
I help Dad with breakfast and call the police to check if there are any updates on the case. The officer tells me that the car the driver was using had fake plates, but they're working hard to find new leads.
I thank the officer and head out to buy fruit for Dad. As I return to the hospital, I spot Dmitri hopping down the hall on crutches, one leg still in a cast.
"Are you going out?" I ask.
Dmitri nods. "To get a drink from the vending machine."
"I'll get it for you. You should rest." I leave half the fruit on his bedside table, as I had bought it for him too.
"Thank you," Dmitri says, lying back down.
When I return to his room, I notice he's alone.
"Is there no one to take care of you? No visitors either?"
Back when we were together, Dmitri would constantly take me to gatherings with his friends. He had a great social life. But now, the room feels empty, without even a bouquet of flowers.
Dmitri smiles faintly. "I've been abandoned by all."
"I'm divorced. My family didn't agree with it; they still think my ex-wife's family has some standing in the business world, even after her father's death. As for my friends, they think I'm foolish, that there's no need to divorce over a woman. After all, there are plenty of women willing to be mistresses for money. I could easily find one of them."
I stay silent.
Dmitri smiles again. "But I'm not completely alone."
"Yes?" I ask.
He gestures to the stack of documents and a laptop on the table across from his bed. "My assistant came by this morning and brought all my work."
YOU ARE READING
Mr. Badass ✔
RomanceI saw a hot guy at a sex culture festival and thought he was a sex doll for women. Out of curiosity, I reached out for his crotch. It turns out this guy was alive and could talk. I'm doomed. --Gemma Dawson