Chapter 9 - The First Step
Forty-eight hours after the surgery, the healing process defied every medical standard.
Driven by an iron willpower that astounded the Swiss medical team, Sebastian refused heavy pain medication, demanding to begin his rehabilitation immediately.
It was Thursday evening—the night before the deadline Julian had set for the council takeover.
The private gym was quiet, lit only by the warm glow of floor lamps. A set of long parallel wooden rehab bars had been installed down the center of the room.
Sebastian sat in his wheelchair at one end of the parallel bars, wearing a black athletic shirt and grey sweatpants. His lower back was wrapped in heavy surgical bandages, but his face was filled with a fierce, absolute determination.
I stood at the other end of the bars, holding a digital nerve-monitoring pad.
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Sebastian?" I asked gently. "It’s only been two days since they closed your incision."
"Julian is meeting the council at midnight at the Lakefront Club," Sebastian said, his voice low and vibrating with raw power. "I’m not sending a message through Gabriel. I’m delivering it myself."
He reached out, his powerful hands gripping the wooden parallel bars on either side of his chair.
"Clare," he said, looking up at me. "Stand in front of me."
I walked over, standing three feet in front of him, opening my arms, ready to catch him if his body failed.
"I’m right here," I whispered.
Sebastian took a deep, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes for three seconds, connecting his mind to motor pathways that had been silent since he was twenty-five years old.
He drove his energy into his thighs. He squeezed his glutes. He pressed down against the wooden bars with his arms.
His knees trembled. His left foot planted flat on the floor. His right foot planted flat beside it.
Slowly... agonizingly... millimeter by millimeter... Sebastian Lombardi lifted his hips out of the titanium wheelchair.
His body shook violently as forty pounds of long-dormant muscle fought against gravity. Sweat poured off his face, his teeth gritted in pure, unadulterated agony as electrical sensations fired like hot needles down his legs.
He stood upright.
Full height. Six foot three inches of pure, imposing muscle, towering over the room.
The titanium wheelchair sat empty behind him for the first time in twenty years.
I let out a gasp of pure, ecstatic joy, tears streaming down my face. "Sebastian... oh my God, Sebastian!"
He stood there, panting heavily, swaying slightly, his hands gripping the wooden bars so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked down at his own feet standing on the floor, his breath coming in ragged, emotional gasps.
"I’m standing..." Sebastian whispered, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "Clare... I’m standing."
"Take a step," I whispered, holding my hands out to him. "Come to me."
Sebastian lifted his right foot. It wobbled, hovering two inches above the floor, before planting firmly forward.
Then his left foot followed.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
He let go of the parallel bars completely. He swayed for a fraction of a second, his balance wavering, before taking two bold, free steps forward, pulling me firmly into his arms!
I slammed against his broad chest, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, holding onto him as he lifted me off my feet, swinging me around in a circle on his own two legs!
"You did it!" I screamed through my tears, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. "You did it, Sebastian!"
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Sebastian held me tight against his heart, his warm lips meeting mine in a deep, fiery, passionate kiss that tasted of freedom, victory, and an eternal, unshakeable love.
"We did it, Clare," Sebastian rasped against my lips, holding me close as he stood tall on his own two feet. "Now... let's go crush a snake."
