We ride in an expensive-looking SUV, speeding toward the hospital where my little brother lies, battling cancer and pneumonia. Fucking pneumonia.
We arrive at the hospital after midnight, and Tristan stays in the lobby while I ride up to the pediatric floor. The hallway is dark, the only light coming from the nurses’ stations spread out over the floor. The walls are a dull beige punctuated by boxes of masks and gloves, sanitizer pumps, and shelves of gowns. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose and makes me want to hold my breath. My eyes flick around the silent hallway; I can hear snoring behind one of the doors as I pass.
As I reach Adam’s room, tears roll down my cheeks, wetting the cloth mask I put over my nose and mouth at the doorway. I walk closer to where he’s asleep on the small bed. He’s hooked up to a bunch of different machines. His face is pale even against the soft beige blanket that covers him. His hair is a mess, and even though his eyes are closed, the underneath is dark, making his face look hollow.
I pull a chair over to his bed and sit. I reach for his hand and hold it in both of mine. He doesn’t stir, so I sit for a while and listen to the sound of his breathing.
A nurse walks in and stops dead when she realizes I’m here. “Hey there, hon. Your parents went home about twenty minutes ago to change and get something to eat.”
I lift my head enough to look at her, my eyes stinging from crying for so long. “Thanks,” I whisper. “I’m just going to sit with him for a little while.” A few more tears slip free.
The nurse nods. She checks the machines and glances over his chart before she leaves the room.
I sweep the hair out of Adam’s face and press my lips to his temple.
“Aurora?” a soft voice calls.
I turn to see Tristan leaning in the doorway. “Hey,” I whisper. “You didn’t have to wait around for me.” I dry my cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back against the wall.
“I wasn’t going to leave you here. I can take you home if you’d like,” he offers.
I nod.
“Come on,” he says, his hand at the small of my back to guide me out of the room as I pull the mask off and drop it in the bin by the door.
We don’t say much on the way to the parking lot. I’m not in the mood for conversation, and I think Tristan knows that.
Back in the car, I give him directions and stare out my window. I jump when Tristan’s hand touches mine. I look over at him, but I don’t pull away when he slips his fingers through mine.
We pull up out front, and Tristan insists on walking me to the door. I texted my mom on our way over, so she’s already waiting for us. It’s a struggle to get out with my gala dress, but Tristan helps. He keeps his hand at the small of my back as we approach the front of the house.
My mom glances between the two of us before settling on me as her eyes well up. “Aurora, I’m so glad you’re here.” Her complexion is splotchy and pink from crying, which makes the dark circles under her eyes look worse. Her hair is frizzy and tied back in a messy top knot.
I step forward and wrap my arms around her in a tight embrace, my eyes burning from hours of crying and the fresh tears forming now. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Mom.”
She pulls away and looks at Tristan. “Who is this?”
“Tristan Westbrook,” he says. “I’m sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances, Mrs. Marshall.”
She nods. “Please, come in.” She ushers us into our small but cozy living room off of the main entryway.
My dad is throwing more wood into the fireplace when we walk in. I give him a hug, and he shakes Tristan’s hand before we sit, Tristan and I on the couch, Mom and Dad in chairs across from us.
“That dress is beautiful, Aurora,” Mom says in a hoarse voice.
I try to smile. “Thank you.”
“We appreciate you bringing her home, Tristan,” Dad says, Mom nodding in agreement.
“Of course.” Tristan glances at me. “I’ll let you talk to your family,” he says in a hushed tone.
“You’re leaving?” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Please stay.” His presence next to me makes me feel stronger, almost as if I have an anchor to keep me grounded, to keep my mind from racing in too many different directions. I don’t have the strength to hide the emotions that are tied to feeling that way. In this instance, I don’t mind Tristan knowing what’s going on inside me.
There’s hesitation in his eyes before he says, “Okay.”
“We’ll head back to the hospital in the morning. Dr. Collins said he was stable and suggested we get some rest while he’s doing okay.”
I let out a slow breath and nod. “I think I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” I rise from the couch and Tristan follows suit.
My dad stands and holds his hand out to Mom while he shoots Tristan a wary look. “Aurora, see if you can find something of mine for Tristan to change into. I’m sure he’ll be comfortable in the guest room.”
“That’s not necessary, sir,” Tristan says. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense,” my mom cuts in. “You brought Aurora all the way here. We aren’t going to let you turn around and drive back tonight.”
“It’s not a problem,” he assures her.
She nods. “Well, thank you again.”
He offers her a polite smile. “It was my pleasure.”
Mom and Dad walk toward the kitchen, leaving Tristan and me alone. “Thank you for bringing me home,” I say, looking at the carpet under my heels.
He cups my cheek and lifts my face so our eyes are level. “I’m glad I can be here for you.” His thumb brushes across my skin.
“Will you stay here tonight? Please?”
His forehead creases. “If that’s what you want.”
“Unless you need to go back. I know tonight was important.”
He smiles. “I’m confident Max and Skylar took care of it. If you want me to stay, I’m not going anywhere.”
Stopping in the kitchen where Mom and Dad are drinking tea at the breakfast bar, I let them know Tristan is staying.
Dad arches a brow. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
“Dad, now’s not really the time to talk about that.” Not with Adam being sick, or with Tristan in the other room where he can hear us.
“The way he watches you,” Mom says. “You seem important.”
The heat rises in my cheeks. “I can’t speak for him.”
“Well, how do you feel?”
Oh, hell, what a loaded question. How desperately I wish I could confide in my mom about the feelings I shouldn’t have for Tristan, but the timing . . . I can’t right now.
“I feel like I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
She frowns. “Okay. We’ll see you in the morning, honey.”
I hug them both before returning to the living room. Tristan looks over at me but says nothing about what I said to my parents. I reach over and slip my hand into his, and we walk upstairs. We pass Adam’s room, and I pause. My hand is opening the door before I can stop myself.