Chapter 57
Sienna's POV
Fifteen minutes after Ava left, the door opened.
Payton walked in carrying a brown paper bag and two coffees, her expression somewhere between concerned and exasperated. She set everything down on the rolling table and pulled the chair closer to my bed.
"So," she said without preamble, "want to tell me who that woman was? Why she came here looking like she just delivered the sermon of the century?"
"She's Hayes's sister. I only met her recently," I said, picking at the edge of my blanket. "She was just being nice. Bringing food Hayes ordered."
"Bullshit." Payton crossed her arms. "Your face looks like someone just told you the sky is actually purple and provided photographic evidence. What did she say?"
I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Payton was still waiting, that stubborn set to her jaw that meant she wasn't going anywhere.
"She said Hayes has been miserable for six years," I said quietly. "That I should trust him."
"Smart girl." Payton unwrapped a sandwich and pushed half toward me. "Also, in case you were wondering, she's right about everything."
The words landed like physical blows.
---
The afternoon bled into evening. Payton left around four-thirty to buy our dinner. The room fell into that particular hospital quiet.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, the door was opening and Hayes stood in the entrance.
He'd changed into a clean black hoodie and dark jeans. The shadows under his eyes were still there but less pronounced, and he carried a thermal bag in one hand and what looked like proper utensils in the other.
For a moment we just looked at each other. Then he moved to the small table beside my bed and started unpacking containers with calm efficiency.
Clear chicken noodle soup. Steamed pumpkin. Blanched broccoli. Everything carefully chosen to avoid the foods I couldn't eat—no lamb, no ginger, no seafood.
He opened a bottle of warm honey lemon water and set it within my reach. "Doctor said no cold drinks."
His movements were natural, practiced, like we'd never spent six years apart. Like this was just another Tuesday evening in a life we'd shared continuously.
My chest constricted.
"Payton already went to get dinner from the cafeteria," I said quietly.
Hayes didn't look up from arranging the bowls. "Fast food doesn't count as dinner." His tone was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for argument.
I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it again. Because what was the point? He'd just override me with that calm, immovable logic.
He handed me a spoon.
I took it with my left hand, my right wrist still wrapped in bandages making the motion awkward and stiff. Hayes noticed—of course he noticed—and his jaw tightened fractionally. But he didn't offer to help, didn't reach over to take the bowl. He knew I'd refuse.
We ate in silence. Just the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the distant hum of hospital equipment, the winter light fading to dusk outside the window.
The soup was perfect. Not too hot, not too bland. Exactly the way I liked it.
That made it worse somehow.
Halfway through the meal, I set down my bowl. Forced myself to meet his eyes.
"I'm getting discharged tomorrow."
His hand stilled on the bottle cap he was opening. When he looked up, his expression was carefully neutral.
"Did the doctor clear you?"
I nodded. "Afternoon checkup came back fine. No reason to stay longer."
I lowered my gaze to the soup bowl. "And I can't keep taking you away from training."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Hayes set down the bottle very deliberately. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but each word carried weight.
"You think I have any focus left for training right now?"
It wasn't really a question.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because he was right—he'd pushed every practice aside these past few days. And the guilt of that was crushing.
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made me want to look away.
"Do you know how I found you?" he asked softly.
My breath caught.
"You collapsed in your apartment, Sienna." He said it like he was stating a medical fact, but I heard the tremor underneath. "Alone. With your phone out of reach and the door locked."
The memory flashed back—the dizziness, the way the floor had tilted, everything going black.
"But I'm fine now—"
"This time." His voice cut through my protest. "What about next time? You going to keep living alone, working yourself into the ground, hoping someone happens to find you before it's too late?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes boring into mine.
"You going to roll those dice again? Hope Reina gets worried? Hope Payton comes by? Hope you don't end up unconscious on that floor for hours or worse?"
I had no answer. Because he was right and we both knew it.
The silence stretched taut between us.
Finally Hayes spoke again, and his voice had shifted—still quiet but carrying a different kind of weight.
"After you're discharged. Move into my house in Silver Pine Valley."
I froze, unable to process what I'd just heard.
"No." The word came out instantly, reflexive.
He gestured at my bandaged wrist.
"You can't take care of yourself right now. There's staff there. You won't be alone if something happens."
"I've managed fine—"
"I haven't." The words fell like stones into still water.
I stared at him.
"I haven't managed," he repeated, and there was something raw in his voice now. "I can't handle watching you live like this anymore."
The monitor beeped steadily in the background. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled past.
"Hayes—"
"You take the third floor," he said. "I won't come up. Think of it as a temporary project accommodation if that makes it easier."
He stood, moved to the window, stared out at the parking lot below.
"Separate living space. Private studio setup. I just need to know you're safe."
The careful way he said it—the deliberate distance he was offering even as he asked me to stay—cracked something in my chest.
"Hayes..." My voice came out unsteady.
He turned, and his eyes held mine with devastating clarity.
"This is the only solution I can think of that you might actually accept. That might let me sleep at night."
A pause.
"If you still say no—"
He didn't finish. Didn't need to. The exhaustion in his posture, the careful control in his voice—it all spoke to exactly how close to breaking he was.
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to cling to my independence, my carefully constructed walls. But looking at him now, seeing the way he was trying so hard to give me space even while asking me to stay—
The door opened before I could respond.