~ 54 ~

~ 54 ~
LUCAS

I hate hospitals.

The smell alone is enough to set my nerves on edge—sterile, cold, antiseptic. It clings to your skin, invades your lungs, and leaves this metallic aftertaste in your throat that nothing ever really gets rid of.

I sat on one of the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting corridor, directly facing the ER. The glowing red sign above the door screamed IN USE, as if I needed the reminder. It pulsed with a steady, unrelenting rhythm, like it was counting the seconds out loud.

Each one felt like a punishment.

Beside me, Esme sat curled into herself, eyes bloodshot, fingers trembling slightly as they clutched mine. My thumb stroked over her knuckles again and again, a futile attempt to calm both of us. But mostly her. God knows I wasn’t okay.

This day—this whole damn day—had been a storm I couldn't seem to get out of.

And just when I thought I could breathe, when I thought maybe—maybe—I could have one moment of peace, a second just for myself, just to exist without the pressure… life sucker-punched me again.

I’d needed that moment with Lila more than I realized.

I hadn’t brought her back to my apartment expecting anything. Not tonight. Not after the night we'd just had—drinks, laughter, and those loaded glances across the room when she thought I wasn’t watching. She was still staying the night, like we’d agreed, just until the inspection was over.

But then it happened.

She happened.

The second the door clicked shut behind us, I couldn't hold back any longer, something shifted in the air between us—tense, electric. My mouth was on hers before I could even realize, and fuck me, she tasted divine. And when I could finally stop to look at her, she was already watching me like she’d been holding something back all evening and couldn’t anymore.

Then she'd kissed me back.

Soft at first. Then hungry.

My hands found her waist like they’d been waiting all damn night. Her fingers curled into my shirt, dragging me closer. And her eyes—those eyes—searched mine like she was trying to see everything I’d never said out loud. Every truth I’d swallowed.

And when I kissed her like I was losing my goddamn mind…
She didn’t pull away.
She didn’t flinch.
She let go.

No walls. No denial. Just her.

She gave in.

And it nearly undid me.

And fuck, that kiss… it had said every goddamn thing I couldn’t.

I hadn’t expected it to mean so much. Or maybe I had. Maybe I’d been lying to myself for months. Maybe I’d been waiting for her to meet me halfway, and when she did, I wasn’t ready for the intensity of it.

But that moment was ripped out from under me.

The phone call.

Esme’s voice had cracked in my ear, trembling and panicked—“It’s Eliana. Please come. She’s hurt—she’s in the ER.”

There hadn’t been time for anything else. Not for explanation. Not for goodbye.

I barely remembered getting in the car. The drive was a blur of red lights and clenched fists. All I remember is the ghost of Lila’s lips still on mine, her scent still clinging to my shirt, her eyes watching me as I walked out the door—just letting me go.

And now I was here, helpless.

Watching my baby niece fight for her life behind a set of double doors while a fluorescent sign mocked us from above.

“Eliana was just walking home,” Esme whispered hoarsely, eyes staring straight ahead. “We were coming from the park… she ran ahead… and I…

I didn’t let her finish. I squeezed her hand tighter. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if she heard me or even believed me. Hell, I didn’t know if I believed myself.

My chest was tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. I bent forward, elbows braced on my knees, hands dragging over my face like I could scrub away the helplessness sinking into my bones.

She’s just a kid.

Innocent. Bright. Full of energy. The kind of soul that runs toward life without thinking it could ever be cruel.

And now… now she was in there.

And I couldn’t do a damn thing.

I closed my eyes. Took a shaky breath.

Please let her be okay. Please… let this not be the moment everything falls apart.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t care about work, about deals, about image, or control.

I just wanted Eliana to live.

And maybe… maybe a chance to finish the kiss I never got to say goodbye with.

\----

After what felt like an eternity of pacing, heavy silence, and too many worst-case scenarios playing out in my head, the doors finally opened.

The doctor emerged, pulling down his mask with a tired but reassuring smile.
“She’s stable,” he said. “She responded well. We’ve managed the internal bleeding and cleaned up the wounds. She’ll be moved to the private ward now, as requested.”

For the first time in hours, I exhaled.
Really exhaled.

Relief hit me like a tidal wave—my knees damn near gave out. Esme’s grip on my hand tightened, her knuckles white from how long she’d been holding on. I felt her breathe too. It wasn’t just her child in there—it was her whole world. And God, I hated seeing her like that. Pale. Shaken. Completely undone.

Mum and Dad had arrived sometime after the surgery began. They were quiet at first, but the moment they got word Ana was going to be okay, I could see it—that unraveling of tension in Mum’s shoulders. The tight pull around Dad’s eyes softening, even if just a little.

And yet… in that quiet celebration, something else stirred in me.

A question.
One that still haunts me.
Should I tell Theo?

He deserved to know. He was her father—biologically, at least.
But it wasn’t my place, was it?

Eliana didn’t know. Esme had never said a word to anyone else. And Theo… Theo was too close now. Too entwined in our lives again. I couldn’t be the one to break that dam open. Not tonight. Not here.

The nurses moved Eliana gently, with the kind of care you reserve for porcelain. She looked so peaceful lying there, cheeks soft and pink, her tiny chest rising and falling in even breaths. You’d think she was home, tucked in after a long day of play, not coming out of hours of surgery. If not for the IV line taped to her small hand and the bruises on her knees, it would’ve felt like a dream.

Mum tugged me aside gently, her voice low.
“Go home, Lucas. You’ve been here all night. You still have that early meeting tomorrow. We’ll stay with Esme.”

“I’m fine,” I started to argue, but Dad cut in, voice deeper, firmer—yet laced with something uncharacteristically kind.

“Go home, son. You’ve done enough.”
His hand clapped lightly against my back. His eyes met mine—and for once, they didn’t carry judgment or distance. Just something that almost looked like pride. Then, in a blink, it was gone.

I nodded, the weight of the night crashing into my spine.

I packed up slowly—jacket, phone, keys. Took one more glance toward the room where Ana lay, where Esme sat dozing beside her, her fingers still curled protectively around her daughter’s.

I wanted to speak to her. Say something. But she needed the rest more than she needed my words.

So I just stood there for a breath.
Then turned and walked out into the night,
heart heavier than it had been all week—
with Lila’s kiss still ghosting on my lips
and a truth burning in my throat.