Chapter 51
Olivia
I woke up the next morning feeling more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed. My dreams had been a chaotic mix of hospital corridors, Alexander’s hands, and my father’s pale face against white sheets. Not exactly restful.
The hospital looked different in daylight, less ominous, more institutional.
I found Mom exactly where I’d left her, dozing uncomfortably in a chair pulled close to Dad’s bed. She was startled awake when I touched her shoulder.
“Olivia,” she blinked, disoriented. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine. How is he?”
We both looked at Dad, who slept peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The machines around him beeped quietly, monitoring his vital signs.
“Stable,” Mom whispered. “The nurse said he’s doing well. Better than expected.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “You should go home and get some real sleep. I’ll stay with him.”
‘I’m fine,” she insisted, but the dark circles under her eyes told a different story.
‘Mom, you won’t help Dad by making yourself sick. Go home. Shower. Sleep in a real bed. I promise I’ll call if anything changes.”
She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Just for a few hours.”
After Mom left, I settled into the chair she’d vacated, pulling out my phone to check my work emails. Nothing urgent, just a few messages expressing concern about my absence and wishing my father well. Alexander had clearly informed the team about my situation.
I texted him a quick update: “Dad’s stable after surgery. In ICU. Thanks again for arranging Dr. Weaver.”
His reply came a few minutes later: “That’s great news. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything at all.”
The hours passed slowly. Dad woke briefly, confused and groggy, but recognized me and squeezed my hand before drifting off again. The nurses came and went, checking his vitals, adjusting medications, offering me coffee, and updates in equal
measure.
Around noon, Ethan appeared with a paper bag from my favorite deli.
“Lunch delivery,” he announced, handing me the bag. “Turkey on wheat, no tomato, extra pickles.”
“You’re my favorite brother,” I said, peeling back the wrapper.
“Don’t tell Nick,” he grinned, pulling up another chair. “How’s the old man doing?”
“Better. Dr. Weaver stopped by earlier and said his vitals are strong.”
Ethan nodded, his eyes on Dad’s sleeping form. “Good. That’s good.”
We ate in companionable silence, watching the steady rise and fall of Dad’s chest. After a while, Ethan spoke again.
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“So, Alexander Carter, huh?”
I sighed. “Can we not do this now?”
“When, then? You’ve been dodging questions about your love life for years, and suddenly, you’re dating one of the richest guys in the world? I have questions, Liv.”
“Like what?”
“Like, is he good to you? Does he make you happy? Is the sex good?”
“Ethan!” I spluttered, nearly choking on my sandwich.
“What? It’s a legitimate question.”
“Not one I’m going to answer.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “So there is sex.”
“I’m not discussing this with my little brother.”
“Fine, fine. But seriously, Liv, are you happy with him?”
The question caught me off guard. Was I happy with Alexander? Our arrangement was a business deal, not a traditional relationship. But in the midst of our calculated interactions, there was an undeniable spark, something that made my heart race and my skin tingle whenever he was near. It was confusing, thrilling, and utterly unexpected, leaving me unsure of how to label my feelings.
“It’s complicated,” I said finally. “But yes, I think I am.”
Ethan studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Good. That’s all that matters.”
The conversation shifted to safer topics: his classes, my job, the latest family gossip. After an hour, Ethan left for his afternoon class, promising to return that evening.
I spent the afternoon alternating between watching Dad sleep and answering work emails on my phone. Around four, Nicholas arrived with Amelia.
“How is he?” Nick asked, nodding toward Dad.
“Stable. He woke up a couple times, but just briefly.”
Amelia handed me a paper cup. “I brought you decent coffee. That hospital stuff is basically brown water.”
“You’re a saint,” I said gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma.
“I try,” she smiled, “Nick and I can stay for a bit if you want to get some air,”
I nodded, suddenly realizing how stiff I’d become from sitting in the same position for hours. “Thanks. I could use a stretch.”
I wandered down to the hospital’s courtyard garden, breathing in the fresh air. My phone buzzed with a text from
Alexander.
Alexander: Still at the hospital?
Me: Yes. Dad’s doing well. Stable.
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Alexander: Good. I’ll stop by after work if that’s alright.
I hesitated before replying.
Me: You don’t have to.
Alexander: I want to. Need anything?
Me: Just coffee. The good kind.
Alexander: Consider it done.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, a small smile playing on my lips. Whatever else Alexander might be, he was attentive. And right now, that felt nice.
When I returned to Dad’s room, Dr. Weaver was there, checking the monitors and making notes on his tablet.
“Ah, Ms. Morgan,” he greeted me. “I was just telling your brother that your father is doing remarkably well. If he continues this way, we’ll move him out of ICU tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great news,” I said, relief washing over me.
“He’s a fighter,” Dr. Weaver nodded. “And he has excellent care.” He glanced at me meaningfully. “Mr. Carter asked me to personally oversee your father’s recovery.”
“We appreciate that,” Nick said, his tone carefully neutral. I could tell he was still processing the idea of Alexander using his influence on our behalf.
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