Chapter 75

Chapter 75

ADRIEN

Six months.

It’s been six fucking months.

I pushed through the double doors of the ice rink, letting the cold air fall away behind me as sunlight greeted my face. The bright warmth stung my skin, like it didn’t belong in the world I was living in. Still, I tilted my head up, closed my eyes, and breathed it in.

Practice had just ended. I was the first one out—not because I hated being there. If anything, it was the only place that gave me structure lately. But visiting hours at the hospital started in an hour, and if I left now, I could beat traffic.

I always left early. Always made it on time.

Because it was her.

I jogged toward my car and tossed my gear into the backseat without a second thought. My hands were still raw from the ice, my legs sore from drills, but none of that mattered. Not when she was still lying in that fucking hospital bed. Not when she hadn't opened her eyes since that night.

The key twisted in the ignition. The engine turned over. I didn’t even let the heater warm up before I pulled out of the lot and hit the road.

Six months.

Six months since I let her get on that bike with me. Since I looked her in the eye, told her to trust me, and promised her everything would be fine.

And it wasn’t.

Not even close.

I remember the way she smiled behind the helmet, the way she yelled that she loved me before everything went black.

Sometimes I wish I never asked her to come that night. Sometimes I wish the bike never got delivered, or that I just ignored the urge to do something "epic and romantic" like we talked about.

But most days… most days I’d give anything to go back. To throw the keys away. To turn around and hold her one more time and tell her we’d just hang out at my place instead.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white. The light changed, and I barely noticed.

I blame myself. Every single day. No one had to tell me it wasn’t my fault—I knew what they’d say. That it was a drunk driver. That it wasn’t something I could’ve seen coming.

But I brought her there. I was behind the wheel—so to speak.

And now she’s stuck in some limbo while the rest of the world keeps moving.

A new semester had started. New classes, new projects, new games. People moved on. They healed.

I didn’t.

Because how the fuck do you move on when the one person that made your life feel like life hasn’t even opened her eyes in 180 days?

Kaia.

God, just the thought of her name in my head made my chest tighten. Every time I walked into her hospital room, it was the same.

White sheets. Machines humming. That beeping rhythm that told me she was still here, even if she couldn’t hear me.

Sometimes I sat by her bed in silence. Sometimes I talked to her about my day. Other times, I held her hand and just begged—please wake up.

But no matter how much I said it, nothing changed.

I turned into the hospital parking lot and found my usual space. I shut off the engine, leaned back in the seat, and stared at the dashboard for a second too long.

It didn’t feel real. It never felt real.

Kaia—beautiful, wild, stubborn Kaia—shouldn’t be stuck like this. She should be walking out of class, flipping me off when I tease her, dragging me to late-night drive-thrus because she’s “starving again.”

Not this.

Never this.

I stepped out of the car and closed the door a little harder than I meant to. The metal thunked behind me. I took a deep breath, looked up at the hospital windows, and whispered the same thing I did every time.

“Please be different today.”

Then I started walking.

OoO

The vending machine was fucking possessed.

I’d been standing in front of it for what felt like ten minutes, starving, my sweaty training shirt clinging to my back, and nothing—nothing—was dropping. I hit the glass. Cursed it under my breath. Tried again.

When the chips finally dropped, I ripped open the bag like a goddamn savage, the crinkle loud and sharp in the quiet hallway. I shoved a few in my mouth without tasting them, too focused on how long it had taken me to eat something today. Maybe I should’ve gone to the cafeteria. Maybe—

I turned the corner toward her room.

And everything stopped.

The bag slipped right out of my hand, chips scattering across the floor.

I froze.

Because Kaia was sitting up in bed.

Sitting up. Awake.

A closed book rested in her lap, her eyes looking out the window—soft, thoughtful. She looked... normal. Whole. Real.

Then she turned.

Her head whipped toward the sound of the falling bag, and our eyes locked.

I couldn’t breathe.

She was awake. She was really, actually awake.

And not just blinking like she was trying to figure out where she was. She was there. Present. Sitting upright and alert.

“Kaia…” I choked out, barely a whisper. My body moved before my brain could even register.

I crossed the room in three steps and dropped to my knees by the side of her bed, arms wrapping around her like I was terrified she’d vanish again if I didn’t hold her tight enough.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes—sharp, fast, relentless.

“Oh my god—Kaia,” I said, voice cracking as her name spilled out like a prayer. “You’re awake. Fuck, you’re awake.” My arms tightened. “You have no idea—no fucking idea—how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

All the weight, the fear, the regret, the guilt—it all started to come undone inside me, every thread snapping loose.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Thank god, you’re—”

Suddenly, she shoved me.

Hard.

I stumbled back, hit with confusion more than the physical push. I stared up at her, blinking, trying to make sense of the look in her eyes.

It wasn’t relief.

It wasn’t recognition.

It was fear.

She shuffled further back on the bed, her hand pressed to her chest, her whole body recoiling like I was some stranger who had barged in here uninvited.

Her brows furrowed.

“Do I… do I know you?”

The words felt like a knife, twisting slow and deep.

“What?” I said, barely audible.

She kept staring at me like I was some unhinged lunatic, panic rising in her eyes.

“Who are you?”

Everything inside me went quiet.

Cold.

The nurses burst in a second later, followed by the doctor, all of them rushing toward her, fussing, checking vitals, asking her questions.

She turned her attention to them, responding with confusion still etched into her features, and occasionally, her eyes flicked back to me—nervous, questioning.

Like she really had no fucking clue who I was.

I stepped back.

One step. Then another. My throat felt like it was closing in.

She doesn’t remember me.

I kept backing away, hands numb, watching as they surrounded her bed, as she answered the doctor’s questions slowly, cautiously.

She doesn’t remember me.

I reached the door, my legs barely holding me up.

She doesn’t remember me.

And just like that, I turned and walked out, the weight of those four words caving in my chest like a sledgehammer.

She doesn’t remember ME.

TO BE CONTINUED...