Chapter 56
Sienna's POV
The morning passed in a blur of nurses, medication, and Payton's running commentary on celebrity gossip. It was almost normal. Almost enough to forget the weight of everything unspoken.
But when the door opened around noon, Ava appeared carrying a thermal bag, a box of blueberry cookies, and what looked like a full container of soup still steaming at the seal.
I blinked. Of everyone I'd expected today, Hayes's sister was not on the list.
She set the bags on the side table with a sunny smile. "Delivery from your overprotective neighbor. He sent very specific instructions about what you're allowed to eat and when."
Payton's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. She looked at me, then at Ava, then back at me with an expression that clearly said we are going to have a very long conversation about this later.
"I'm hungry too," Payton said, standing with impressive speed. "I hear the hospital cafeteria isn't bad. I'll go try it. You two catch up."
"Payton—" I tried, but she was already sailing out the door with a cheerful wave.
Ava settled into the chair Payton had vacated, tucking one leg under her with easy grace. Up close, the resemblance to Hayes was there—same bone structure, same intense eyes, though hers held a warmth his usually kept locked away.
"So." She pulled out containers from the bags—soup, fresh fruit, what looked like expensive energy drinks. "Hayes said you'd probably refuse food out of sheer stubbornness, so I should just start opening things until something looked appealing."
Despite everything, I almost laughed. "That sounds like him."
"Doesn't it?" Her smile turned wry. "He gave me orders that I must make sure you eat."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"
"To what?" Ava interrupted gently. "Worry him? Make him care? Sienna, he's been a mess since you came back into his life. And honestly?" She leaned forward, her expression turning serious. "It's the most human I've seen him in years."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Ava studied me for a long moment, and I had the uncomfortable sense of being thoroughly evaluated. "Can I tell you something?"
"I don't think I could stop you."
She laughed, surprised. "Fair point." Then her expression sobered. "I used to resent you, actually. When Hayes came back from school one day, he was..." She searched for words. "Hollow. Like someone had scooped out everything that made him him and left just the athlete. The heir. The perfect Sterling son."
My hands clenched in the thin hospital blanket.
"He trained like a machine," Ava continued quietly. "Pushed himself until coaches had to physically pull him off the field. There was this one playoff game where his knee was so swollen he could barely walk. They offered to sit him out and he played anyway, full contact, for four quarters."
"Ava—"
"I was twelve," she said. "And I didn't understand why losing one girl could break someone that thoroughly. So I blamed you. This person I'd never met who'd apparently destroyed my brother."
The words cut deeper than any scalpel. I forced myself to meet her eyes, to face the judgment I'd been running from for six years.
But what I saw wasn't accusation. It was something far more complex.
"Then I got older," Ava said. "Started paying attention to how he acted. The first few months, the way he'd check his phone constantly, like he was waiting for a message that never came."
My breath caught.
"He never brought anyone home," she continued. "Never dated, never even looked at the women who threw themselves at him. And our father—" Her jaw tightened. "Our father tried everything. Business dinners with 'suitable' daughters of his associates. Charity events where he'd strategically seat Hayes next to eligible heiresses. Nothing worked."
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Because I need you to understand something." Ava leaned forward, her eyes intent. "My brother has had his heart in a lockbox for six years. And in the two weeks since you walked back into his life, I've watched him come alive again. Watched him care about something besides football and spite."
She pulled up a photo on her phone. "This is from the night he won MVP his rookie season. Biggest moment of his career."
It was a picture of Hayes on the field, confetti falling, trophy in hand. He should have looked triumphant. Instead, his smile was hollow, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone who wasn't there.
"He called me after," Ava said softly. "Three in the morning, completely sober, and you know what he said? 'She would have been proud of me.' Not 'I did it.' Not 'This is amazing.' Just that you would have been proud."
The photo blurred. I blinked hard, but tears tracked down my face anyway.
"I'm not telling you this to make you feel guilty," Ava said. "I'm telling you because whatever happened six years ago, whatever reason you had for leaving—he never stopped loving you. And I think..." She closed the album gently. "I think you never stopped loving him either."
"It's not that simple—"
"It never is." She stood, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with careful awareness of my IV. "But here's what I know. Hayes doesn't let people in. Ever. He's got walls so high and thick I sometimes wonder if even I can reach him anymore."
She took my uninjured hand in both of hers. "But with you? All those walls disappear. Maybe that terrifies you. Maybe you think walking away again is somehow for his own good. But Sienna—" Her eyes held mine with painful intensity. "The only thing that's going to destroy him is if you keep pretending you don't care."
"I'm not—"
"You are." It wasn't an accusation. Just a sad, certain statement. "And I get it. I do. It's easier to walk away than risk whatever hurt you both six years ago. But easy isn't always right."
She squeezed my hand once more, then stood. "Trust him. He has the ability to control his own life now."
She reached the door, pausing with her hand on the handle.
"Eat the soup before it gets cold," she added. "He'll know if you didn't."
The door closed softly behind her.
The room felt impossibly quiet. I stared at the soup container, at the carefully packed fruit and drinks.
I reached for the soup. Started eating, slowly, mechanically.
By the time I finished, I still hadn't made anything close to a decision.
But something had shifted anyway—something small and irreversible, like a door that had been locked for years, now cracked open.