Chapter 29 Drowning

Chapter 29 Drowning
Maya's POV

The parking lot spun.

My Papa? At the rink, looking for me. He collapsed again, while looking for me.

"Justin." My voice came out strangled. "Justin, I need… I need to…"

"I've got you."

His hand was on my back, steadily pushing me toward his car.

"The hospital," he said. "We're going to the hospital."

I didn't argue. I couldn't. My legs were moving but I wasn't feeling them. My heart was pounding but I wasn't feeling that either. All I could feel was the word repeating in my head like a curse.

Papa.

Papa.

Papa.

The car ride was a blur.

Justin drove fast. The world outside the window streaked past in shapes of gray and green and nothing.

How long has it been?

Minutes? Hours? How long was I running while my father was lying on the cold rink floor?

"Maya."

Justin's voice. I didn't look at him.

"Maya, why didn't you tell me?"

Tell you what? That my father was in the hospital? That he collapsed because of me? That the stress of my ruined life put him there?

"Why didn't you say something? I could have… I would have…"

"I didn't want your help."

The words came out flat and dead. A lie wrapped in truth.

"Bullshit."

I looked at him then. He looked angry. His hands were gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to break it.

"You've been pushing me away since the party…since Cynthia. And I get it…I messed up. But this… your father… this isn't about me. This isn't about us. This is about you shutting everyone out when you need them the most."

Shutting everyone out.

Like he did. Like he does.

"You don't get to lecture me about shutting people out," I said.

His grip on the wheel tightened. But he didn't respond. The silence was worse than the yelling.



The hospital appeared out of the gray.

White walls, white lights, white everything.

Justin parked, killed the engine and turned to face me.

"Maya…"

I opened the door and got out. I didn't look back. His footsteps followed. I didn't tell him to stop. I didn't tell him to stay.

I don't have the energy to fight anymore. I don't have the energy to do anything except find my father.

The waiting room was the same.

Same cold chairs, same humming lights and same smell of antiseptic and fear.

But it was different, because this time, they knew me.

The nurse at the front desk looked up. Her eyes softened with recognition, and something else.

Something worse. Pity.

God please. Let him be okay.

"Ms. Sandoval…"

"Where is he? Where's my father?"

She stood up, came around the desk and her hand reached for mine.

Don't touch me.

Don't touch me like that. Don't touch me like you're about to deliver bad news.

"Your father collapsed at the school," she said. "He was found by one of the students. He's in the ICU. The doctors are with him now."

"Collapsed." The word tasted like ash. "He collapsed again?"

"He was released too soon. His blood pressure is unstable, he should never have left…"

"He left because of me."

The words came out before I could stop them.

He left because I wasn't here. He left because I was too busy running from Justin to check on him. He left because I'm a terrible daughter.

"Maya."

Justin's voice. It was close and then his hand was on my shoulder.

I shrugged it off.

"Don't."

"Maya…"

"Don't."

The doctor came out. She was an older woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun. Her face gave nothing away.

That's bad.

If she looked sad, it would mean he's alive but struggling. If she looked happy, it would mean he's fine.

But she looks like nothing.

"Ms. Sandoval?"

"Yes. That's me. Where's my father? Is he okay? Can I see him?"

The doctor's eyes flicked to Justin. Then back to me.

"Your father is stable."

Stable is good. It means alive.

"But he's not out of danger. He needs rest, he needs to avoid stress and he needs…"

"I know. No stress, no agitation. I remember."

The doctor nodded slowly. "He's been asking for you."

Asking for me? Papa was asking for me.

While I was running away from my problems and feeling sorry for myself.

"Can I see him?"

"Just for a few minutes. He needs to rest."

I started walking toward the door.

"Maya."

Justin's voice. I stopped but I didn't turn around.

"I'll be right here," he said.

I didn't respond. I just walked through the door.



Papa looked smaller.

That was the first thing I noticed. The man who had crossed an ocean for me, who had carried me on his shoulders when my feet were too tired to walk… looked small.

He looks like he's disappearing, like he's fading away.

Like I'm losing him.

I sat in the chair beside his bed but I didn't take his hand. I didn't want to wake him.

I just watched him breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

He's alive. Thank God he's alive.

His eyes fluttered open.

"Mija..."

"Papa." I leaned forward. "Papa, I'm here. I'm right here."

He looked at me. His eyes were tired and heavy. But there was something else there too, something soft.

"You came," he whispered.

"Of course I came. I'll always come."

"You were running."

I froze.

"You were running and I called your name but you didn't hear me. You kept running."

He saw me. He was there. He saw me running from Justin.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry…"

"No." His voice was weak but firm. "No sorry. You are my daughter. You do not apologize for being strong."

"Papa…"

"You were running toward something or away from something, does not matter." He took a breath. "What matters is that you keep running. You do not stop. You do not look back."

Keep running.

Don't look back.

But I'm so tired of running.

"Papa, please…"

"Escúchame. Listen to me. I am going to be fine. I am going to rest. And you… you are going to go back to that school and you are going to finish what you started."

"Papa…"

"Promise me."

Promise you?

How can I promise you anything when I can barely breathe? When my heart is breaking in two because of a man who sees me as a little sister?

When the girl who destroyed me is still walking free?

"Promise me, mija."

"I promise, Papa."

He smiled weakly and tired. But real.

"That is my girl."



Justin was still in the waiting room. He was standing by the window, his back to me. His shoulders were tense and his hands were in his pockets.

He stayed. He didn't have to, but he stayed.

I walked toward him. My feet were heavy, my chest was heavy. Everything was heavy.

He turned and his eyes found mine.

"Maya…"

"My Papa is stable."

"That's…"

"Thank you…for bringing me here."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know." I looked down at my hands. "But I wanted to."

Silence.

"Maya."

I looked up and caught his eyes. His eyes were soft. Too soft. Don't look at me like that. Not when I'm already falling apart.

"What happened?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Why didn't I tell him?

Because you're not mine to lean on.

Because I'm just a project to you.

Because you see me as a little sister and I can't…

"I couldn't," I said.

"You…"

"Justin, please. Not now."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Not now."

The relief was immediate and terrible.

He's giving me space and respecting my boundaries.

Why does that hurt more than if he pushed?

My phone buzzed and I looked down.

Sarah.

My blood turned to ice.

Sarah: Heard about your dad. So sorry. But maybe if you'd spent less time chasing coaches and more time being a daughter, he wouldn't be in a hospital bed.

The words blurred, then it sharpened and then it blurred again.

Maybe if you'd been a better daughter. Maybe if you'd been better…

How dare she?

"Maya? What is it?"

I couldn't speak. I turned the phone toward Justin. He read the screen and his face changed. The softness disappeared and something harder took its place.

"She sent this after your father collapsed?"

I nodded.

Something dangerous flashed across his face.

"No," he said quietly. "We're done protecting her.”

"Justin…"

"I'm calling the police."