Chapter 39 The question

Chapter 39 The question
Maya's POV

I stood up. My legs were shaking, my hands were shaking. Damn…my whole body was trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Please…Please let him be okay…Please let him be alive.

Please…

"How is he?" My voice came out cracked and broken. "Is he okay? Can I see him?"

The doctor held up a hand. Stopping me, before I could run past her. Before I could push through the door and see whatever was waiting for me on the other side.

"He's stable."

Stable…Stable means alive… means his heart is still beating. It means he's still here.

Thank God.

Thank God, thank God, thank God…

"We caught it in time." The doctor's voice was gentle. "But his heart is weak. Another episode like this could be dangerous."

Please God.

"He needs rest," the doctor continued. "No stress, no agitation." She looked at me carefully, like she was seeing past the surface, past the tears and the panic. "I'm going to have to limit visiting hours. Family only. And only for short periods."

"I understand."

"His body needs time to heal, and his mind needs peace."

Peace.

He won't get peace.

Not while Sarah is still out there.

Not while someone is sending me photos of his hospital room.

Not while…

"You can see him now," the doctor said. "But only for a few minutes."

I nodded.

I didn't trust my voice.



I started walking toward the door. My feet were heavy. Each step felt like wading through cement.

He's alive.

He's alive.

He's alive.

I repeated it like a prayer. Like if I said it enough times, it would stay true.

"Maya."

Justin's voice. Behind me.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

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

I'll be right here.

He always says that.

And he always means it.

But what happens when he's not? What happens when he leaves?

What happens when his year is up and he goes back to wherever he came from and I'm still here, still broken, still trying to put myself back together?

"Go," he said softly. "Be with your father."

I nodded.

I walked through the door.

The room was quiet. The machines beeped their soft, steady rhythm. The lights hummed and the air smelled like antiseptic and fear and something else. Something that smelled like almost losing someone.

Papa was asleep. His face was pale, the same color as the pillow beneath his head. The same color as the sheets pulled up to his chest.

He looked small.

I'd never thought of my father as small before. He'd always been larger than life.

Now he looked small and fragile and breakable. Like he could slip away if I looked away for too long.

I walked to the chair beside his bed.

"I'm sorry, Papa." My voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

For all of it.

For the stress, for the worry, for the shame, for not being the daughter you deserved.

For not being better.

For not being enough.

His eyes fluttered open, just barely. Just enough that I could see the brown underneath the lids. The same brown as mine.

"Mija..."

"I'm here, Papa." I squeezed his hand. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

His fingers tightened around mine. Weak. But there.

"Stay," he whispered.

"I will. I promise."

His eyes closed again.

His breathing evened out.

The machines beeped.

The lights hummed.

And somewhere outside, in the waiting room, Justin was sitting alone.

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it.

Not now.

I'm with my father. I don't care who it is. I don't care what they want.

I'm not leaving this room.

It buzzed again.

Go away. Leave me alone.

Can't you see I'm…

I pulled it out. It was an unknown number, again.

I opened the message.

"He looks tired."

My blood turned to ice.

Someone is watching. Someone is always watching.

I wanted to throw the phone across the room. I wanted to scream. I wanted to find whoever was doing this and shake them so badly till they stopped.

But Papa was asleep and I couldn't wake him.

So I just sat there, holding his hand and staring at the screen.

The door creaked open and I looked up.

Justin was standing there. His eyes moved from my face to the phone in my hand to my father's face on the pillow.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

I held up the phone.

He walked toward me, took it from my hand and read the screen.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. He just set the phone down on the table beside the bed and pulled up the other chair.

He sat down and then he did something I didn't expect.

He turned to my father.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

Sir.

He called him sir.

Like they were meeting in a coffee shop instead of a hospital room. Like Papa wasn't lying in a bed with tubes in his arms.

Like everything was normal.

Papa's eyes opened again.

Slowly and tiredly.

He looked at Justin.

What is he thinking? What does he see?

"I'm well," Papa said. His voice was weak. But there was something else underneath it. Something curious. "Considering."

Justin nodded.

Papa's eyes moved to me. Then back to Justin. Then to me again.

"Mija," he said slowly. "Who is he?"

Who is he?

How do I answer that? What should I say?

He's the hockey coach. He's the man who found me crying on the bleachers. He's the man who offered to help me when no one else would.

He's the man who kissed me in front of everyone and then called me a younger sister.

He's the man I can't stop thinking about. The man I can't stop wanting. The man I can't have.

He's…

"He's um…" I stumbled. "He's…"

Why is this so hard?

Why can't I just say "he's a coach"? Why can't I just say "he's a friend"? Why does my brain keep short-circuiting every time I try to define what he is to me?

"He's…"

I looked at Justin.

He was smiling.

Why is he smiling? What's funny?

Why is he just sitting there, smiling, while I'm clearly drowning?

I glared at him and tried to send a message with my eyes.

Say something. Help me.

Give me a word.

But he didn't say anything, he just kept smiling.

Ohhh.

So suddenly this calls for laughter? Is this funny to you? Watching me stumble over my words in front of my sick father while trying to explain who you are to me… a question I don't even know the answer to myself… is FUNNY?

I looked back at Papa.

His eyes were moving between us, slowly and thoughtfully.

Like he was reading a book and trying to figure out the ending before he got there.

What is he seeing? What does he think is happening here?

Does he think…

No. He can't think that.

There's nothing to think.

Justin is just…He's just…

I don't know what he is. That's the problem.

I don't know what he is and I don't know what I want him to be.

Papa's tired mouth lifted, just slightly enough that I noticed.

Why is he smiling? What does he see that I don't?

"Ah," he murmured. "I understand now."

Understand?

Understand WHAT?

There's nothing to understand.

Justin looked away, but not before I caught the corner of his mouth lifting.

Papa…

"No, Papa, you don't…"

Justin was still sitting there beside my chair, quietly and impossible, looking entirely too amused with himself. He just sat there, looking entirely too calm while my entire brain short-circuited.

Like he knows something I don't? Like…

The worst part? For the first time since all of this started...I didn't know if I wanted him to correct Papa or not.