Chapter 42 Things left unsaid.

Chapter 42 Things left unsaid.
Maya's POV

The nurse was firm.

"Ms. Sandoval, you need to sleep. Your father is stable and he's resting. You sitting here staring at him isn't going to make him wake up faster."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that she didn't understand, that every time I left this room something happened, that the moment I walked away Papa's heart would stop again and I wouldn't be there to hold his hand.

But I was too tired to argue. So I just nodded, stood up and walked to the door. Justin was in the hallway, leaning against the wall. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were on the floor.

He looked up when I came out.

"They want me to go home," I said.

"I heard."

"You don't have to drive me. I can take a bus."

He pushed off the wall. "I'm driving you."

It wasn't a question.

The car ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind of silence. Not the kind that had settled between us in the hospital room, full of unspoken things that felt almost safe.

This was different and very awkward, because of one line.

"Because I didn't want to."

The words were still echoing in my head, over and over and over. Like a song I couldn't stop hearing. Like a wound I couldn't stop touching.

Because I didn't want to.

What did that mean? What was he saying?

Was he saying he cared about me? Or was he saying he just didn't want to cause a scene in front of my father?

There's a huge difference and I don't know which one it is.

I stared out the window. The streetlights blurred past, orange glow after orange glow after orange glow.

Why won't he say anything?

Why is he just sitting there?

Why won't he look at me?

Why won't he…

Stop it, Maya. Stop hoping.

Hope is dangerous. Hope is how you end up crying in a bathroom stall while the whole school laughs at you.

Don't hope.

Don't….

"You're thinking too loud," Justin said.

I turned to look at him. His eyes were on the road.

"I'm not thinking anything."

"You're thinking about what I said."

"Ohhh please. Don't flatter yourself. I'm not…"

"You are, and you're spiraling. I can feel it from here."

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I was fine, that I wasn't thinking about anything except my father and the hospital and whether Papa had eaten enough today.

But he was right.

I was spiraling.

And I didn't know how to stop.

Justin pulled into a gas station.

Not because the car needed gas. I could tell by the way he parked, away from the pumps, near the small convenience store with the flickering sign.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"You haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

He turned off the engine and looked at me.

"You said that the last time, and the time before that. And the time before that."

"Because it's true."

"Maya." His voice was softer now. "You've been living on hospital coffee and adrenaline for days. You're going to crash. And when you crash, you're not going to be any good to your father or anyone else."

Anyone else.

Did he mean himself?

Was he including himself in "anyone else"?

Stop it, Maya.

Stop.

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

He got out of the car.

I watched him walk into the convenience store. The glass door swung shut behind him. The fluorescent lights inside made his skin look pale.

He's buying me food.

Because I haven't eaten, because he noticed, because he's paying attention.

Because he….

What the hell, Maya? Stop.

Stop hoping.

He came back with a sandwich, wrapped in plastic and fries. A whole bag of fries.

He handed them to me through the window.

"I said I wasn't hungry."

"And I said you need to eat."

I stared at the bag.

Why is he doing this?

Why does he care?

Why can't he just be the cold, distant coach everyone said he was?

Why does he have to be….Him.

I took the bag.

The fries were warm. I ate one. Then another, then I couldn't stop.

Justin didn't say anything. He just started the car and pulled back onto the road.

Ten minutes later, the bag was empty.

I didn't even remember finishing it.

The silence came back.

But it was different now, softer. Like something had shifted.

Ask him..Ask him now.

Before you lose your nerve.

"Were you engaged?"

The words came out of nowhere. I hadn't planned them, hadn't rehearsed them. They just…appeared.

Justin nearly choked on his coffee.

He coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Shot me a look that was half surprised, half something else I couldn't name.

"What?"

"Were you engaged?" I repeated. My voice was steadier now. "To Cynthia. Were you engaged to her?"

The ring.

She mentioned a ring more than once. There has to be a reason.

Justin was quiet for a long moment.

Then: "Who told you that?"

"Cynthia. At the party. She said I should ask you about the ring."

His jaw tightened. His hands gripped the steering wheel.

He's not denying it.

He's just….He's just sitting there and not saying anything.

Why isn't he saying anything?

Why….

"Cynthia and I haven't been together in a long time."

The words came out carefully, like he was choosing each one.

That's not an answer. That's not an answer to my question.

I asked if you were engaged.

You said you haven't been together.

That's not the same thing.

That's not…

But I didn't push, because his voice was quiet and his eyes were on the road. And something about the way he said it made me think that whatever the truth was, it wasn't simple.

Complicated. Yes, that word again.

The word adults use when they don't want to explain. The word that means there are things I'm not allowed to know.

I looked out the window. The streets were familiar now, we were close to my apartment.

He didn't answer.

He answered a different question.

But he didn't answer mine, and I don't know if that's worse or better.

Justin pulled up in front of my building.

The engine idled. The headlights lit up the cracked sidewalk and the dying bushes and the front door that didn't lock properly.

Neither of us moved.

"Thank you," I said. "For driving me."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. But I want to."

He looked at me, his eyes were tired. But there was something else there too. Something soft.

Stop looking at me like that.

You're going to make me hope.

And I can't afford to hope.

Not anymore.

Not after everything.

I opened the door and got out. The cold air hit my face.

I walked toward the front door.

"Maya."

His voice stopped me and I turned.

He was still sitting in the car. The window was down and his arm was resting on the edge.

The pause stretched between us.

Say something.

Tell me what you meant.

Tell me why you didn't deny it.

Tell me…

"Get some sleep," he said.

That was all.

Get some sleep.

Not "I care about you."

Not "I didn't mean what I said."

Not anything.

Just… get some sleep.

I nodded and walked inside.

I didn't look back.



The apartment was dark.

I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need to. I knew where everything was. The creaky floorboard, the loose handle on the bathroom door, the spot on the kitchen counter where Papa left his keys.

I walked to my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

My phone buzzed.

I almost ignored it because I was too tired, too empty and too full of thoughts I didn't know how to sort.

But something made me look.

Chloe.

My heart stopped.

Chloe?

Not Sarah, not an unknown number but Chloe.

Chloe: We need to talk.

Another buzz.

Chloe: I can't do this anymore.

I stared at the screen.

What does she mean?

Can't do what anymore?

Lying?

Hiding?

Protecting Sarah?

What is she saying?

What is she…

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

What do I say?

What do I…

Chloe: Tomorrow. The park near the school. 10am.

Chloe: Come alone.

The messages stopped.

I sat there in the dark holding my phone.

Chloe wants to talk. She wants to meet.

What does that mean? Is she going to tell the truth? Is she going to help us?

Or is this a trap? Another one of Sarah's games?

Another…I don't know.

I don't know anything.

But tomorrow at ten….

I'm going to find out.