Chapter 32

Chapter 32
Amelia's POV

"Amelia."

His voice came from the shadows beyond the reach of the hospital entrance lights, low and deliberate.

I stopped in my tracks.

Joseph was leaning against the brick wall beside the automatic doors, arms crossed, collar turned up against the night wind. The way he stood there suggested he'd been waiting for a long time.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket, sent a message, then looked up at him.

"What do you want?"

"You shouldn't go in," he said.

Not a question.

"How is that any of your business?"

His jaw tightened. "Samuel's fine. His injury just looks worse than it is—head wounds bleed a lot, but as long as there's no concussion, it's nothing."

"I know," I said. "But that has nothing to do with whether I want to check on him."

A brief silence.

I tilted my head, my expression tinged with provocation.

"You know we're still in contact. We didn't really break up. So what's wrong with me visiting my boyfriend?"

Boyfriend.

The word made his brow furrow deeply, like a stern dean catching a pair of students in a forbidden romance.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm an adult, Joseph. You have no right to control me."

He refused to move aside. "You two—when did this start?"

I found the question absurd. "Why don't you ask yourself when you started being passive-aggressive with me all the time?"

His expression shifted. He understood.

It was during those two years after I rejected him, when our relationship took a sharp downturn and we stopped communicating.

Obviously, I'd found Samuel during those two years.

His face showed something between regret and anger.

I smiled coldly. "Now you understand. Move. I'm going to see Samuel."

Joseph exhaled through his nose. "Samuel... the wound on his face is trivial."

He repeated it again, as if saying it twice would make it a valid reason. "I know perfectly well he doesn't need visitors. I've had worse—bruised back, sprained ankle, even a broken arm, but..."

"Just because no one visited your bedside doesn't mean Samuel has no visitors either."

Joseph froze.

The air between us solidified for a second, and I realized that remark had been hurtful.

Though we were standing here tonight essentially attacking each other, still...

"When?" I spoke again.

"What?"

"Bruised back, sprained ankle, broken arm. When did that happen? Why didn't even Evelyn know?"

Joseph said nothing.

But I already understood.

This was Joseph's pride.

A fierce, foolish pride—the kind that turns everyone who should love you into strangers at the moment you need them most.

He'd hidden it. Kept it from everyone. Because asking people to visit meant admitting you needed them; and needing anyone meant losing.

I used to care deeply about winning and losing too.

"You can't blame people for not visiting," I said softly, "if you never gave them the address."

"I'm not blaming anyone," he turned his head away. "I don't need visitors."

I should have stopped there. I almost did.

"Fine," I heard myself say. "If you ever get injured again and I happen to be free—I'll come."

"After all, I do enjoy doing things that make you unhappy."

He fell silent again.

"Now, let me through."

He didn't move, his arm extending across, not grabbing me, just blocking.

"You'd better keep your distance from him, Amelia. From the end of the game until now—I've counted—dozens of girls have gone into his room. If you join this circus and his fan club sees you, it becomes a story, and your reputation will get even worse—"

"Are you seriously trying to convince me using my reputation?" I looked at him. "You, of all people, are saying this to me?"

Wasn't my most recent experience of public mockery directly caused by his "we're not close" remark?

He looked, for just a moment, almost uncomfortable.

"You're not exactly a low-profile companion yourself, Joseph."

Before he could answer, a figure appeared at the far end of the path, as if validating my point.

The figure was walking urgently. Short, rapid steps, high heels striking the ground—before the light hit her face, I already recognized Aria.

Just as I'd expected, the trouble Joseph brought had arrived.

When Aria saw Joseph, she immediately moved toward him, like a compass needle swinging to true north.

I shifted sideways.

Joseph turned to her, caught off guard for a full half-second—enough. I brushed past him, close enough to feel the warmth from his jacket sleeve, and spoke near his ear as I passed.

"I had a friend post that they saw you lingering here, like you were waiting for someone." I kept walking. "Aria showed up in four minutes. You're welcome."

I heard him inhale sharply.

Behind me, Aria's voice came high and urgent, "Joseph—are you two..."

"We're not close." I waved my hand, returning Joseph's words to him, and passed through the door.

The lobby was filled with the smell of disinfectant and recycled air. Most visitors had already left—at this hour, only the fluorescent lights' buzzing remained in the corridor, along with the occasional squeak of a nurse's shoe on the floor.

I pulled my cap lower and walked toward the front desk.

The nurse on duty was young, probably twenty-five or twenty-six, sustained by coffee and whatever optimism keeps people going through night shifts. She looked up without suspicion.

"Hi, I'm a family member of Samuel Harris. Sorry for coming so late—I brought him a change of clothes." I held up the bag I was carrying, which contained my bloodstained cheerleading uniform from earlier, now repurposed. "He's in the inpatient ward, right? Can I go in?"

She glanced at her screen, nodded, and let me through.

I thanked her and took the stairs.

He was on the second floor, the corridor dim and quiet. I found the door, wondering if he was asleep.

Then I decided against knocking and chose to push directly in.

Samuel wouldn't blame me for barging into his room anyway.

However, the next moment, I saw—

"Samuel!"