Chapter 99
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. "Mom, just... try to bear with it, okay? As soon as you're through surgery and recovery, I'll take you straight home."
She pressed her lips together but didn't argue.
I left to buy basic supplies—toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash, a hairbrush, slippers. By the time I got back, arms full of bags and two plastic basins, I could hear voices from the hallway.
"...and she just disappeared." Mom's voice, bitter and sharp. "Typical. Can't count on her for anything. Ryan, you're all I have. I should've never wasted my time on that girl."
"Mom, don't say that." Ryan sounded tired. "She's been running around all day trying to find you a hospital bed. It's not easy."
"How do I know she actually tried? For all I know, she booked this place from the start and didn't bother looking anywhere else. And now she's probably hiding somewhere because she doesn't want me asking her to stay overnight."
I stepped into the doorway, arms full of supplies.
The room went silent.
Ryan cleared his throat and forced a smile. "Oh—hey, Maya. We were wondering where you went. You're so thoughtful. I didn't even think about getting all this stuff."
I didn't smile back. Just set everything down on the floor by the bed and turned to leave.
"See?" Mom's voice rose behind me. "Look at that attitude. Can't even be bothered to say anything. Fine. Leave. I don't want to see her anyway."
"Mom—" Ryan started.
I didn't wait to hear the rest.
---
I made it to the parking garage before my hands started shaking.
Sat in the driver's seat. Forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The cold leather bit into my skin.
I cranked the window down. Let the October wind slice through.
Sharp. Biting.
It didn't help.
Why do I keep doing this?
Helping her wouldn't change anything. She'd never love me. Never want me. And yet here I was, coordinating hospital stays and footing medical bills, because walking away felt impossible.
I pulled out my phone. Scrolled to Amy's contact. Hit call.
"Mommy!"
Her voice cracked something open in my chest.
I smiled. First real one all day. "Hey, baby. Are you having fun at Great-grandma and Grandpa's house?"
"So much fun! Grandpa bought me a water gun, and Great-grandma made the cook do mac and cheese with the shell noodles—the good kind, not the bendy ones."
"Did you remember to say thank you?"
"Obviously. I'm not a baby."
A small laugh escaped me. "You'll always be my baby."
She giggled. Then her voice went serious. "Mommy... did Grandma come yet?"
"Yeah. She's here."
Pause.
"Did she yell at you?"
My throat went tight. "No, sweetheart. She didn't yell."
"If she does, you should yell back."
"Amy—"
"If I yell at you, would you yell back at me?"
"Of course not."
"Why not?"
"Because you're my mommy."
"Then I can't yell at Grandma either. She's my mother."
"That's different." Her voice turned indignant. "When you yell at me, it's because you love me and want me to be good. But Grandma doesn't love you. When she's mean, it's just... just being mean for no reason. That's not the same at all."
"You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"
She laughed. Bright and clear.
"Okay, troublemaker," I said softly. "It's late. Time for bed."
A dramatic sigh. "Fiiiine. Goodnight, Mommy."
"Goodnight, baby. I love you."
"Love you more."
---
I was brushing my teeth when the knock came.
I froze, toothbrush halfway to my mouth.
Who the hell—
Another knock. Louder.
I rinsed, grabbed a towel, and stalked to the door. Checked the peephole.
Adam.
Of course.
I yanked it open. "I'm about to go to bed. Whatever you want can wait until tomorrow."
He pushed forward.
Not aggressive. Just... inevitable.
Like trying to hold back the tide.
I stumbled back. He slipped inside. Shut the door.
"Are you serious right now?"
"Very."
He reached for me.
I held up a hand. "Don't. You're sick. Don't even think about kissing me."
He stopped. Stared at me for a long moment.
Then his shoulders sagged. "Fine."
He walked past me. Straight into the bathroom.
I blinked. "What are you—"
The shower turned on.
---
"Are you kidding me?" I hissed at the closed door.
No answer.
Just running water.
I stood there, arms crossed, fuming.
He's taking a shower. In my apartment. At ten PM.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
The water cut off.
I waited.
The door opened.
Steam billowed out.
And there he was—damp hair, flushed skin, my towel wrapped low around his hips.
"What the fuck, Adam!"
He leaned against the doorframe. Utterly unbothered. "What?"
"Why do you have my towel?!"
I lunged forward, hand reaching for the edge of it.
Then froze.
Wait. If I pull it—
"Go ahead." His voice dropped. Amused. "Take it. It's not like you haven't seen me naked before."
My face went nuclear.
I jerked my hand back. Spun around. "Put your clothes back on and leave!"
"Can't. They're dirty."
"Then wear them dirty and get out!"
"I would, but—"
A sudden cough cut him off.
He pressed his fist to his mouth. Shoulders shaking.
I turned back. "Did you take your medicine?"
"Forgot." Another cough. "Meetings all day. Didn't even eat dinner..."
Damn it.
I turned on my heel and marched into the kitchen.
---
Twenty minutes later, I set a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him.
Adam—still in that goddamn towel—looked at it like I'd handed him the world.
"You made this for me."
"Don't make it weird."
He picked up the spoon. Took a bite.
Closed his eyes. "Fuck, that's good."
My face went hot.
I shoved the medicine and a glass of water at him. "Eat. Take these. Then leave."
"Yes, ma'am."
I turned away before he could see me almost-smile.
---
I was washing the dishes when his voice came from behind me.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Taking care of me."
I didn't turn around. "You're Amy's father. If you drop dead from the flu, she'll be sad."
Silence.
Then, quietly: "That the only reason?"
I scrubbed harder at the bowl. "What other reason would there be?"
He didn't answer.
I heard his footsteps retreat.
Good.
I finished the dishes. Wiped down the counter.
"Time for bed," I muttered to myself.
I headed to my bedroom. Pushed open the door.
And froze.
Adam was lying on top of my covers.