Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
ALLEY
I stare blankly at the hospital bed in front of me, the steady beeping of the medicine pump driving me absolutely insane. Where the hell is the nurse?
It’s been going off for five minutes. One of the IVs is empty and needs to be swapped. There’s a button to silence the alarm. I could call someone. I could even do it myself. But I don’t have the energy to get up, let alone do someone else’s job. I’m mentally and physically wrecked.
It’s been over forty-eight hours since I arrived in Chicago, and I’ve hardly slept.
After Michael called about Dad, I stopped by the hotel in New York to grab my suitcase and headed straight to the airport.
I cried the entire drive, just sat in the back of the Uber and fell apart.
It’s just been one thing after the other.
Between seeing Jensen and now this with my dad, I can’t seem to catch a break.
I caught the soonest flight I could and came straight here. I haven’t left since.
Michael and Stella were here earlier with the kids. Only two visitors are allowed at a time in the ICU—and no kids. I sat out in the waiting room with them while Michael and Stella were with Dad.
He’s sleeping now. He hasn’t been awake much today. His skin’s jaundiced, and his belly’s still bloated. He’s hooked up to everything—oxygen, IVs, a catheter, blood pressure monitors, meds… even an NG tube.
It reminds me too much of when Mom was here.
I suck in a sharp breath. Don’t go there.
I’ve tried to sleep, but I can’t. I’m too worried. And now I’m so far past exhausted I’ve crossed into crazy. Every time I close my eyes, colors flash behind my lids, and they twitch like they’ve forgotten how to stay shut.
The machine keeps beeping.
Goddammit.
I push up and walk over to silence it. My eyes drift to Dad—his yellowed skin, the furrow in his brow. Even asleep, he looks like he’s in pain.
I plop back onto the sofa bench by the window. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be the one visiting. The one sitting with a loved one. Sleeping on this godforsaken “couch”.
It still surprises me that I became a nurse. I hate hospitals. I spent so much time in them when my mom was sick. And in the end, I hardly ever left her side. I just sat there and watched—as she slowly died.
But I still remember the nurses from that time.
The way they made us feel seen and cared for.
The ones who connected with my mom and made her laugh.
They were a small light in the middle of the darkest time in my life.
And something about that stayed with me.
I wanted to be that person, the one someone remembers when the worst is happening, because I helped it suck a little less.
That’s what made me want to be a nurse. Problem is, I don’t know how people work in the ICU.
It’s suffocating in here. Depressing. I tried different units—ICU, emergency, extended stay—but none of them were right.
Those shifts felt like carrying a brick on my chest. I’d come home and cry, completely drained. Emotionally. Mentally.
That’s why I ended up in PACU. There are harder days, sure, but I’ve only had a handful of scary or heavy moments.
My new job’s been great. I’m working for a plastic surgeon group in downtown Chicago. I get everything I loved about PACU, but with better hours. I still miss it, though. It’s where I fell in love with nursing. Where I met Zach.
Where I met Jensen.
Which is another reason I can’t sleep.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
Mediation was intense. The way he looked. How he looked at me—the way it made me feel.
I don’t know what that means for me.
In a way, I’m grateful I was called away—not for the reason why, but for having a reason to leave. I would have signed. I was ready. I’d been mentally preparing for that day for months. I walked in determined to leave that room divorced.
But now?
I’m not so sure.
Jensen’s the reason I’m even here with my dad. He encouraged me to make peace, drove me to see him, waited outside while we talked. He was a constant, steady strength for me. He’s also the only one who really gets it—the guilt I carry when it comes to my dad.
I wrote him off for ten years. Abandoned him when he needed me most. He was hurting, and I just… left. I ignored his calls, let his texts go unanswered. I didn’t visit when I stayed in Chicago. I acted like he didn’t even exist.
God, that’s exactly what I’m doing with Jensen. Ignoring him. Shutting him out. Pretending it’s easier not to feel anything. But it’s not easier. It’s eating me alive.
The realization hits so hard I gasp, a sharp breath that startles me.
But I don’t cry. I hold it in. Swallow it down. I let it all out before my flight, and I’ve been holding it together ever since.
I exhale—slow and steady. Then take another breath, this one even deeper.
Oh my God. I’m an avoider. When things get hard… I run.
I hide.
I bring my hand to my lips and chew on my thumbnail, my fingers shaky and cold.
I knew I did this with my dad, but apparently, it’s a pattern.
I try to make sense of it, but my brain’s operating at five percent, max.
I did try. I did stay—for a long time.
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers to my temples. My head is throbbing. Did I try hard enough? Am I supposed to give him another chance?
I could at least respond to his texts. He’s still technically my husband, and I’ve been treating him like some guy I dated once and don’t know how to get rid of.
Shit. I’ve been so caught up in how hard it would be for me to see him, I haven’t thought about how difficult all this might be for him.
He texted a few weeks ago about working the steps. Said he just wanted to talk. Make things right. Apologize. And I just… ignored him.
Like an asshole.
The bare minimum would be giving him the decency of closure.
I know he wants more, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
The worst part is, I want to talk to him. Now, more than ever. I want to fall into his arms and cry. Tell him everything.
Honestly? I wish he were here.
My gaze shifts back to my dad, a sudden wave of new emotion flooding in. This. Right here. It’s what matters.
The people in your life. The ones you love. The ones who love you.
And God, does Jensen love me.
I dig in my purse for ChapStick but come up empty. With a sigh, I pull the whole thing onto my lap, rummaging through the chaos. My hand brushes against the folded envelope Jensen gave me.
I pull it out and smooth it flat. My name is written across the front in his handwriting. My fingers tremble, and my heart pounds so loud it drowns out the machines.
I want to tear it open, but I’m frozen. Terrified of what’s inside. I’m not even sure what I’m afraid of. That he’ll tell me he still loves me? Beg me to come back?
I already expect all of that.
No, what scares me is that I’ll read whatever’s inside and forget everything I’ve seen. That I’ll let it be okay.
That I’ll go back.
I’ve pulled it out at least a dozen times in the past two days. Each time, I get so damn close. And then I chicken out.
I keep replaying mediation—how he couldn’t stop looking at me. I wanted to stare back, to take him in. But every time I glanced over, he was already watching me, just smiling, unapologetically. His eyes were full of something I didn’t know how to handle.
He looked so damn good. And I hated how much I wanted to touch him. To be near him again. Just for a second.
I won’t lie to myself. I wanted more than that. And when he pleaded with me at the end—right before the call came in—that look in his eyes almost broke me.
If we’d been alone…
If I’d let him talk…
I think I would’ve caved.
I close my eyes, take a steadying breath, and slide my thumb beneath the seal—
A soft knock hits the door just before it creaks open.
“Hey, Al… can I come in?” Matt steps inside, casually dressed but somehow still managing to make it look expensive. I shove the letter back into my purse and rise to my feet.
“Matt!” I’m already moving before I even register it. The door clicks shut behind him as I throw my arms around his back. His arms open, and I lean into him, the hug familiar and grounding.
“What are you doing here? How did you even know…?”
But I already know. Jensen.
He told Matt. Then Matt asked Leo. And now… here he is.
“I texted Leo,” he says, casually. “He told me about your dad. How you holding up?”
I pull back and shrug.
That’s it. There’s nothing else to say.
Matt’s brows crease. “I want to hear about your dad, but I need to tell you… Megan’s here.”
A smile breaks across my face.
“And Jensen.”
My heart skips a beat. Then slams into overdrive. Jensen’s here?
“He is?” I ask, too fast. The words are out before I even realize I said he instead of they.
Matt’s lips twitch as he studies me. “They’re out in the waiting room. If you want to say hi.”
I nod before I can stop myself.
“Only if you want to,” he says gently. “No pressure.”
“Um… yeah, okay. We can go say hi.” I draw in a shaky breath and immediately start rubbing under my eyes. “Oh my God,” I mumble, patting my cheeks and combing my fingers through my hair. “I look like hell.”
Matt’s grin widens, like he knows exactly why I care.
He opens the door, and we head down the hall together. My heart’s racing, and I keep fussing with my hair, trying to pull myself together.
“Hey, Al,” Matt says softly, placing a hand on my back.
“Yeah?”
“You look great.” He flashes a half-grin, then presses the button that opens the double doors to the waiting room.
I hear Megan before I see her. “Shut up, you did not!” she laughs, elbowing Jensen just as I spot her.
They both stand, and Megan practically runs to me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. I do the same, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. I’m too happy to see her to cry.
“Oh my God.” She squeezes tighter. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
She pulls back, and my eyes shift—drawn to Jensen standing just behind her.
His gaze finds mine. Quiet. Patient. Loving.
Something tightens in my chest, hot and aching, impossible to ignore. I don’t think. I just move. One step toward him, then another.
“Hey, Al,” he says softly, arms parting—just enough to welcome me, but not too much. Like he’s giving me room to choose.
I don’t hesitate. I walk straight into him and collapse, my hands twisting in the front of his shirt.
Every tear I’ve swallowed over the last forty-eight hours breaks free as I fall apart in his arms. I melt into him, releasing everything while his arms wrap tightly around me—like he’s been waiting to catch me all along.
For weeks I’ve avoided him, but now, without saying a word, he’s given me exactly what I needed.
I feel his lips press to the top of my head as he whispers, “Hey, baby… I’ve got you.”
He feels safe.
He feels good.
He feels…
Like home.