Chapter Seventeen
ASH
The doctor met us just outside the ICU doors, a chart tucked under his arm and a paper coffee cup in his other hand. It was the kind you got from the hospital—the really bad kind. Maybe he was used to it by now.
“Your father had a good night,” he said. “He’s off the ventilator now—breathing on his own. His vitals have been stable since late last night.”
The pressure in my chest loosened. Not relief exactly.
More like a slow release from impending doom.
I’d arrived hours ago, and we still hadn’t been given a full report.
Oliver had been going back and forth about leaving, restless and eager for this conversation so he could finally relax.
I couldn’t blame him. Even with Ethan close beside me, I’d woken up with my heart in my throat, needing to be here in case anything changed.
“He still needs to be in the ICU?” Oliver shifted in place, anxious.
“For now,” the doctor replied. “That’s expected after a bypass. But he’s past the most critical window.”
Henry let out a breath, rubbing at his jaw. His stubble had grown in, making him look rougher than usual. “So he’s out of immediate danger.”
“Yes,” the doctor said without hesitation.
The word settled between us, and the fear lost its hold.
“Is he awake?” I asked.
“On and off. We’re keeping him lightly sedated so he can rest, but he’s been responsive. Oriented. A little irritable—which I’ll take as a good sign.”
Oliver huffed out a laugh.
“Can we see him?” Henry asked.
“In a bit.” The doctor tucked the chart more securely under his arm. “It’ll be a short visit. He may not remember much, but hearing familiar voices still helps.”
“And recovery?” I asked because that part I understood. Structure and timelines.
The doctor didn’t rush the answer. “He’ll be here another day, then moved to step-down. Cardiac rehab will be important. It’ll be weeks before he’s steady. Months before he feels like himself again.”
I nodded once.
“But,” he added, meeting my eyes directly, “the surgery went well. His heart function looks good. We expect a full recovery.”
Silence followed—not the suffocating kind this time. The kind that came after something fragile was finally said out loud and held.
“We’ll let you know when you can go in.”
When he walked away, Henry scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. “So,” he said. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Fuck,” Oliver breathed, his face scrunching before easing as the tension finally broke.
I grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a hug, feeling the relief pass through both of us. “He’s going to be okay.”
“He’s a stubborn fucker, that’s for sure.” Henry’s voice wavered just enough to give him away.
Oliver pulled out of my arms and went straight to Henry, hugging him tight. Henry tipped his head, but I caught a glimpse of his too-bright eyes, and my heart thudded.
Keep them safe—
The thought surfaced instinctively, old and automatic.
I let it pass. Ethan’s words from last night steadied me—this wasn’t mine to carry alone anymore. Not this time.
“Are you finally going to sleep?” Henry asked when they drew apart.
“You two keep forgetting that, out of the three of us, I’m the only one who’s evolved to function without sleep.”
“Yeah,” Henry shot back, “but you don’t have to.”
Oliver’s gaze drifted to the double doors. “I’m going to wait until I can go in. Then I’ll leave.” He looked back at us. “Deal?”
Henry and I agreed a little reluctantly.
We headed for our usual spot—the small table just outside the waiting room.
Close enough that the nurses knew where to find us, far enough away that we could breathe for a minute.
That was where life kept catching up with us.
Work calls. Texts. Apologies wrapped around urgent requests that didn’t care where we were.
By the time Ethan arrived—coffees balanced in one hand and paper bags in the other—Oliver and Henry had already been in to see our father, and I was answering my third call of the morning.
We were half-huddled around the table, shoulders brushing, paper bags spread between us like a makeshift camp.
“I’m so sorry to bother you right now,” Oscar said the moment I picked up. “I know where you are. I wouldn’t if this wasn’t important.”
“It’s fine,” I said, turning slightly away from the table. The movement made a dull pressure bloom behind my eyes, as if something tight were cinched across my temples. Lack of sleep. Too much coffee. Or both. “What’s going on?”
Behind me, wrappers crinkled as Henry muttered something about hospital food being a human rights violation.
“We need confirmation on the revised figures before this goes upstairs,” Oscar said. “There are discrepancies between the projections and reported revenue. If we send it as is, it’s going to trigger questions.”
A slow pulse started behind my right eye. I pressed my fingers briefly to my temple, trying to force my focus back into place. “Send the files,” I said. “All of them.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you right now—”
“It’s okay. Send them.” I ended the call and stared at my phone for a second longer than necessary, willing my brain to cooperate.
It didn’t.
Across the table, Ethan swallowed around a bite, sliding a coffee toward me without interrupting whatever Oliver was saying.
I tried to listen. Caught half a sentence. Lost the rest in the low thrum building behind my eyes. Christ.
I didn’t have it in me to look things over right now. But… Ethan was good at this kind of thing. He could help.
I bit the side of my thumb before clearing my throat. “Ethan.”
Three heads lifted.
He stilled immediately. “Yeah?”
I hesitated—the instinct to say never mind rising fast and familiar—and then pushed through it. “Can you do me a favor?”
His posture shifted, attentive. “Anything.”
“Oscar’s sending over a report,” I said. “Revenue discrepancies. I just need it flagged—anything that looks off, anything that doesn’t track. Would you mind looking it over and letting me know?”
Henry’s brows shot up. Oliver’s coffee froze halfway to his mouth.
Ethan didn’t react to any of that; he just nodded once. “Of course.”
Relief moved through me so quickly it almost felt like vertigo. “I don’t have my laptop,” I said, my hand drifting back to my temple as the pressure tightened again.
“I can help with that,” Oliver said immediately. “Call my assistant. He can get one here.”
“That’s perfect, Oli. Thank you. Here—” I pulled up the contact and handed it to Ethan. “Use my phone. The files are there. You can take a look after you call.”
Oliver’s thumbs were flying over his screen. “I’ve texted him. He knows what it’s about.”
Ethan stood, already dialing. “I’ll take care of it.” He paused, studying my face. “Want me to get you something for that headache?”
I smiled and shook my head. He squeezed my shoulder as he passed—brief, comforting—then stepped toward the quieter end of the corridor, voice low as he handled the details. I watched him go a second longer than I meant to.
When I looked back, Henry was staring at me like he’d just witnessed a solar eclipse. Oliver’s expression was quieter, but no less stunned.
I reached for my coffee. “What?”
“Nothing.” Henry looked down, biting back a smile. “Not saying a word.”
Oliver swallowed, a small curve to his lips. “He’s good, right?”
I arched a brow.
“He’s clever,” Oliver went on. “When he worked at the company, he even had Dad impressed.”
Something warm and fierce swelled in my chest. “He’s amazing,” I said. “Marcela—the head of marketing—loves him. People above his pay grade…” I let a grin slip. “Not so much.”
Henry leaned his elbows on the table, still pretending to be focused on his bagel. “So, as long as we’re talking about E…” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “What, pray tell, does your boyfriend think of all this? Slumber parties and whatnot?”
Both of them waited.
“We broke up.”
Oliver sank back in his chair. “Oh, thank fuck.”
“Jesus Christ, Ash.” Henry set his breakfast down, the paper crinkling softly. “Way to keep us all in suspense. You couldn’t just say that?” He frowned. “When?”
“A little while ago,” I said. “Ethan knows. I told him on the way over.”
“So what now?” Oliver asked.
“Finally admitting to what everyone with functioning eyesight has known for years?” Henry chimed in.
Oliver snorted into his coffee as I shot Henry a look.
“Now we talk.” My gaze flicked to Ethan, still pacing with the phone pressed to his ear. “It’s long overdue.”
Henry followed my line of sight, then looked back at me, something like relief flickering across his face. “Okay,” he said, nodding once. “Good. That’s… good.”
“So you’re getting back together?” Oliver asked.
I took a slow sip of coffee. “If he’ll have me.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “He moved to another continent for you, is fixing your mess from a hospital hallway, and hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we got here. I’d say your odds are decent.”
Oliver’s mouth twitched.
“You more than anybody know how badly I’ve fucked this up. All the time I wasted…” I shook my head. “There’s a lot of groveling to be done. A lot to mend.”
I’d made so many mistakes with Ethan from the moment we met that they blurred into one long chain, each one another blow to his pride.
To his heart. Even if he wanted to be here for me—even if he’d told me he did—believing we could grow past this was another thing entirely.
Believing I could give him what he needed…
and that he would trust me enough to accept it.
Oliver’s hand landed on my shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. “We all fuck up, Ash. That’s just life.” He shrugged. “It’s how you show up after that counts.”
His words touched on more than just this—on the mistakes I kept making with them. The ones I’d been making for years.
I bit the inside of my cheek, my leg bouncing as I held his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you in. With the freeze.” My eyes flicked to Henry. “Both of you.”