Chapter 12 Cast #2
“You’re holding the line,” she says simply. “That matters.”
Cartoon laughter drifts in from the playroom, bright and too normal against the rest of the house. I shut the door against the cold and glance up the stairs. Vincent’s shadow is still there, just out of sight.
She follows my gaze but doesn’t comment. She never does. “I’ll check on the children,” she says, adjusting her scarf. “You should sit. You look like you haven’t stopped in hours.”
“I haven’t,” I admit.
“Then stop for a few minutes,” she says, and moves down the hall.
“I told Damien I’d make sure Willow gets some rest when she gets home,” I say.
“She listens to you,” she says.
My ears go hot. “Sometimes.”
Before I can say anything else, footsteps sound on the stairs.
“Is that Mrs. Carter I hear?” Vincent calls as he comes down, wearing that pretty, practiced smile.
Her expression warms slightly. “Vincent. You look tired.”
“And you look exquisite,” he says, giving her one of his soft winks. “I didn’t expect you to come so quickly.”
“Of course I did,” she replies. “My granddaughter’s in the hospital, and my favorite boys need me.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
She heads toward the playroom. As she disappears down the hall, Vincent stays in the foyer, hands curled tight at his sides, face smooth again.
“I have some meetings to attend to,” he says without looking at me. “So I’ll stay here with the kids.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter, grabbing my coat off the hook.
“You’re unbelievable,” he growls under his breath.
“No, I think that’s you,” I say, shoving my arms into my sleeves and bending to pull on my boots.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, and the silence between us is everything we didn’t finish upstairs.
My throat tightens as I lace my boots. The laces feel stiff in my fingers. “Don’t wait up,” I say. “I’ll check in once I know more about Penny.”
Vincent shifts his weight. His voice drops. “Drive safe.”
“Always.” I zip my coat. “Make sure the kids eat something that isn’t sugar. Tell Mrs. Carter I’ll call when Willow’s eaten.”
He nods, eyes on the floor.
I scoff under my breath and open the door. Cold air floods in, sharp and clean. I step out into it and pull the door shut behind me, leaving the warmth — and everything unsaid — inside.
By the time I pull into the hospital parking lot, my shoulders are sore and my head’s pounding again. I sit there for a moment with the engine off, staring at the sterile white glow of the building ahead. The automatic doors slide open and closed in rhythm, letting in gusts of cold air.
I drag a hand over my face, inhale once, then get out. The cold hits hard, flattening the hem of my coat against my legs as I cross the asphalt.
Inside, the lobby is warm and humming with low voices, distant machines, vents cycling stale heated air through metal grates. I head for the front desk, my steps echoing on tile.
“Hi,” I say, voice coming out lower than I mean it to. “I’m looking for my daughter. Penny Castillo.”
She types something quickly, her long nails tapping rhythmically against the keys. “Room 314,” she says, glancing up with a professional smile. “Pediatrics wing. Take the elevator to the third floor, left at the nurses’ station.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, giving her a nod before turning toward the elevators.
The ride up is slow. The kind of silence that amplifies every thought I’ve been trying not to have. I shrug out of my coat halfway up, slinging it over my arm, trying to shake off the cold and everything that came with it.
When the doors slide open, soft voices drift from rooms along the hall, punctuated by the steady beep of machines.
I found Room 314 easily. The door is cracked just enough for the light to spill into the hall. I push it open quietly.
Damien’s there, standing by the small table beside Penny’s bed, cleaning up a half-empty tray of food. His hair’s a mess, shirt rumpled, but his movements are careful as he moves around the room.
He looks up as soon as I step in. Relief crosses his face fast, real. “Hey,” he says, low. “You made it.”
“Yeah.” I glance toward the bed. Penny’s small body is curled under a pale blue blanket, her breathing soft, her face still too pale against the pillow. “How’s she doing?”
“She just fell asleep,” Damien murmurs, setting the tray aside. “Managed to eat a little at lunch. The fever came back a bit so they upped her medication some, and it knocked her right out.”
I nod, the tightness in my chest easing a fraction. “Okay.”
He crosses his arms, leaning back against the far wall. “You look tense.”
“Yeah, well, I just finished talking to Vincent.” I huff, laying my coat across the chair in the corner.
Damien winces. “Yikes.” He moves toward the chair beside Penny’s bed and sinks into it, elbows resting on his knees.
“He’s so fucking stubborn,” I mutter, rubbing a hand down my face. “I don’t know when he got like this.”
Damien shrugs lightly. “Well, being the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company doesn’t exactly bring out the best in people. You know that.”
I don’t respond. My gaze drifts around the room—the drawn curtains, the dim lights, the small tray of untouched food. “Where’s Willow?”
He doesn’t look up when he answers. “She went on a walk about…” He glances at the wall clock, then curses under his breath. “Shit. Two hours ago.”
My head snaps toward him. “Two hours?”
“She just needed air,” he says quickly. “You know how she gets. Hospitals mess with her. Seeing Penny hooked up like that messed with her worse.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “She said she just had to clear her head. She took her phone.”
“Which means nothing,” I mutter, already moving. The hall outside hums — fluorescent lights, machines, the low murmur of nurses. Too clean. Too quiet. “You’ve checked on her since then?”
“No,” he says slowly. “But she is okay, Cast. Don’t freak out.”
“Fuck.” The word tears out of me before I can stop it.
The hum of fluorescent lights above seems louder now, the soft beeps and voices from nearby rooms distant, muffled. I scan the corridor—no sign of her.
Damien’s footsteps follow me into the hall. “Cast,” he says carefully, “slow down. She probably just needed a few minutes.”
“Two hours is not a few minutes,” I snap, already halfway down the corridor. The white walls feel like they’re closing in—too bright, too clean. “And you know she doesn’t just walk off without saying where she’s going.”
“Cast.” His voice drops lower, softer. “She’s not thinking clearly.”
“Exactly,” I say, rounding the corner. “Which is why I’m finding her before something happens.”
The elevator doors at the end of the hall slide open, and a nurse steps out with a clipboard. I reach her fast enough that she startles.
“Excuse me,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “The woman who was here with us earlier—Willow Beaumont. Brunette. Long coat. Have you seen her?”
The nurse frowns, thinking. “She came in with a little girl a few hours ago?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw her pass through maybe two hours ago. Said she needed some air. I think she went out to the patio near the café.”
“Thanks.” I nod once and hit the elevator call button.
Behind me, Damien’s voice follows. “Cast, you’re overreacting—”
The words hit my back like static. I don’t answer.
When the doors open, I take the ride down in silence, jaw locked tight. The lobby opens up in front of me—bright, sterile, humming with low conversation. My gaze flicks to the glass wall facing the courtyard: gray sky, snow-dusted benches, a few people smoking under the overhang.
No Willow.
I head toward the café anyway. The barista looks up as I approach, his polite smile fading when he catches my expression.
“Hey,” I say, clipped. “You see a woman come through here? About this tall—brown hair, beige coat?”
He thinks, then nods. “Yeah. She was sitting on the patio earlier. Left a while ago.”
“Left where?”
He shrugs. “No idea. Thought she went back upstairs.”
My stomach twists. I glance toward the glass wall again—cold light spilling across the tiles, flakes drifting past the windows. The courtyard’s nearly empty now, just a few figures hunched in their coats. None of them her.
I push through the doors.
The cold hits like a slap. My breath fogs the sharp air instantly. I scan the space—benches, planters, the frozen fountain locked mid-splash.
No Willow.
“Shit,” I breathe. My hands are already shaking when I pull my phone out. I call her. Once. Twice.
Voicemail.
I try again. Still nothing.
Damien comes out a moment later, coat open, shoulders tense. “Any luck?”
“She’s not here,” I say, pacing along the edge of the courtyard. “She didn’t go back upstairs either. She’s gone.”
He frowns, glancing toward the parking lot. “You think she went to the car?”
“Maybe.” I start walking before he finishes the sentence. The automatic doors hiss open again behind me. The wind bites harder out here, cold enough to sting my skin.
We weave between the cars, our breath ghosting in the cold. The wind cuts through the lot, sharp and empty.
“Willow!” I call once, scanning row after row. Nothing. Just silence and the hum of the hospital lights above us.
Nothing.
Damien slows beside me, scanning the edges of the walkway. “Cast…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish.
I turn a slow circle, the night pressing close. No movement. No trace of her. Just the empty benches, the faint hum of the fountain’s frozen motor, the distant shuffle of hospital staff behind glass.
My chest tightens, breath coming uneven. “She’s gone,” I say quietly, the words small and final in the cold.
Damien looks at me, eyes wide, worry cutting through the last of his calm.
And I can’t even move. Because saying it out loud makes it real—
Willow is gone.