6. Tristian
Chapter six
Tristian
The hospital air always smelled the same: a sterile cocktail of bleach and lingering grief.
I walked through the sliding doors with my head down and my fists clenched tight enough to turn my knuckles white.
It had been three days since I’d seen my mother.
Three days of barely holding it together and being one shove away from snapping someone’s neck.
She was the only reason I bothered to wake up in the morning, the only reason I didn’t let this city swallow me whole.
The staff knew me. More importantly, they were afraid of me. As I moved through the lobby, the low hum of conversation died instantly. They tried to look busy, tried to keep their eyes on their clipboards, but I felt their stares like needles in my back.
I yanked my hood down, exposing my face, and snatched my visitor’s pass from the desk. No one asked for my ID.
In the elevator, I hit the button for the sixth floor. As the doors slid shut, I leaned my head against the cool metal wall and let out a sigh.
I hadn’t heard from Ingrid since dropping her off last night.
Still no texts, no calls, nothing. I thought there’d been something between us, thought she could feel it too, but not a word from her.
It had been bothering me enough as it was, but even more here, in the hospital.
Something about her was intoxicating, and I needed that now more than ever, in this dark place.
She was so damn innocent, a stark contrast to everything I was. With everyone else, I was brutal, a man made of sharp edges and uncontrolled anger. But with her? I couldn’t do it. There was something about her that made me want to be a shield.
And she needed that, by the sound of that call from her father last night.
The elevator chimed, and I stepped out into the silence of the long-term care wing.
My father was a bastard, but he was a wealthy one; he’d paid enough to ensure my mother’s room was in the quietest corner of the building.
I spotted Margaret, an old nurse who had become a fixture in our lives.
The only person in this building who didn’t look at me like a threat.
She looked up and offered a sympathetic smile that actually reached her eyes.
“How are you, Tristian?” she asked softly.
I shrugged, the weight on my shoulders growing heavier. “Could be better.”
She nodded, beckoning me toward the room. “She just woke up about thirty minutes ago. She’ll be very excited to see you.”
I didn’t respond.
Following her to my mother’s room, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Margaret didn’t follow, and I appreciated her for that. All she said was, “Take as long as you need,” then let the door swing closed, leaving me alone with my mother… or what remained of her.
My mother stared at the wall, her expression a hollow mask. She was so pale she almost blended into the sheets, her energy drained by a body that refused to work.
I took my usual seat beside her heart monitor, its steady beep the only true confirmation that she was still in there.
My mother couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could only blink, her eyes rarely tracking the room.
She used to be the light in any room she walked in. Her gestures were always big, expressive movements when she talked. Now her hands lay still against the sheets, almost lifeless.
I picked one up anyway, my touch light and cautious. Immediately, the rhythm of the heart monitor spiked.
I’d learned to read her through those electronic beeps over the years. A slow rhythm meant she was resting; a frantic one meant she was scared. But when I visited, when I held her hand, it always jumped a few beats and stayed there—a steady, silent greeting.
My throat tightened. She still knew me. Still felt me here with her.
I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. “Hey, Mom...”
I knew she could hear me. I’d seen her blood pressure react to the sound of my voice too many times to believe otherwise.
“Sorry I didn’t visit earlier. Had a lot more than usual on my mind...” I trailed off, staring at our joined hands before finding the courage to speak again. My mother would have hated what I’d been doing to myself lately, how I was coping, who I was becoming… but she also would’ve understood why.
“Noah wants me to come home,” I said, voice bitter. “Wants me to take a job like his. Says he’ll pull the plug if I don’t give in.”
Her monitor spiked again—not fear. Anger maybe.
The corner of my mouth pulled up despite everything. Even like this, I knew she couldn’t stand him either. I didn’t need words to know that now.
“Yeah. I hear you,” I said, breathing out. “He’s a bastard. But I’m trying to save enough to cover everything myself. Seven grand if I win Friday’s tournament.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, a frustrated breath escaping my lungs. In my head, I could almost hear her voice telling me to stop, to be better.
“I could try to find something else,” I whispered. “But I just… I get so angry, Mom. It builds up until it’s too much to carry.” I felt the burn of tears and didn’t bother to wipe them.
The silence of the room felt like judgment.
“He thinks he can force my hand. I’m trying to save enough to take over the bills, but it’s not fucking working. The only reason I haven’t snapped is because I’ve been taking it out on people in the ring and—”
I stopped, dragging a hand down my face.
I took a breath, letting the anger settle into something softer.
“I met someone. A girl. She’s... fuck. She’s pretty.
Innocent. And soft. She shouldn’t look twice at someone like me, but she does.
I think you’d really like her.” I shook my head.
“There’s something about her. I feel overprotective, like I need to guard her from the world, even if I don’t know what from.
Maybe I’m just going insane. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it together. ”
We sat in silence after that. I just watched her, took in her face, and listened to the steady beat of the heart monitor. It was almost soothing, in a way.
But I couldn’t stay here forever. Part of me wanted to; keeping watch felt like the least I could do after—
I cut the thought off, checked my watch. I had to leave.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to Mom’s cool forehead. “I’ll be back in a few days if I need to vent again, even if you’re tired of listening,” I joked weakly. “…Love you, Mom.”
I gave her hand one last squeeze and walked out.
The moment I hit the parking lot and climbed into my car, my phone buzzed. My heart leaped, thinking it was Ingrid, but the name on the screen made my blood run cold.
Bastard
Time is ticking, son... I hope you understand that I just want the best for you. I have a few job openings that you would fit in great with. Call me when you come to your senses.
I didn’t reply. I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel until my hands shook, a scowl etched onto my face.