Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Tristian
Ihad spent the morning running, beating myself to the ground at the gym before finally driving to the hospital. I’d missed my mother. The real one. Not the shell of a woman lying in that sterile room, but the one who laughed and filled our home with life.
The longer I looked at her lying there the easier it was to picture her not lying there at all.
I’d reached her floor and moved down the hallway like a ghost. But as I pushed open the door, the silence I expected was replaced by the presence of three people: my mother’s nurse, a woman with the clinical air of a social worker, and her doctor.
Margaret looked at me with a pity that made my blood boil.
“What’s going on?” I had asked, the words coming out as a low growl. The air in the room shifted, turning thick with their sudden nerves.
The social worker had been the one to answer. “There has been a pause on the account paying for your mother’s treatment.”
I narrowed my eyes, my blood boiling.
“And why,” I asked, voice low and deliberate, “didn’t anyone tell me?”
She let out a weary sigh. “The only authorized party is the account holder. We notified your father when we became aware of the pause. He confirmed he would no longer be funding her care.”
Panic pierced my gut. “But she’s still being medicated, right?” My question sounded more like a threat as it left my lips. “She isn’t just lying here in pain, is she?”
The doctor stepped forward, his voice a drone of professional indifference. “We lowered the dosage and switched to a more affordable brand of medication. She should still be feeling comfortable.”
“A lower dose? A cheaper brand? Are you trying to fucking kill her?” I’d roared, taking a closer step, my gaze flying back and forth between them.
“We’re trying to make things easy on you, Tristian,” the social worker had explained with a practiced kindness. “Your father has transferred all of her debt and expenses to you. Without insurance, you’re looking at a bill of fifty thousand dollars by the end of the week.”
And so the noose had tightened. My father hadn’t just stopped the payments; he’d handed me the leash to hang myself with.
I seethed, my nostrils flaring, barely concealing my rage. “I’ll bring the money by then. Don’t alter her medication, and re-up the dosage. Today. Do something to keep her fucking alive. Keep her comfortable and do not let her suffer.”
The doctor sighed, the sound of a man who had already given up. “Tristian... now may be the best time to start looking into other options of care. Hospice should allow her to pass peacefully and allow you closure—”
I hadn’t let him finish. I stepped into his space, my shadow looming over him, and looked him dead in the eyes as his words faltered. The world narrowed down to the tensing pulse in his neck. My voice lowered. “Fix the dosage and the medication. I’ll bring the money by the end of the week.”
Throwing fights for Darragh would’ve solved everything financially. Between the twenty grand I’d been promised for throwing the last fight, and my winnings from the previous fight, I could have covered that bill easily, and had cash to spare for the next invoice.
But I hadn’t thrown it. I’d broken The Killer into pieces because he disrespected Ingrid.
So now I was short. Now I was paying for that choice, scrambling for cash.
Fifteen grand from the win. Everything left from previous fights.
Barely enough to scrape together without needing to ask for a spot from Kane or James… but I was worried. Hospital bills racked up… faster than I could win from fights.
The next day, I slammed the check down at the receptionist’s desk without even a hello, then strode to my mother’s room.
No uncaring doctors or fake-kind social workers to poison my mood.
Just me and Mom, lying peacefully, the heart monitor blipping slightly faster as if in acknowledgment of my presence.
“Hey, Mom. Stopping by again to see you,” I muttered, falling into the seat beside the bed.
I reached out and took her fingers with a tenderness I didn’t know I still possessed. Her skin was soft—so much like the hand that used to soothe me when I was a boy. I adjusted the oxygen tube that threatened to slip from her nose, gazing at her closed eyelids, and she looked so peaceful.
I didn’t speak today. Last time I was here I’d told her about Ingrid. I couldn’t do that now.
I was so angry at her for not being honest with me.
Then Darragh’s smirk surfaced and I recoiled.
That fucking snake. He reminded me too much of both of our fathers: manipulative, using everyone he could. He was smart, too much like Noah in too many ways… and he could be vicious like Samuel Rodriguez, only he didn’t use his fists. He used his belt.
My knuckles clenched. The scars on my back burned again.
Ingrid hadn’t asked for any of this. She’d gotten dragged in because of me. Because of Noah’s deal with her father, because of Darragh’s leverage, because I’d let her walk into my world without telling her what lived in it.
I’d been furious at her for hiding her father.
I’d told her the truth about what my father was like, and she knew about my mother…
Most of it, came a guilty voice.
But I’d hidden my past with Darragh.
I sagged back in the chair.
She was living in a nightmare, bruises under makeup, hiding in my hoodies, still showing up soft when everything around her had been trying to break her.
And I’d walked out on her. Instead of being her sanctuary, I’d become another source of pain.
I dragged a hand down my face.
We had a meeting this afternoon. I didn’t care about the deal or what our fathers wanted from us anymore. I just needed to get to her.
My mother’s fingers were still in mine. I squeezed once.
I might not be able to save my mother from her paralysis, but I would destroy myself trying. I felt that same desperate need for Ingrid. And I prayed I hadn’t destroyed her trust in me.
Because I’d already lost the first woman I ever loved.
And I wasn’t losing her too.