32. Myles
THIRTY-TWO
MYLES
My thoughts are a tangled mess; Tristan's confession echoed in my head like a haunting melody. I pace back and forth across the living room floor, my heart heavy with questions.
I don't blame him for Cara's death. It would be stupid of me if I did. But can I live with this constant reminder that he was there at the scene of her accident where he tried to save her life, but she still didn't survive? Would this put a strain on our relationship?
I look down at my hands, clenched into tight fists, knuckles white from the pressure. This newfound knowledge about Tristan has opened a Pandora's box of doubts and fears, and I’m not sure I have the strength to close it again.
Are we really going to build a life together? I question myself, the knot in my stomach tightening.
The phone rings, its shrill tone cutting through my spiraling thoughts. I snatch it up, concerned it might be someone from Nix's school. But as soon as I hear the voice on the other end, my stomach drops.
"Myles," Steph says hesitantly. "I'm sorry for stealing your number from Tristan's phone, but... he's in the hospital."
My breath catches in my throat, and I suddenly feel dizzy. The room spins around me, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. I brace myself against the wall, struggling to hold back the panic welling up inside.
"Wh-what happened?" I stammer, my voice shaking with fear.
"Tristan was hurt while on a rescue call," she explains, her voice strained. "His injuries aren't serious, but I thought you should know."
"Thank you," I manage to choke out before hanging up the phone.
But the relief his injuries aren't serious does little to calm the storm inside me. This is too much like the call I received when Cara's accident happened, and it's triggering a flood of emotions I can't seem to control.
"Tristan," I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear.
I know I need to get to the hospital, but for a moment, I'm paralyzed by uncertainty, confusion, and all-consuming terror. Then, taking a deep breath, I grab my keys and head out the door, my heart pounding in my chest as I try to prepare myself for whatever awaits me at the hospital.
My hands grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt. I can't shake the feeling of déjà vu as I race to the hospital, trying my best to stay within the speed limit while my heart pounds like a jackhammer.
Steph said Tristan's injuries aren't serious, but my mind refuses to accept this reassurance. I remember all too well when they said the same about Cara, just before everything changed forever.
"Focus, focus," I mutter under my breath. I need to be strong for Tristan, and for Nix.
Waiting at every red light feels like an eternity, my impatience growing with each heartbeat. The car's engine roars in protest, mirroring the battle between relief and fear raging inside me.
"Dammit, Myles, you can't fall apart now," I whisper to myself. "Not again."
I try to picture Tristan at the hospital, his golden eyes filled with warmth and love, but instead my thoughts are haunted by images of twisted metal and shattered glass. My chest tightens with each shallow breath, a vice gripping my lungs.
"Please let him be okay," I plead, my voice drowned out by the car's engine.
Finally, the hospital looms ahead, its sterile walls offering no comfort. I park haphazardly, barely registering the angry honks from other drivers. As I sprint towards the entrance, the sound of my heartbeat seems to keep time with my feet.
"Where is he?" I demand, my voice cracking as I reach the reception desk. The nurse takes one look at my panicked expression and quickly searches through her files.
"What's the name of the patient, sir?" The nurse’s demeanor remains calm despite my less than polite manner.
"Tristan Carrington."
"Room 312," she replies, her voice soft and sympathetic. Then she gives me the directions to the ward.
"Thank you." I gasp, rushing past her and up the stairs.
The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows on the sterile walls. I barely register the muffled cries and beeping machines as my legs carry me through the labyrinth of hallways.
"Tristan." I breathe his name when I finally reach room 312, my heart lodged in my throat.
I hesitate for a moment, afraid of what I might find on the other side of that door. But then I remember the love Tristan and I share, the way he makes me feel alive and whole again. I can't let fear control me anymore. It's time to face whatever comes next, together.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.
My eyes dart around the ward until they land on Tristan, lying in that darn bed, looking like a ghost of himself. A bandage wraps around his head, a small area stained crimson.
"Hey." Tristan's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"Tristan," I whisper, my voice cracking. "You look... terrible."
"Ah, it's nothing," he dismisses, waving a hand. "Just a minor head lac. I'm staying overnight for monitoring, but I'll be fine."
I yearn to reach out and touch him, hug him to me, but something unknown force holds me back. I try to swallow the lump lodged in my throat, forcing myself to focus on something else. "You need—“
"How's Nix?" he asks, cutting me off.
I grab onto the new topic like a lifeline.
"Little League's going well. He's staying with George and Cynthia for a bit longer." Why does it feel like we're a million miles apart? Like total strangers exchanging pleasantries on the bus?
"Good, good," he murmurs, eyes downcast.
"Listen, I can drive you home tomorrow morning," I offer, unbidden.
Surprise flickers across his face before he nods. "Thanks, Myles." His gaze lingers on mine.
As I leave the hospital, the panic that clawed at my chest begins to ebb, replaced by a crushing sadness and exhaustion. I slide behind the wheel of my car, grabbing it tightly as if it were a lifeline.
Get a grip, Myles, I say to myself, but the words tumble around in my head like stones in a washing machine. The drive home feels both too long and too short, the streets a blur of streetlights and shadows.
Tristan could have been... gone, I think, my heart constricting. The realization settles in my chest like lead, heavy and suffocating. I can't shake it, and it follows me all the way home, weighing me down as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment.
I need sleep, but the image of Tristan lying there, pale and fragile, haunts me. My heart races, thundering in my ears as I toss and turn, sheets tangled around me like a shroud. The night stretches on, endless and unforgiving, until finally—mercifully—morning comes.
The sun feels like a personal insult as it blazes through my window, taunting me with its cheerful rays. Sleep has eluded me, but I drag myself out of bed, haunted by the weight of what lies ahead.
I get in the car to pick up Tristan from the hospital. My hands tremble on the steering wheel, mirroring the tempest within me. The drive is heavy, each mile marker a reminder of the impending conversation.
As I pull up to the hospital, I see Tristan waiting outside, and his eyes lock on mine. It's as if he already knows. My stomach churns, a whirlpool of anxiety and dread.
"Hey," he says softly as he climbs into the passenger seat. His voice cracks, exposing the raw vulnerability beneath.
"Hey," I respond warily.
The silence between us stretches taut, an unspoken understanding of what's to come.
When we arrive back at home, Tristan doesn't head for my apartment. Instead, he turns toward his own, and I follow, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. He unlocks the door and steps inside, leaving it open for me.
"Tristan, I—" I start, but he cuts me off, his eyes filled with resignation.
"I get it, Myles," he says, his voice strained. "I wouldn't forgive me either."
I try to protest, to explain that it's not about forgiveness. It's about how every time I look at him, think of him, I'm reminded of the worst day of my life. It's about having someone in Nix's life who puts himself in danger every day. I can't risk Nix losing another parent.
"Please, don't," Tristan chokes, tears threatening to spill over his eyelids. But then, something steely takes over, and he hardens. "You made the right choice. No hard feelings."
"Tristan," I whisper, my heart shattering.
"Just go," he says, his voice barely holding together. And with that, I turn and walk away, leaving behind the man I love and the life we could have had together.