Chapter 23 Alex
ALEX
The thought has been drilling into my skull like a goddamn buzzsaw. Her eyes pierced into mine like I was a complete stranger. Emiliana—wide-eyed, pale, hooked up to every machine in the room—looked at me like I didn’t belong there, blaming me for hurting her.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I pull out of the hospital parking lot on autopilot. My breath is shallow. The pain in my chest isn’t just fear. It’s guilt from leaving her. It's also sadness and rage from being the last person to know about her heart failure.
Fuck.
I should have been there when she woke up.
I should’ve noticed something was wrong.
The signs were all there now that I look back at it.
She was tired easily, falling asleep in seconds.
Her skin had gone slightly more pale, but I chalked that up to her not getting as much sun in the city these last couple years.
She’d been short of breath, but I thought it was from physical activity, not her heart failing.
How the hell did I not see it?
How do you miss the fact that someone you love is that sick right in front of your goddamn face?
My hands are shaking as I shift gears, the truck roaring beneath me.
I’m not even sure where I’m going until I pull into the parking lot of the bar.
The place is dead silent, too early to be open to customers yet.
I walk straight behind the counter, grab the first bottle I see—some cheap whiskey—and pour myself a glass.
My hands still tremble as I lift it to my mouth.
It burns like hell going down, but it doesn’t do shit to dull the ache in my chest.
So I pour another.
And another.
And another.
Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll forget how Emma flinched when she saw me, or how her voice cracked when she told me to leave, like I was the last person in the world she wanted near her.
Maybe if I drown myself in enough liquor, I’ll stop feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet for not seeing or knowing that she’s been dying right in front of my eyes.
I let her down. Again.
I lean over the bar top, both hands braced against the wood, and hang my head in pure defeat. My breath comes in ragged, unsteady pulls. If I stay here much longer, I’ll drink myself into a blackout.
That’s pathetic, though.
I shouldn’t get to drink myself into oblivion while she fights for her life in a hospital.
I have to do something. She deserves so much more than me, but I’ll be damned if I let that stop me from trying.
I go back to the hospital the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
Every single day, Cam blocks the doorway, shaking his head before I can even ask to see her.
“She doesn’t want you here.”
Every time, the words cut a little deeper. I don’t blame her for being mad. I’m mad at myself, too. I fucking deserve it every ounce of rage she has for me.
But I’m not giving up.
It’s been four days and I’m at the hospital again the next morning before visiting hours even officially start.
Cam is already there.
He stands outside her room like a fucking guard dog, arms crossed over his chest, face set in the same unreadable mask he’s been wearing for the past few years.
I walk up slowly and cautiously. “Is she awake?”
Cam barely glances at me. “She was the last time I went in.”
“I just want to see her, man.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to see you.”
My stomach clenches, but I nod like I expected it. It’s the same answer I got yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.
“She say that?”
He looks at me then, eyes hard and cold. “Yeah, Alex. She said that.”
I flinch slightly, but enough for him to notice.
“I need to talk to her, Cam. I just want to make things right.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” His words set me off.
“Don’t act like I fucking abandoned her. You don’t get to pin this on me like I’m the bad guy.”
Cam takes a step toward me, his shoulders squared, nostrils flaring.
“You think this is about blame? Emma almost died, Alex. Do you get that? Her heart stopped. We didn’t know if she was going to come back, and you—you just waltzed in here like you have some kind of privilege because you supposedly cared for her once upon a time.
And she’s supposed to…what? Welcome you with open arms? ”
“She’s dying, Cam!” I shoot back. “Just like you said! And I didn’t come here expecting anything. I came because I love her. I need to be here.”
Cam shakes his head slowly, lips pressed into a hard line. “You had fifteen years to be there for her. Why the hell were you trying now?”
“I never stopped caring about her. I never stopped loving her. I’m here now. I can’t change anything about the past, but I’m trying now and it’s all I can give.”
“It’s not good enough.”
We’re nose to nose now. One more word and I might swing. But instead, I clench my fists at my sides and breathe through the rage clawing its way up my throat. Cam looks at me for a long second, then sighs, like this conversation is exhausting him.
“You want to help her, Alex? Give her space. Respect what she asked.”
“She’s scared. She doesn’t mean it.”
“Maybe. But it’s not your call to make.”
As much as it hurts, he’s right. It’s not my call. I can’t force her to want to talk to me or let me tell her the truth. So I back off, for now.
But it doesn’t stop me from coming back the next day.
And the next.
Every time, I get the same answer. It’s torture—not being able to see her, to talk to her, to make her understand that I never would have left if I had known she was sick. That I never would have let her go through this alone if I had any clue what she was going through.
I pull up to Leo’s house after being rejected from seeing Emma the last time this morning.
I need something to do with my hands that won’t end in a bar fight or a self-inflicted black out. I need to occupy myself before I lose my mind.
Leo’s outside the shop, his shirt stained with sawdust. Mia is perched on his hip babbling at a wooden horse they apparently were carving together. She’s waving a paintbrush around like she’s commanding a tiny army. He laughs when she smacks a blotch of blue paint onto his arm.
It’s the kind of scene that guts me.
Family. Stability. A love that actually lasts.
I never had that with my own parents. The Diaz family is the closest I have ever come to something remotely similar.
Leo looks up when he hears the truck door close behind me. “Well, shit. You look like hell.”
“Feel worse,” I mutter, stepping closer towards them.
He squints. “You drunk?”
“No.” Leo lifts a brow, not fully convinced. “Just… restless,” I add.
He shifts Mia to the other hip. “What’s up, man?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “I need your help.”
He studies me for a moment, a suspicious look taking over his face. “With?”
“The yellow house. I want to help fix up a few things.”
Leo stills. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Why?” He asks bluntly.
Taking a step closer, I fumble with some lint in my jacket pockets to keep my hands from fidgeting as I speak. “Because she shouldn’t have to fix that place up alone. She deserves something solid to come home to. I can’t fix everything, but I can help fix this.”
He tilts his head. “You think you can earn your way back in her life with elbow grease and a paintbrush?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s a start.”
He eyes me carefully, his expression a mix of concern and slight amusement. “You love her?”
A simple “Yes” is all I say in return.
Leo sighs, looking down at his daughter. She’s got paint on her nose, completely content in her own little world of chaos.
“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
“Fair enough.”
He nods in response. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”
Over the next week, we pour everything we’ve got into that old, yellow house.
We clear out the overgrown front yard and backyard. We fix the broken porch steps and repaint the front door the same soft yellow it has always been. I know Emma loves the color, even if she used to pretend she didn’t when we were kids, teasing her mom about it looking like a giant lemon.
Leo shows me how to patch up the places where the siding is falling apart.
I replace rusted hinges, install new light fixtures, and scrub years of grime from the wooden floors.
We even install a brand new clawfoot tub, the same one she mentioned wanting, claiming that stand up showers were exhausting and she just wanted to relax.
Some days, Leo brings Mia to the house. She sits in the middle of the living room with coloring books while we tear apart and rebuild everything around her.
It’s brutal, exhausting work, but it doesn’t faze me. I sleep better those nights, because I’m actually doing something meaningful. Because I’m actually trying.
And every morning, I still go back to the hospital. Every morning, Cam still doesn't let me in. Every time, those words dig a little deeper inside me, feeling more permanent. And every time, I say the same thing: “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
It’s torture.
I should’ve fought harder all those years ago. Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have felt like she had to walk away.
But I’m not walking away, no matter how hard she pushes me. I don’t care how long it takes. She’s everything, my literal heart outside my body, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she knows it.