Chapter 8
ISABELLA
My head is down, my gaze on deciphering his terrible handwriting when it happens.
Papà is perched on the stool one second, gesturing and explaining something in his notebook.
His hands move with the same fervor he’s always had when explaining something he loves.
The next, there’s a sharp scrape of metal against the floor, followed by a sickening thud that freezes my breath in my chest.
“Papà!”
My voice feels distant, almost swallowed by the cold, clinical quiet of the lab.
I’m moving before my brain can catch up, shoving the stool out of the way as I drop to my knees beside him.
He’s sprawled on the floor, his arm bent awkwardly beneath him.
The color in his face seems to drain in an instant.
My hands hover over him, frantic and unsure of where to start. My heart hammers as panic claws its way up my throat. His eyes flutter toward mine. He tries to push himself up but can’t, wincing as his weight shifts.
“Cara.”
“Don’t move,” I blurt, my hands shaking as I press gently on his shoulder to keep him still.
“Alright, I got coffee, so let’s get back to those—”
I barely have time to register Diego’s voice. His words cut off mid-sentence. The slap of cups hitting the table echoes as he rushes forward.
“What happened?”
His voice is sharp now, almost accusatory, and all traces of his usual smirk are gone when he crouches opposite me.
“I . . . I don’t know. He . . . he fell. I can’t . . .”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. Diego moves quickly, his hands steady as he checks my father’s arm, his brow furrowing as he takes in the awkward angle.
“Papà, where does it hurt?”
“My arm.”
“It could be sprained.”
He groans softly, his face twisting with pain as he shifts slightly.
“Let’s get him into a chair,” Diego commands, taking charge of the situation. He spots the one at my desk and is off the floor, retrieving it in seconds.
“Hold onto the chair.”
I jump to my feet, bracing my hands on the rolling chair to prevent it from moving, while Diego practically lifts him in one fluid motion. Once seated, he exhales sharply.
His face is pale but composed. He’s always been so strong, so unshakable, and seeing him like this. Fragile and, dare I say, old, makes my chest ache.
“How’s your head? Did you hit it?”
Diego crouches before him, his worried eyes scanning my father’s face.
“Professor Rossi, can you check for a knot or bump on the back of it?”
Papà shakes his head weakly, his lips pressing into a faint grimace when I plunge my fingers into his hair.
“No, just a tumble, and my arm caught my fall.” His voice is faint despite the confident words. “Cara, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I nearly shriek, my pulse hammering in my chest. “Did you get dizzy? Or feel faint? Has this happened before, Papà? This is how it started with mother.”
“No, no, cara. Just lost my balance,” he mumbles through gritted teeth, grimacing at the mention of her memory. “It doesn’t feel broken, and I’ve broken some bones in my time.”
“He needs a sling to keep it immobile.” His movements are tense as he looks around for something to stabilize the arm. “Do you have anything we can use?”
My eyes dart around the lab, landing on my lab coat hanging near the door. I grab it, fumbling with the fabric as I hand it to Diego. He folds the coat into a makeshift support and gently secures it around Papà’s arm and neck.
“This’ll hold until we get him to a doctor.”
My father winces as the sling settles, but he doesn’t protest. His eyes meet mine with a faint smile that does nothing to quell the panic still coursing through me.
“I didn’t . . . I don’t have a car. Um, I can . . .”
I fidget, thinking about my motorcycle parked in the lot downstairs. Diego’s hand lands on my arm, the warmth catching me off guard when he steps closer.
“I didn’t mean for you to drive. We’ll take my truck. I’ll bring it around.”
The authority in his voice is apparent. He’s still in charge, and I’m still rattled. The suddenness of everything keeps the haunting memories of my mother swirling in my mind. How fast we lost her after her fall. When they discovered her cancer. How advanced it was.
“Grab your stuff. I’ll get his bag, and we’ll walk him outside together.”
His hand leaves my arm, his eyes surveying the room before closing the notebook and putting it back in the duffel. He slings my father’s overnight bag onto his shoulder and digs out his truck keys.
My reaction is delayed by seconds. I jump into action to grab our coats, backpack, and purse while Diego gets Papà standing, relying on the young man to help him out the door.
I’m left to shut off the lights, lock my door, and follow behind.
I worry about what they will find, what will happen in the coming days, and how the semester that started so well is already going downhill.
True to his word, Diego waits for us to settle in the lobby before jogging out to pull his truck around and help my father into the passenger seat.
Once we’re all settled inside, the heat blows throughout the spacious cab, overtaking the silence between us. Diego’s hands grip the wheel firmly, his gaze locked on the road ahead. Papà’s arm is cradled in the makeshift sling atop the console.
I’m in the back seat, clutching my purse and backpack, my fingers twisting the strap as if holding it tightly enough might somehow steady my nerves.
“We should go to the ER.” I lean forward between the seats to get their attention. “They’ll have everything he needs.”
Papà turns his head slightly, his expression firm even as he winces from the movement.
“No, Cara, it’s not necessary. This is a small injury. The urgent care will do.”
“It’s not small!” The words burst out before I can stop them, my grip on the strap tightening. “You fell, Papà. What if it’s worse than you think? What if—”
He cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head.
“I know you’re worried, Isabella. This is not a matter for the emergency room. Let’s not waste time arguing.”
Diego glances at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes holding mine. An unexpected sincerity in them, as if silently agreeing with me and not my father. It helps to know I’m right.
“Urgent care is faster,” Diego offers hesitantly, trying to bridge the divide between our differing opinions. “We’ll get him checked out, and if they think it’s serious, they’ll send us to the ER.”
I want to argue, but the logic in his words rings true. The lump in my throat grows heavier as I nod, lean back into the seat, and mindlessly watch the scenery out the side window. The cab remains quiet, with no music, no talking, just the weight of our shared worries.
The urgent care center is a small building tucked into the corner of a strip mall. The fluorescent lights above the entrance cast an artificial glow in the dark evening sky. Diego pulls up to the curb, parks the truck, and hops out to help my father.
I hurry to follow, my hands fumbling with my things as I sling my backpack and purse over one shoulder and grab my father’s coat from the back seat and his overnight bag.
Diego’s already by his side, easing him carefully out of the truck.
His movements are swift but measured, his arm steadying Papà as they approach the entrance.
The automatic doors slide open, and the cool air inside shocks me. The receptionist glances up, her expression softening when she sees us. Diego babbles, explaining the situation.
Within moments, Papà is whisked away by a nurse, leaving me and Diego standing in the sparsely decorated waiting area. I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping my belongings until Diego places his hand gently over mine.
“Hey, he’s in good hands.”
I nod, but the lump in my throat refuses to budge. He observes me, his dark eyes searching mine. His hand lingers for a moment before he lets it fall away.
“You could have left all this in the truck.”
He reaches for everything clustered in my hands. I don’t know why I grabbed everything.
“I . . .”
I stare at the steel door they took him through, letting Diego unload everything onto the row of chairs opposite a television showing the news.
Without thinking, I reach for him, my fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket.
The hesitation in his expression is brief, but it’s there.
Just a flicker of uncertainty before he steps closer, his arms lifting to wrap around me.
I sink into the embrace, the warmth of his body in contrast to the icy knot in my chest. My hands clutch the front of his jacket as I press my forehead against his shoulder, my breath hitching with worry.
I don’t know how long we stand there, the low hum of the newscasters filling the silence between us.
“What am I going to do? The semester just started, and he lives alone in New Jersey,” I whisper, the words garbled against his stiff leather. “Do I move him in with me? What if he needs more help that I can give? I have a full course load and . . .”
The rest of the sentence lodges in my throat, too heavy to say out loud. What if I lost my job because I had to care for him? All my plans and dreams will be wiped away.
His hand clutches my hair, gathering the strands in a tight fist to keep my face pressed into his shoulder. For the first time, the cocky bravado I’ve come to associate with Diego is gone, replaced by something softer, steadier.
“Hey, hey, everything’s going to be okay.” His assuring words vibrate in his chest and against my cheek. “I’ve broken plenty of things, and it’s not life changing. It’s inconvenient, that’s all.”
“What if it’s more than that? What if this is more serious, or they find something else? That happened with my mother, and I can’t . . .”
“Shh, it’s all right. He’ll be okay. It didn’t look broken. I’m sure they won’t find anything else. Just a bit bruised up is all.”
His hand at my waist slides up my back to rub comforting circles as he talks.
I want to believe him. I need to because I’m already so worried.
My life is tightly coiled around lectures, labs, and lesson plans, not broken limbs, hospitals, and caregiving.
I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I’m freaking out.
This is all sorts of wrong.
I’m drawn to him.
Reaching for him to comfort me is crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed with a student.
It’s asking for trouble. I lift my cheek from his shoulder.
His hand drops from my hair, but the other palm are on my side as I stare up at him.
His touch lingers, the comfort transforming into something else, something worse that crosses forbidden lines.
His eyes drop to my lips, licking his at the same time. His knuckles drag across my cheek, leaving a trail of tingling skin behind.
“I’ve got you. And him.”
The sound of the nurse calling my name breaks the moment. Entranced, I step back and shake my head. The chemistry between us ripped away. Ensuring those lines aren’t crossed.
“I’ll wait for you here.”
Diego gestures to the bank of chairs, holding my gaze until he raises a questioning eyebrow. Ignoring it, I turn away, follow the nurse, and wonder what the hell I’m going to do now.
His presence tonight was an annoyance until it wasn’t. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been there to help me. It’s a grounding feeling to have someone to rely on for help. Something I’m not used to having aside from my father.
What did I just do?