CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Kaia
“We don’t have another room,” Sarah said with her trademark saccharine smile. “At Willowbrook, we encourage communication and amicable resolution of conflicts.”
Every sentence from that woman’s mouth sounded ripped from the school’s promotional brochure.
I crossed my arms. “We don’t need a different room. Just a different roommate. Can we swap with someone?”
Sarah sighed. “Kaia. I’m telling the truth. Besides, current living arrangements were made for a reason.”
“Then I’m calling my dad.” Alba marched toward her desk. “I still have my three calls. You can’t deny me that.”
Sarah slipped off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Welcome to the club, Sarah. I was tired of everyone’s crap too.
“Okay,” she said. “Hold on. We have a double that’s currently occupied. I’ll ask if the girls are willing to join Teagan so you two can move there.”
“Please do,” I said. “As soon as possible.”
My father wouldn’t bother asking for a different room, but I’d be damned if I didn’t stand up for myself. Teagan’s betrayal was beyond shitty. I’d rather sleep on a bench in the backyard than share with her.
Alba grabbed my hand, and we left Sarah’s office.
Outside, she led me to a bench by the fountain—the opposite direction from the spot where Asher had broken my heart last night.
A stubborn part of me refused to believe he’d really left, but the breakup hadn’t sunk in yet. Once it did, it would hurt infinitely more, like when Mom died.
As we sat, I pulled out my phone. “Thank you for supporting me.”
“Anytime.” Alba braced her palms on the bench and stretched her long legs. “Teagan’s been on my shit list for months, and I wasn’t bluffing. I’d call Dad, and he’d raise hell.”
“It must be nice to have someone who’d raise hell for you,” I whispered.
Alba nudged my arm with her fist. “You’ve got me. Don’t complain, or I’ll think I’m not a good friend.”
“No complaints,” I said. “And as a good friend, you’re allowed to tell me I need some self-respect. Because I’m about to check how Asher’s race went.”
Alba sighed. “No, that’s fine. You should check. You can’t just stop caring overnight.”
I doubted I’d ever stop caring. That was the brutal thing about love. Stronger than common sense, self-respect, and logic. Stronger even than a heart shattered to pieces by the same person who swore never to break it.
Nunca. I hated the word as much as I loved it.
Alba waited as I pulled up a sports site. The moment the page loaded, everything inside me stilled—even my heartbeat.
“Kaia.” She touched my arm, then stared at the screen where a picture showed Asher lying on the tarmac.
Ash. My Ash. Hurt. My hands shook as I jabbed at the stubborn link until, finally, the article opened.
“He highsided,” I said past the boulder lodged in my throat. “Like his dad.” Shivers raced up and down my spine. I forced my eyes to read, but the words blurred. “It’s a joke, Alba. Not him.”
Alba was already typing on her phone.
“He’s alive,” she said. “They took him to Emerport. Do you want to see him?”
I nodded. How could I not? Whatever happened yesterday, I still loved him. I still worried. I always would.
“Let’s go, then.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “Dad was going to visit tomorrow. I’ll ask him to pick us up today.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, praying the articles hadn’t lied. I just wanted him to be all right. He had to live, even if it was without me.
***
As Alba’s dad drove us to the hospital, a strange thought cut through the panic. If someone put his and my father’s pictures side by side on a magazine spread and asked people to circle the differences, there’d be too many to count.
Alba’s dad was shorter. More athletic. He smiled a lot—at her, especially. And though jealousy pinched, I was glad for her. That was how it should be when you lost one parent. The other should love you enough to soften the edges of grief.
Mr. Osorio smiled at me too. Alba introduced me as her best friend, and he’d told me to call him Fernando, his warmth putting me at ease.
“Well, we’re almost there,” he said, changing lanes toward downtown Emerport. “I called ahead. Visiting hours run until eight, but if he’s in the ICU, they may only allow family.”
I bit my lip, twisting my hands in my lap. I’d have to play the stepsister card, but this time I didn’t care.
“He’s also her stepbrother,” Alba said. “They should let her in.”
Her dad just nodded, as if her casually shifting from boyfriend to stepbrother wasn’t worth remarking on. I liked him even more for that.
As soon as he parked in the visitor lot, we headed for the ICU. A smiling receptionist asked for my ID. When she told me I could see Asher, I finally drew a full breath.
The faint antiseptic smell prickled my nerves. How bad was he? No updates yet—only that he was hurt.
“Want us to come?” Alba asked.
I shook my head. “No. Thanks for bringing me. I’ll text once I’m done. Go grab coffee. Your dad might need a break after the drive.”
He patted my shoulder. “Go see your boyfriend, kid. We’ll wait in the cafeteria.”
I followed a nurse’s directions down a bright hallway toward the patient rooms. As I neared Asher’s, a tall man stepped out.
Our eyes caught for a second. Alejandro gave me a tired smile. The stubble on his jaw was longer than last time, but otherwise he looked the same—expensive gray suit, expensive watch, his light brown hair carefully styled.
“Kaia,” he said. “I’m glad to see you. Despite the”—he sighed, gesturing toward the room—“circumstances.”
“How is he?”
Alejandro shoved his hands into his pockets. “He’s alive, and that’s what matters. The doctor says fractured clavicle, lung contusion. He’s weak and sleeping now, but it could’ve been much worse.”
Salty liquid slid down my throat. I swallowed hard, gratitude and fear tangling—thankful Asher was alive, terrified for him all the same.
Alejandro closed the space between us and rubbed my arm, his gaze soft. “I’ll be here. Go see him, yeah? He needs you.”
I stepped into Asher’s room. Tears streamed down my face as I faced his bed. An oxygen mask covered his mouth, monitors beeped steadily, and anxiety clawed at me.
He’s okay, I told myself as I moved closer.
“Hola, peque,” I whispered, slipping my clammy hand into his.
“You scared me. I thought—” I swallowed a sob.
“I thought I’d lose you. You have to get well.
For me. For your dad—he’d hate to see you like this.
You’re strong, Ash. You still need to race for a RevGlobe Grand Prix team. You’ve got so much ahead of you.”
I stroked his hand with my thumb, saying all the right, steady words. But the ones that mattered most pressed at my throat, begging to be spoken.
“I love you.” The confession tore out of me, everything I’d kept locked spilling free. “And I don’t care if it flushes decades of feminism down the drain. You hurt me, but I love you, and I hate that I do. I hate that I always will.”
Carefully, I released his fingers and leaned down, pressing my lips to his forehead. “Please, get well. Even if it’s not for me.”
My lips tingled from his skin, and my chest ached like I was the one with a lung injury. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
The door opened. A nurse stepped inside, and with one last glance at him, I slipped out before she could ask me to leave.
More tears. More pain. I buried my face in my palms—until a heavy arm settled over my shoulders.
“Come on,” Alejandro whispered. “Let’s get some coffee. Who brought you here?”
“My friend.” My voice broke.
Under different circumstances, I would’ve hated that Asher’s friend saw me this way. But Alejandro was my only link to him now. I wanted to know why Asher had highsided. I wanted to know how he’d been since the breakup.
Alejandro led me to a waiting area with leather couches and a coffee machine in the corner. He fixed me a drink, and I sat beside him, clutching the paper cup in my cold hands.
“Do you know why the accident happened?” I asked.
He traced the rim of his cup with his finger. “It’s a high-risk sport. Accidents happen. More so when your head isn’t in the game.”
“His wasn’t?”
“I don’t know, Kaia. I wasn’t with him this morning, but Dawson thought he looked off.”
“He shouldn’t have let him race.”
Alejandro sighed. “Asher wouldn’t have listened. You know him better than anyone.”
I thought I did. Now I wasn’t sure. “He broke up with me last night,” I said.
Alejandro’s expression softened with pity. “I know.”
I sipped the hot, sweet coffee, willing my voice not to shake.
“Don’t tell him I came. Please. I just want him to recover.
He’s the person I…” To hell with it—nothing left to lose, no dignity to guard.
“He’s the person I love most in the world, and I want him to get well.
I want him to race for a team in Spain or wherever he chooses. Please, make that happen.”
Alejandro’s jaw worked like he was holding back words. “He’d be happy to know you were here.”
“No,” I whispered. “He’d feel guilty. Indebted.
He’d call to thank me, and if he asked, I’d run back to him like the pathetic, lovesick fool I am.
I’d forgive him, and he’d be stuck here with me, racing for teams beneath him just to keep me happy.
He’s destined for more. I won’t hold him back.
” I swallowed, inhaling a lungful of air. “Can you promise me one more thing?”
He nodded. His coffee sat untouched on the low table in front of us.
“Take care of Ash for me,” I said through a fresh wave of tears blurring my vision. “He’s proud, and he’s used to being strong, pretending he doesn’t care that his mother never gave a damn. But he needs someone. He’ll need you.”
“No te preocupes.” Don’t worry. Alejandro wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing. “He won’t be alone. And he’d want you to take care of yourself, too.”
“Where’s his mother?” I asked.
Alejandro lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Home, I guess. She texted after Russell told her what happened, asked me to keep her updated.”
But she wasn’t here with her injured son. Asher deserved better. So did I.
I hadn’t forgiven Sharon for the diary, and I doubted I ever would—for that, or for not appreciating the kind, talented son she had.
“Well then.” I gulped the rest of my drink and stood. “I need to go. Thank you for everything.”
I tossed the empty cup in the trash and headed for the door.
Alejandro let out a long sigh. “Kaia.”
His defeated tone made me pause. “What?”
“You’re not wrong for each other. Just the timing is wrong.”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing back more tears. “It is.”