Chapter Twenty-Two
Her scrubs creased as she slid into the vinyl chair beside his monitors, struck by how much he’d changed over the last four weeks.
His skin was too pale, and his sharp face now looked slightly sunken.
He looked like Jay’s ghost, the twin resemblance so stark it stole her breath.
Ari’s collapse mirrored the fall Jay was already in the middle of—just a different substance.
She hoped this wasn’t a preview of what was coming.
Ava wondered if Jay was asleep at this hour, or awake and lost in another bottle. Ten days had passed since she’d walked away from him, and neither of them had reached out to bridge the widening gap. As much as it hurt, she was beginning to wonder if staying apart might actually be for the best.
Mira had returned to the condo the morning after their explosive fight. That brought some comfort, at least—knowing he wasn’t alone.
With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward with her hands on her knees. “You know,” she said, her gaze shifting to Ari’s face. “I’d love to hear what you think of all this.”
Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady inhale-exhale of the ventilator.
She’d ordered mechanical ventilation for her own patients a hundred times without flinching.
Watching one breathe for Ari was something else entirely.
She pressed on anyway, needing to confide in someone…
even if that someone couldn’t respond. Eleanor had been a godsend last week, showing up with rosé and pizza for a sleepover when Ava admitted she and Jay had fallen apart again, but her best friend didn’t know the Wylers well.
Ari, even comatose, felt like the right confidant.
He had witnessed the rise and fall of their relationship from the start.
“Your brother’s an idiot. You probably know that, but it’s worth repeating.
” She tapped her sneakers against the linoleum.
“I don’t know what’s best, Ari. Do I reach out to him?
Let him go? He’s sick. I know that. It’s not the addiction that bothers me most; I can handle that.
It’s part of him, and I know he’s got the will to move past it. He proved that by going to rehab.”
She pictured Jay in rehab, hunched over his cross-stitch, dressed in the drab, scrub-like uniform all patients wore. The image was absurd, yet oddly endearing—Jay’s electric energy stuffed into a bland outfit, forced into quiet tasks far removed from stage dives or late-night jam sessions.
Ava’s fingers picked at the armrest. “I keep wondering if I’m the idiot here,” she admitted.
“How many times can I watch him crash? Every time he messes up, I tell myself it’s the last time and that he’ll figure it out.
And he has those stupid, hopeful eyes that drag me back in, wanting to save him.
” She let out a shaky laugh. “It’s like I’m addicted to him.
Five years sober from him, and it took what, a month?
To end up right back here. How’s that for irony? ”
She shook her head. “I keep replaying our last fight in my head. He kept telling me to leave. You know as well as I do that he’s shit when he’s alone.
I walked away because I had to, but now I’m terrified he thinks I meant it forever.
” She swallowed hard. “I’m terrified that I did. What if I’ve got nothing left to give?”
Ari didn’t respond, of course, but she wished he would.
“You’d probably tell me to stop overthinking it,” she said.
“Actually, you’d probably hand me a joint and tell me to chill out.
” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’d just make fun of me for choking on the smoke, though.
God, that was, what, our junior year of high school when I let you convince me to try it?
That was the weirdest band practice I ever sat through with y’all.
The music felt too loud and too quiet at the same time… and it went on forever.”
Ava fell silent, letting the words sink in. The heart monitor beeped, but its steady rhythm suddenly ticked up. Her eyes snapped to the screen. Didn’t it read 66 beats per minute moments ago?
The monitor’s beeps grew slightly faster. Then 78.
“Ari?”
She leaned over the bed, scanning his vitals: heart rate spiked to 90, oxygen saturation stable at 98%.
Her breath caught as his finger twitched.
His eyelids fluttered, then snapped open, his dark eyes unfocused and darting wildly as if searching for something familiar.
His chest heaved, a choked gag escaping around the endotracheal tube.
His hands jerked clumsily toward his throat, fingers trembling from weeks of disuse and the lingering haze of sedatives.
“Whoa, stop, don’t touch it!” Ava commanded, her voice firm as she slipped into clinical mode. She hit the call button and caught his wrists, feeling the erratic pulse beneath her fingers.
His pupils were sluggish, dilating unevenly under the fluorescent light, and his breaths were shallow and ragged against the ventilator’s rhythm. “You’re okay. Breathe with the machine. I’m here.”
Her own pulse kicked up as she checked the tube for blockages, her free hand brushing his forehead, clammy with sweat. His gaze locked onto hers for a fleeting moment, confused and desperate, before drifting, as if he couldn’t parse who she was or why he was choking on plastic.
“I know it’s scary,” she said, leaning in. “That tube’s helping you breathe.”
A crackle cut through the room’s speaker, a nurse checking in: “Hello?”
“Room 8204—patient is awake. Page neuro now.” She looked back down to Ari and forced a smile. “You’re gonna be okay. Keep looking at me.”
His gaze steadied, just a fraction, latching onto her voice. Ava stroked his knuckles, her touch gentle but deliberate, willing him to stay calm. “Stay with me,” she urged. “The team’s coming. They’ll take care of you.”
His breaths were still ragged, fighting the ventilator, but his eyes clung to hers, a flicker of recognition. She adjusted his pillow to ease the strain on his neck. “You’re doing great, Ari,” she murmured. “Focus on my voice, okay? Breathe in and out, nice and slow.”
The door swung open, and a nurse in navy scrubs rushed in.
Ava briefly looked up before locking her focus back on Ari.
“Where’s neuro?” she demanded, her tone clipped but professional.
“I’m Dr. Davenport, emergency. Arihan’s awake, possible extubation candidate, but he’s agitated. I need the attending now.”
The nurse nodded, already checking the IV line. “Dr. Patel’s on her way.”
Good. Patel knew this case inside and out. She'd been Ava’s point of contact for three weeks, fielding her texts at odd hours with more patience than Ava probably deserved.
She exhaled sharply, her free hand brushing Ari’s damp hair back again. “Hang in there, Ari. We’re getting that tube out soon, I promise. Stay with me.” His fingers squeezed hers faintly, and her heart lurched. She hadn’t expected him to be this aware, not yet.
Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Dr. Patel strode in, white coat flapping, tablet in hand.
“Dr. Davenport, status?” she asked, eyes flicking to Ari’s chart.
Ava kept her grip on Ari’s hand. “Arihan Wyler, woke minutes ago. Heart rate 95, oxygen sat 98%, strong gag reflex, fighting the ventilator. Disoriented, likely residual sedation.”
The doctor nodded, stepping to the bedside and pulling out a penlight to check Ari’s pupils.
“Mr. Wyler, I’m Dr. Patel. Can you follow my finger?
” She moved her finger side-to-side, and Ari’s gaze flickered.
“Good,” she said, tapping her tablet. “Let’s prep for extubation, but I want a CT to rule out new bleeds first.”
She turned to the nurse. “Get respiratory and a portable CT set up.”
Ava squeezed Ari’s hand. “You’re doing great. We’re getting there.”
The monitor beeped steadily, heart rate easing to 90, a sign he was stabilizing. Ava glanced at Dr. Patel, who was typing rapidly on the tablet. “CT timeline?” she asked.
“Usually around ten minutes.”
Ava lingered by Ari’s side, her hand clasped around his until the CT tech arrived and signaled it was time. “I’ll be back,” she promised him.
Dr. Patel was already coordinating with the respiratory therapist and CT tech. “We’ve got him. The scan won’t take long.”
Ava managed a tight nod, and slipped into the hall. She scrolled through her contacts, pausing at Jay’s name. Her thumb hovered, but she kept moving down until she reached Samira’s contact and called.
The phone rang so long Ava figured it’d go to voicemail, but Mira finally answered with a groggy, “Hello?”
“Sorry. I know it’s early…or late. Whatever. But Ari’s awake.”
There was a heavy pause, Mira taking in the information before shouting, “WHAT!” The sounds of her scrambling out of bed filled the line. “When did he wake up? Are you with him? Is he okay?”
“It wasn’t long ago. I stopped by with new flowers. They’re doing a scan and all now. Will probably take his tube out soon.”
“Fuck. Fuck. This is amazing, Ava. I’m so glad you were there. Holy shit.” Mira was moving again. Ava heard a door creak and some mumbles from a deeper voice—Jay’s voice. “Get up, asshole. We’re going to the hospital.”
Ava took in a deep breath, steeling herself for the imminent arrival of Mira…and Jay.
A half hour later, the door burst open, Mira’s energy flooding the room. “Ari! Oh my god!” she exclaimed, rushing to his bedside, nearly knocking over a tray of medical supplies. She moved without the stiffness of ten days ago.
Jay followed, his steps slower, his gaze sweeping from Ari to Ava at his side.
Ari hadn’t spoken since they removed the tube, but his voice arrived at the sight of siblings, scratchy and raw: “Jay. Mir.”
He looked better, his eyes a little brighter.
The breathing tube was gone, replaced by a nasal cannula, temporary so long as his oxygen levels held steady.
Ava eased out of the way, letting Mira take the chair she’d been occupying.
She moved to the back of the room, where Jay stood frozen, overwhelmed as he took in the sight of his brother, awake and upright.
Ari just looked between them all, wonderstruck.
Mira began speaking quietly, grabbing Ari’s hand and leaning her head on him. Ava watched, pretending she didn’t feel the weight of Jay’s presence beside her—pretending she didn’t want to look over and take note of every detail of him.
He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. She instantly felt the heat of his stare.
“You called Mira,” he said.
Ava nodded, not letting herself look past his shoes—combat boots, typical. “She needed to know.”
“Yeah.” Jay sighed heavily, a sound like he’d been holding it.
Then, from the bed, Ari rasped, “Jay.”
He straightened immediately, peeling himself off the wall. Ava took that as her cue.
She stepped past him, letting her hand give his shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m gonna head out.”
Their eyes met, just for a second. His were clear—alert. He looked sober, or at least not drunk.
“Okay,” was all he said.
There was a part of her—stubborn and stupid and so, so tired—that wanted to stay and fold into him.
She wanted nothing more than to pretend that none of it happened, but that part of her didn’t get to win this time.
She held his gaze for a beat longer than she meant to, then turned away, breaking the moment before it could settle into something heavier.
When the door closed behind her, the tears came. As she walked to the elevators, she let them fall. Some were for Ari—for the relief and overwhelming gratitude that he was still here. But the rest…
The rest were for Jay.