Chapter 18 — Hospital Room
I went to the hospital on Saturday with a fruit basket and a knot of dread.
Julian’s room number had been written on a discharge paper the police gave me.
I memorized it like a prayer.
The elevator smelled like antiseptic and tired breath.
The doors opened onto the ward.
Machines beeped.
A baby cried somewhere down the hall.
I followed the signs.
Room 417.
I knocked softly and pushed the door open.
Julian lay propped against pillows, one arm wrapped in gauze, the other hand scrolling his phone like nothing dramatic had happened.
His face brightened when he saw me.
Instantly.
Like sunlight hitting glass.
“Evie,” he said, voice warm. “You came.”
I set the fruit basket on the table beside him.
“Of course I came,” I said, and my voice surprised me with how steady it sounded.
Julian eyed the basket like it was a trophy.
“Overkill,” he said, grinning. “I approve.”
Then his gaze slid past my shoulder.
His smile changed slightly, becoming sharper.
Not hostile.
Aware.
“That your brother?” he asked.
My spine stiffened.
I turned slowly.
The bed behind Julian’s—separated by a thin curtain that had been half open—held Noah.
His arm was in a sling.
A bruise darkened his jaw.
His cheekbone looked swollen, the color of old ink.
Iris sat at his bedside.
White blouse. Dark hair pulled back neatly. Hands holding a cup of water like she’d done it a hundred times.
She looked up when I entered.
Her gaze landed on my face without blinking.
Not cruel.
Not welcoming either.
Assessing.
Noah stared at me as if the room had changed temperature.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t move.
His eyes flicked to the fruit basket, then back to mine, like he wanted to say something and didn’t trust himself.
Julian broke the silence.
“Guess this is the part where everyone pretends it’s not awkward,” he said lightly.
I forced my mouth into something neutral.
“I’m here for him,” I said, nodding at Julian.
Noah’s jaw tightened.
Iris’s grip on the water cup shifted—slight, controlled.
Julian’s expression softened.
He patted the edge of his bed.
“Sit,” he said. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
I sat.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I didn’t want Noah to think he could still control where I stood.
Julian leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“They tell me your brother went looking for the guys,” he murmured. “The ones from the alley.”
My fingers curled around my skirt.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
Julian watched my face carefully, like he was reading for pain.
“He’s… intense,” Julian said finally. “In a complicated way.”
I didn’t answer.
Behind me, Noah spoke at last.
Not to me.
To Iris.
“We should go,” he said, voice rough.
Iris tilted her head.
“You’re not cleared to leave,” she said calmly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
Her tone wasn’t angry.
It was matter-of-fact.
Noah’s mouth tightened.
He glanced at me then, quick and sharp.
Like checking if I was watching.
I was.
I looked away first.
Julian shifted in bed, wincing slightly, then smiled as if to soften the air.
“So,” he said, louder, “I’m Julian. In case anyone forgot to ask.”
Iris glanced at him.
Her expression warmed by half a degree.
“Iris,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
Then she looked at me.
“And you’re Evelyn.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Noah’s gaze dropped.
His silence was its own language.
I stayed another ten minutes.
Asked Julian how he felt.
Listened when he complained about hospital food like it was a comedy routine.
I didn’t ask Noah anything.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because asking would make me small again.
When I stood to leave, Julian caught my wrist gently.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re safe, okay?”
The words were simple.
But something in my chest loosened anyway.
I nodded once.
Then I walked out without looking back.
In the hallway, my breath came out shaky.
I didn’t cry.
I just kept walking until the cold air outside hit my face and made me feel real again.