19. Athena
ATHENA
My hands won’t stop shaking even after I set the phone down on the coffee table. I sit there staring at the screen like it’s going to ring again and correct itself, then I press my fingertips to my knee hard enough to feel something solid.
I need to go to him now, and my brain keeps repeating now with the same stubborn rhythm as a pulse. Then my eyes catch Ivy’s backpack by the door, and the thought of school drop-off and pickup logistics barges in like an insult.
The front door opens, and Ivy’s voice floats in before her shoes hit the floor. “Mom, I’m hoooome,” she sings, then she stops mid-step when she sees my face.
Her expression changes fast, curiosity draining into alarm. She drops her backpack like it’s suddenly heavy, and she runs straight to me with her arms out.
“Mom,” she says, climbing into my lap without waiting for permission. “What’s wrong. Are you sick?”
I wrap my arms around her automatically, and the pressure of her small body anchors me for half a second. My throat tightens anyway, and I keep my face turned toward her hair so she doesn’t see how close I am to breaking.
“No,” I manage, voice low. “I’m not sick.”
Ivy pulls back, her brows pinched. She studies my eyes like she’s reading a chart. “Did someone hurt you?” Her gaze darts to the phone.
I swallow and reach for the phone with careful hands, then I set it face down. “Someone I care about got hurt,” I say, and the sentence tastes strange out loud.
Ivy’s eyes widen, so I force myself to slow down. I cup her cheek with my palm and hold her gaze. “It’s Nathan, honey, the man who was at breakfast. And I need you to know he’s safe now.”
Ivy’s face flickers through recognition, then confusion, then that serious little focus she gets when she’s about to ask a question that changes the room. “Pancake man,” she says, softer.
“Yes,” I reply, and my voice wobbles. “Pancake man.”
Ivy leans closer, fingers gripping my shirt. “Is he okay?”
My mouth opens and closes once. “He is,” I say. “He’s in the hospital, and he needs help.”
Ivy’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Why do you look like that?” Her voice turns smaller. “Is he going to die?”
The fear in her tone snaps something in my chest, and I pull her tight again. “No,” I say, firmer. “No. He’s hurt, and he’s being taken care of. I just—I think you should know everything.”
Ivy goes very still in my arms, then her head tilts. “Everything,” she repeats.
I take a slow breath and feel the next words line up like a cliff edge. I promised myself I’d tell her carefully, on a day that wasn’t drenched in panic, in a moment where I could be calm and steady and sure.
Life doesn’t care about my preferred timing.
“Ivy,” I say quietly, and she looks up. “Nathan isn’t only pancake man.”
She nods, waiting.
“He’s your dad,” I say, and the words leave my mouth like I’m finally setting down something too heavy to carry alone.
Ivy’s face goes blank for a beat, then her eyes widen until the gray looks almost silver. “My dad,” she repeats, like she’s testing the sound.
“Yes.” My voice steadies as I keep talking. “He didn’t know about you for a long time, and I didn’t tell you sooner because I wanted to keep you safe, and I wanted to make sure I did it right.”
Ivy stares at me, then her gaze darts to the hallway like she expects him to appear. “So he’s real,” she whispers.
My voice feels thin. “He’s real.”
Ivy’s hands press against my shoulders, and she leans back to look at my face properly. “Why wasn’t he here?”
The question lands hard, and I hold her gaze even though it hurts. “I made choices,” I say carefully. “He made choices. Some of them were bad, and some of them were made out of fear. We’re trying to do better now.”
Ivy processes that with a seriousness that makes her look older than six. “But he’s hurt,” she says, and her voice turns urgent. “He needs you.”
“Yes.” I drag a hand through my hair. “And I need to get you to school tomorrow, and I need to figure out who can pick you up, and I need to pack, and I need to—”
Ivy’s eyes narrow slightly. “Mom,” she says, like she’s about to correct me.
I pause.
“It’s Friday,” she patiently reminds me, like she’s teaching me my own schedule. “And the start of our vacation.”
I frown at her, and relief hits so hard I have to press my fingers to my forehead. I’ve been so caught up in my own head that I’ve forgotten her school will be off for about three weeks.
“Oh,” I whisper.
Ivy nods firmly, as if she just solved a puzzle I should’ve been able to solve myself. “So we can go,” she says. “We’re going to save Daddy.”
The word Daddy lands like a punch and a prayer at the same time, and I pull her into my chest again. “We’re going,” I say, and my voice steadies. “We’re going.”
I wipe my face quickly, then I reach for my laptop with hands that still shake. Ivy climbs off my lap and drags her stool over like she’s my assistant, then she sits and watches the screen with fierce concentration.
“We need the soonest flight to Boston,” I say, and I force my fingers to type.
The options load, and the earliest one is ugly, early morning with a layover that makes my patience ache. I take it anyway, then I add two seats and keep moving before my brain can argue.
Ivy points at the screen. “Do we need snacks?” she asks, businesslike.
“Yes,” I reply. “We need snacks. We need chargers. We need clothes for a few days, maybe more.”
Ivy nods like she’s already packing in her mind. “And my bunny,” she adds.
“Your bunny,” I repeat, and a small laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Yes. Bunny comes.”
The next few hours move in a blur of practical steps. I pack Ivy’s bag first, then mine, then I check travel documents twice, then I set alarms for a time that feels cruel.
I call the number Daniel gave me, and he answers on the second ring.
“This is Athena,” I say, voice tight. “We’re coming.”
“Good,” Daniel replies, and his voice holds a strain that makes my skin prickle. “He asked, and he’s been waiting.”
I swallow. “How bad?”
There’s a pause. “He’s stable. He’s awake on and off. The team is solid. He’s got injuries, but he’s stubborn.”
That sounds like Nathan, and it makes my eyes sting.
I look at Ivy, who’s sitting on the couch hugging her bunny and watching me like she understands more than she should. “We’ll be there,” I tell Daniel.
“Call me when you land,” he replies. “I’ll meet you.”
The flight is a string of bright lights and tight seats and Ivy falling asleep against my shoulder with her mouth slightly open.
I don’t sleep. I stare at nothing, then I rehearse what I’ll say, then I lose the thread and start over.
When she’s awake, I tell her what I can about my past, why I lost my previous job, and who was responsible.
By the time we land, my skin feels too tight and my nerves feel raw.
Daniel meets us near baggage claim. He’s tall, mid-thirties, tired eyes, and a posture that says he’s used to fixing systems when people are falling apart. He looks at Ivy first, then at me, then he nods like he’s confirming reality.
“Athena,” he says.
I grip my suitcase handle. “Daniel.”
Ivy steps slightly closer to my side, then lifts her chin. “Hi,” she says, polite and wary.
Daniel’s expression softens. “Hey,” he replies. “You must be Ivy.”
Ivy’s eyes widen. “How do you know my name?”
Daniel glances at me, then back to her. “Your dad talks,” he says gently. “Especially about a bright little girl with big gray eyes.”
Ivy looks pleased by that, then she looks at me. “Can we go now?”
“Yes,” I say. “We can go now.”
We walk toward the parking garage, and Daniel stays close without crowding, moving with purpose. I catch his profile in the harsh airport lighting and realize I still don’t know who he is beyond a voice on the phone.
“Daniel,” I say, keeping my tone soft. “Who are you to him?”
His eyes flick to me then back to the lane. “I’m Dr. Daniel Brooks,” he replies. “ER and trauma, same circles as Nathan for years, and close enough that he calls me when he’s trying not to admit he needs help.”
He taps his badge against his jacket pocket like it’s proof he’s not a random man with a story.
“I got the call that night,” he adds, voice tight.
“I found him, I got him into a hospital that isn’t Hawthorne.
He was in no position to talk, but whatever had happened felt connected to that place.
I told him he needed to step out ever since Meredith got into HR. ”
I frown at him. “Why?”
He cocks his head my way. “Man, she’s too tight with Nathan’s ex.”
The words suddenly make so much sense that the floor shifts from under my feet and I have to stand still for a moment. “Oh.”
Ivy stops a few steps ahead of me. “Mom?”
“I’m coming,” I automatically reply. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Beacon Harbor Medical Center feels incredibly jarring now that the pieces are coming together. Cindy and Meredith are best friends. Nathan was attacked near Hawthorne. Meredith wanted me out. Cindy didn’t want me in Nathan’s life.
Daniel navigates quickly, and I watch the city move past the window with a strange detachment, like Boston is a place I used to live in and now it’s a place that’s holding my breath for me.
When the hospital comes into view, my grip tightens on my bag strap. Daniel parks in a visitor area, then he leads us in through the main doors, and the smell hits first, antiseptic and coffee and that faint metallic undertone busy hospitals always have.
Ivy’s fingers clamp around mine. “Mom,” she whispers, eyes huge.
“I’m here,” I tell her quietly. “Stay close.”
We ride the elevator up, and Daniel keeps his badge visible at every checkpoint. The doors open onto a quieter hall, and the noise changes into muted voices and soft monitor beeps.
Daniel stops outside a room and turns to me. “He’s tired,” he says. “The tubes will look worse than they are. He’s still him.”
I nod once, then I look down at Ivy. “Ready?”
She swallows hard then nods. “Ready,” she says, even though her voice trembles.
Daniel opens the door, and my world shifts in one breath.