Chapter 22 - Lucy
The city looks different from the back seat of Graham Whitaker’s car.
Less sharp. Less cruel. Like it’s holding its breath instead of trying to swallow me whole.
The driver pulls away from the hotel, the sound of tires on wet pavement too loud in the quiet of the car. Graham sits beside me, not too close, not too far. He hasn’t tried to touch me. Hasn’t asked questions. He just lets the silence exist, which somehow feels kinder than anything he could say.
I feel almost bare. Even though I am in Julian's dress and the cashmere jacket, I can feel the fabric caress my body every time I breathe. The silk against my skin, the way it hugs me in all the places I don’t feel like myself right now.
It feels wrong to be this dressed up when my mother is lying in a hospital bed.
I clutch my phone in my lap like it’s the only solid thing in the world.
Em had sounded… broken.
“I left her for five minutes. Just five.”
A few minutes is all it takes, and it's a exhausting reality to live with constantly.
Graham glances over once, quietly, like he’s checking to see if I’m still here.
“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he says gently. “You don’t have to be alone.”
I nod, because if I try to speak, I think I might shatter. And this night feels like it is about too much to handle.
The hospital lights are blinding when we pull up. White and too bright and cruelly normal. I’m already opening the door before the driver finishes stopping.
“Lucy,” Graham says gently, but I’m already out of the car, my heels clicking too fast on the pavement as I hurry inside.
The smell hits me first.
Antiseptic. Plastic. And something that distinctly reminds me of fear.
Emily is at the nurses’ station when I spot her, curled in on herself like she’s trying to disappear into herself. Her hair is pulled back messily, eyes red, face blotchy. It looks like she is still in her pyjamas from earlier today.
“Em,” I breathe.
She looks up, and the moment she sees me, she breaks. She’s in my arms in seconds, shaking, sobbing into my shoulder like she’s twelve again and scraped her knee.
“They won’t tell me anything,” she chokes. “They keep saying they need the power of attorney, they need someone who can make decisions...”
“I’m here,” I whisper, gripping her tight. “I’ve got it. I’m here.”
Her hands slip beneath the coat and clutch my back. “She was fine. I swear she was fine. I studied, she read, she even made us tea. I just went to shower before I started dinner, and when I came back...” Her breath stutters. “She was on the floor. I couldn’t wake her up.”
Guilt slices through me so sharply it steals my air.
I left her.
I left her for a gala, candlelight, a dress, and a man who couldn’t even see me when it mattered.
“I’m here now,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “We’ll figure this out together.”
Emily nods weakly, but she’s shivering. I don’t even think about it before slipping my coat off and wrapping it around her.
It’s absurd. Luxurious. Completely out of place.
But it’s warm.
“There,” I murmur. “Okay?”
She gives a watery laugh. “Wow. This is a bouji jacket. Very on brand for tonight.”
I almost smile.
I turn toward the nurses’ desk just as Graham comes up behind us, quiet as a shadow.
“This is… not... him,” Emily mutters under her breath. “Are you collecting billionaires now, Lu? Where do I sign up?”
Graham smiles faintly, not offended. “Hi, my name is Graham, I am a friend of Lucy's.”
I focus on the nurse.
“My name is Lucy Bennett. Marianne Bennett is my mother. I have medical power of attorney.”
The nurse’s expression changes immediately. Professional. Focused. “Thank you. The doctor is with her now. He’ll come speak with you shortly, and then you can go in. Let me take you to the waiting area closest to her room.”
Emily squeezes my hand as we follow her.
The waiting area is small. Too bright. Too cold.
I realize I’m rubbing my arms, the chill finally getting through the thin fabric of my dress.
Before I can even think about it, Graham steps closer and gently drapes his tux jacket around me.
“There,” he says quietly. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He doesn’t call me on it. And I try to ignore how the warmth from his jacket is instantly soothing.
Emily watches the exchange with tired, curious eyes. “So… you are friends with my sister... and you were at the Gala with her... too?”
Graham smiles. “I suppose so.”
“Cool,” she says weakly. Then turns to me, “Was it some sort of exchange program?”
Graham chuckles, and it is a warm, comforting sound, “No. Your sister needed someone, and I was there. However, I wouldn't object to the exchange,” he replies with a wink.
Emily snorts out a laugh, elbowing me, "Oh, I like this one."
A nurse walks past, clipboard in hand. My stomach twists.
Graham excuses himself. When he comes back a few minutes later, he’s carrying a cardboard tray with three coffee cups, a takeout bag from a popular Italian restaurant in town and a bag of pastries.
“I figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says, setting them down. “Or if you have, it probably wasn’t anything that counts.”
Emily’s eyes light up like he just offered her oxygen. “You are a saint.”
I take a coffee, the warmth grounding.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
We sit. We wait. Em eats.
My phone stays silent, and I try my hardest not to think about the dark-haired, emotionally constipated asshole.