Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Sleeping in my car was a terrible idea. I was freezing cold and my mind would not turn off. By the time sleep finally found me, the morning light was streaming in through all of the windows, leaving me no other choice but to start my day.

From the words of a very wise woman; “Primero cafecito,” but first, coffee.

I do a quick Google search and find the nearest drive-thru coffee shop. It’s not as close as I’d like, but it’s a far better start to the day than this.

Once I’m caffeinated and back at my dad’s, I shower and get ready for the day, feeling more human and less grumpy cat. I settle onto the couch for a minute, when I realize my phone has no service, which is no surprise out here in the boonies. I start hunting for the internet router, hoping the wifi password is written somewhere nearby. To my surprise it’s taped right in top: MrPlatanoPower809.

A smile instantly spreads across my face as I type it into my phone to connect when my phone buzzes with a slew of missed calls and texts from my mom. Suddenly, it rings in my hand with an incoming call from her. I didn’t call her last night or this morning, so I can already imagine the tongue-lashing she has in store for me.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘hi, Mom’ me. What time did you get in?”

“Almost two, and I went right to bed.”

“I figured. Have you seen your dad yet?”

“No. I checked the visiting hours yesterday, and they don’t start until nine, so I have some time.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to fly up there?”

“No, Mom. You two were awkward enough the last time you had to share the same space. It’s fine. I’ll see him today, get him set up with an aide or something to help him, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Lina,” she says, her tone softening.

“Ma, I have some work to get to before I head over to the hospital, okay? I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, mi hija.”

“Don’t forget about Zorro, please.”

“I could never. He’s as close to a grandson as I’m going to get. Te quiero, ciao.”

“Love you.”

We hang up, and I open my laptop, ditching writing for a social media hunt of a certain broody neighbor.

Two hours later, I’m sitting in my car, parked in front of Haven Medical Center, where I’ve been for the last thirty minutes. I can’t seem to make myself walk in. I’ve watched countless people come and go, but the longer I sit here, the harder it gets to open this door and take that first step.

A tap at my window pulls me from my staring match with the entrance. I turn to see Julian standing there, hands tucked into the front pockets of his sweatshirt, brows furrowed as he studies me. In the full light of day, I can’t help but notice how much he’s changed. The easygoing boy I once knew has been replaced by this broody version. The seriousness in his glare makes me swallow the lump lodged in my throat.

I press the button to lower the window a crack.

“You okay?” he asks, his deep voice a smooth rasp compared to the edge of tension it held last night.

I nod, afraid my mouth will betray the jumble of thoughts swirling in my mind. Anxiety knots in my stomach as my grip tightens on the steering wheel at the thought of seeing my dad again after so long. Twelve years of silence have passed since the venom we both hurled at each other that night. The unresolved pain I thought I had moved past, hangs heavy in my heart.

“Do you want to walk in together? I can take you straight to his room, so you don’t have to go looking for it.”

“I would appreciate that, yes.” I nod again, but make no move to get out of the car.

Julian opens the car door and kneels down beside me, his scent—a mix of cedar and something warm—fills the small space between us. I turn to face him, and his eyes search mine, making my heart race. AlI can do is breathe him in as he reaches over, prying my fingers from the steering wheel and holding them in his hands.

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking right now,” he says softly. “He’s a fighter; he always has been. He’ll make it through this, okay? And he’ll be happy to see you. Trust me.”

His words wrap around me, easing some of the tension inside as I cling to the hope that maybe, even after everything, it could be true.

Taking a deep breath, I respond, “Okay, okay,” and wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes, feeling embarrassment flood over me for crying in front of him. “Sorry about all of this.”

“You keep apologizing,” he replies gently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Sor—” I clamp my mouth shut as he narrows his eyes at me.

“Are you ready?” he asks, standing and reaching his hand out for me to take.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond, taking his hand.

He doesn’t move back as I exit the car and stand in front of him. Our chests brush, and his lips are close enough that I can smell the mint on his breath.

“It is really good to see you, Lina. Even if you’ll be the death of me.”

“Ditto.”

“Come on,” he mutters, shutting my car door behind me and releasing my hand. The sudden loss of his warm touch washes over me as a cold gust rushes by, making me shiver. I reach into the warmth of my jacket pocket and press the lock button on the key fob, the sound of my car locking echoes behind us as we cross the parking lot.

Julian easily guides us through the hospital, nodding to staff who wave at him as we make our way to the elevator. When we reach the hallway toward my dad’s room, the sound of his laughter wafts out, causing me to stall in my tracks.

He’s awake.