Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Grey

The car cuts through the city's buzz, the world outside blurring past us, but my mind is trapped in a loop, replaying that horrifying moment in the cafeteria. I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, and each breath a conscious effort to keep the car steady as we head to the hospital where Amelia was taken.

"I didn't know," Misha murmurs from the passenger seat for the hundredth time, his guilt palpable in the cramped space of the car. "I should have asked, should have checked…"

His words fade into the background noise of my own thoughts. My mind replays Amelia's widening eyes, the unmistakable tint of panic as she gasped for air, each breath desperate.

I recall the worried murmurs of onlookers asking if she was okay, if they could help. But my focus had narrowed to her, to the desperate rise and fall of her chest, to her lips that began to take on a distressing shade of blue due to lack of oxygen.

I've never slammed an EpiPen against someone's thigh so hard in my life. And I've done it a few times before, having had a roommate in college who was as highly allergic to pickles as he was addicted to them.

He was too dumb to live. She was just fucking unlucky.

The click of the injector had been the most significant sound in the chaos, followed by the first faint whisper of air drawing back into her lungs.

"Breathe, Amelia."

Saying it almost felt like a prayer as I had watched for that first small intake of air.

Oliver, sitting silently in the back seat until now, shifts uncomfortably. "I was pissed when you pushed for more beta testing even though we agreed not to," he admits, his voice rough with emotion. "But now, I'm relieved. Relieved that we can make sure she's okay. Which is so fucking wrong."

He's right.

In both regards.

There's a grim satisfaction in knowing we can watch over her and make sure she's fine. I know I said I didn't care about her, but that was before I heard her whimpers and moans and before I saw her go down.

She could have fucking died right in front of us.

She really is like a Sim, clumsy and mindless, and somehow, I feel obligated to make sure she stays alive. I probably plugged into the world of The Sims for too many hours in my teens, taking virtual revenge on bullies, fulfilling dozens of career fantasies, and configuring the woman of my dreams.

Oliver's next words catch me off guard. "We're not leaving her alone anymore," he declares. "I saw how happy she was today, how she smiled listening to you guys bicker. She never smiles like that when she's eating alone or grabbing her coffee. I've watched her enough to know. "

Misha's laughter cuts through the tense air, though it lacks its usual levity. "What do you want us to do, adopt her?"

Why the hell not?

Where would we be if we hadn't adopted each other?

I would work and sleep much better, knowing she isn't at risk of burning the building down or choking on nuts.

I have to keep her away from any food I haven't cooked or vetted myself.

I bet Elysium would ban peanuts from the cafeteria foods if we asked them to. If not, I have enough leverage to make them agree.

"Oliver's right, we're not backing off," I grunt out, more to myself than to them.

Amelia's panicked blue eyes, looking up at me like I was her lifeline, are etched into my mind. She looked at me as if I was her hero. No one has ever looked at me like that. It's more the opposite, if I'm honest.

"She's stuck with us, beta test or not," I continue, surprising even myself with how certain I sound. "This girl isn't made to be lonely."

And I'm not made to leave her alone.

As the hospital comes into view, a resolve settles over me.

We'd stepped into her world just in time, and now, there is no stepping back.

Amelia

If there is one thing in life you don't want to do alone, it's go to the hospital.

Walking out of there feels like leaving behind a small piece of my dignity. I've already had the pleasure of severe allergic reactions that landed me in the hospital three times before this, back home in London.

I was alone then too.

Not the first time, though. The first time it happened, Mother was up everyone's asses to find out what was wrong with me. A Stanley couldn't die because of a peanut. We're born to die more prestigiously. Maybe in a private jet crash. Or at least from a heart attack while playing golf like my Uncle Spencer.

Not defeated by a nut.

But after it was clear that it was just my body wanting to kill me if I so much as looked at a peanut, she didn't come the next two times it happened.

I was fifteen both of those times, and she handled everything with the doctors over the phone.

" If you're stupid enough to forget to pay attention to what you're eating, I may just forget that you're in the hospital. "

I didn't forget. The first time, it wasn't labeled properly, but that didn't matter to her. The second time, I ate the peanut-filled bar on purpose. I wanted to see if she really didn't care about me. When the inevitable happened, and I ended up in the hospital again, her response was the same. Cold, distant, uninterested.

She at least sent the driver to wait around and drive me home afterward.

Her indifference stung more than the allergic reaction itself. Each time, I hoped for some sign that she cared, some hint of motherly concern.

But every time, her absence and harsh words confirmed what I dreaded. My own mother couldn't be bothered to show up for me.

The dizziness clings stubbornly, a side effect of the medication I know will pass, but for now, it turns the bright hospital corridor into a gently swaying bridge.

Dr. Cockwomble will hate me for dropping to the floor in the middle of the cafeteria —bringing attention to our department, and not in a good way—and being out of work for something as trivial as an allergic reaction. He expects resilience, the kind that comes packaged with a PhD and a relentless work ethic.

And ovaries.

Because if he or Hendricks are out for a sick day, nobody bats an eye.

So, planning to summon an Uber and dive back into my workload, I push through the exit. But the scene I find outside halts me in my tracks.

I see the guys in profile, loitering near the entrance—Oliver and Grey leaning against a stone wall with stern faces, while Misha stands in front of them, talking animatedly but not in a happy manner.

My heart does a strange little flip.

Why are they here?

"Amelia, hey," Misha calls out, spotting me first. My legs, traitorous things, choose this moment to wobble dangerously. He's instantly at my side, his hand firm on my upper arm, his gaze full of worry. "You okay?" He turns to look at the others, his tone a little desperate when he calls out, "Oliver!"

Oliver is by my other side in a flash, his concern palpable. "Can I?" His voice is hesitant.

Yes, anything, my weary mind and body seem to answer as I get lost in his deep green eyes.

Confused and a little overwhelmed, I try to keep my focus, but the world tilts a bit more, not entirely from the dizziness. Before I can sway too much, his arms scoop me up into a bridal hold with surprising ease, my arms coming up around his neck, holding on tightly.

Oh my God.

He smells like fresh soap and strawberries again.

So it wasn't a hallucination.

"I'm heavy," I protest weakly, embarrassed. I'm tall, which adds up more than he might think, even if I don't look like it.

Oliver smiles. A small, genuine thing that makes something warm unfurl inside me. "I've got you."

Bloody hell. It's the meds, Amelia. Just the meds.

"What are you guys even doing out here?" I ask, looking at Misha.

"We would have waited inside, but Oliver…" He shrugs as if that would answer my question.

"Sorry," Oliver whispers next to my ear, and a shiver runs down my neck. "I'm not good with hospitals."

Wait, what?

"Great, let's get you home." Misha finally grins again, easing something in my chest.

He and Grey, who haven't really looked at me, walk in front of us while Oliver carries me, his hand warm on my thigh. When I lean the side of my head against Oliver's chest, closing my eyes and trying not to feel even more dizzy from the swaying of his steps, I can hear his heart beating frantically, even faster than mine.

Am I too heavy after all?

We come to a stand in front of a white Tesla, and I look up at Oliver while he gazes down at me, his eyes flickering between mine.

They're so damn beautiful.

I'm grateful that he can't keep eye contact most of the time because if he did, I'd be a blubbering mess .

Misha opens the back door while Oliver sets me down inside. He comes around the car to sit next to me in the back seat, and I give him a small smile and whisper, "Thank you."

He nods while looking at his hands in his lap, and all I can do is wonder if I've made him uncomfortable again.

Grey slides into the driver's seat with his usual scowl as he looks at me through the rearview mirror. "Why did they let you go when you still don't feel well?" he asks, pushing the engine's start button.

"Dismissed myself," I admit, feeling foolish under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Why?" Grey's voice is curious, not accusing.

Why do you care?

"Because I need to get back to work," I lie smoothly, omitting that I couldn't bear to spend another minute alone in that sterile hospital room.

"No, you don't. We told Langley and HR that we'd be working from home this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow, too, depending on how you feel," Misha chimes in from the passenger seat.

I glance at Oliver beside me. His hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles white as if he's holding himself back from something.

But from what?

"Why would you do that?" I ask, puzzled. "I get that I probably shouldn't be working, but you can. And why are you even here?"

I really don't understand why they came all the way over to wait for me.

As we drive off, I glance out the window, noticing the long shadows stretching across the pavement. The sunlight is diffused now, tinged with the golden hues of late afternoon. They must have been waiting for me for quite a while .

"As if we would let you be alone after I almost killed you," Misha says from the passenger seat with a grimace, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

Ah. Guilt . That's what this is.

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. I did . I should have checked. I usually do before I eat anything from the cafeteria."

Just not today. I'd been too distracted by their easy company, but to be fair, how could I not be?

"I should have asked you if you had allergies," Misha admits, his voice heavy with guilt, so heavy it's almost tangible, making me ache to lighten the mood.

"Sure, because that's what you do when you take a woman out to lunch. You check if she can get killed by nuts."

Misha swivels in his seat to face me, his grin wide. "Oh, so this was a date, Amelia? It's the first date I've had that ended in an ER visit. You've definitely thrown off my average."

Oh my God.

A blush warms my cheeks. I hadn't meant to suggest it was a date, and now I'm too flustered to find the words to clarify. Misha laughs heartily before his eyes drift over to Oliver, instantly sobering as he turns away, facing forward once more.

The rest of the drive home is filled with only "Nuvole Bianche" by Ludovico Einaudi playing faintly in the background.

No wonder Jamie has good taste when Grey is the one programming him.

"I love this piece," I whisper, more to myself than to anyone, but I catch Grey glancing at me in the rearview mirror again.

We arrive at our building, and of course, they are one of the few with a garage parking space. Oliver rushes to open the car door for me, offering his hand to help me step out.

"Can you walk?" His voice is a whisper, and I'm not quite sure if the discomfort I'm reading on his face is about the thought of carrying me up the few steps to the lift, so I nod, even if I would love to be so close to him again.

"Yes, thank you."

The elevator ride to my floor is spent in tense silence once more. I prepare my little speech to say goodbye and thank you so I won't get too flustered again before we reach it, but Misha gently nudges me out of the elevator and toward my apartment when the doors open.

How does he know which one it is?

I unlock it with my smartwatch, then turn to dismiss them politely. The words catch in my throat when I face all three of them lined up behind me.

A wall of handsome faces.

Good God, those meds are worse than I thought.

Grey rolls his eyes at me and pushes past into my apartment.

What the… "Hey!"

"Come on," Misha prompts, guiding me inside with a gentle push on my shoulders.

This is absolutely bonkers.