ARIA
The world had shrunk to the size of a hospital room. The beeping of the monitor was the drumbeat to my misery, and the smell of antiseptic was the only air I breathed. Every time I looked at my dad, so still and pale against the white sheets, a fresh wave of panic would rise in my throat.
I was drowning, and there was no one to throw me a lifeline.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. One had been offered, but it was attached to the most infuriating man on the planet.
Dalton had come back this morning. He'd just walked in, without a word, and stood by the door like a stone sentinel. He'd looked at my dad, his expression as unreadable as ever, then his cold blue eyes had scanned over me. I probably looked terrible hair a mess, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, eyes puffy from crying.
"You didn't sleep," he stated. It wasn't a question.
" No shit sherlock what gave it away? The chic hospital decor or my vibrant personality?" I snapped, too tired to be polite.
His jaw tightened. "You're no use to him if you're delirious from exhaustion."
"And you're no use to anyone, period, so I guess we're even," I shot back, turning my chair away from him to face my dad. I heard him let out a short, sharp breath, almost like a sigh. A few moments later, I heard the door click shut as he left. Good riddance.
Why did he keep coming anyway? What did he want? Was this some weird, rich-guy guilt trip because he found out his former driver was dying? It made no sense.
A little while later, the door opened again, and this time, it was the welcome face of Mrs. Evans. She brought a small bag with a sandwich and a bottle of juice.
This woman is a blessing I have no idea jow I'll ever repay her kindness.
"Oh, honey," she said, her eyes full of sympathy as she looked at my dad. She hugged me tightly, and for a second, I almost broke down.
"How is he?" she asked softly.
"The same. Which is… not good," I whispered.
She patted my hand and then seemed to remember something. "So, I meant to ask you yesterday. That man. The very handsome, very serious one who came to the house looking for your father. Did he ever find you at the hospital?"
I groaned, slumping back in my chair. "Oh, he found us alright."
Mrs. Evans' eyebrows shot up. "And? Who is he? He was very intense. Dressed like he owned the city."
"He basically does," I muttered, taking the sandwich she offered. I was too stressed to be hungry, but my hands were shaking, and I knew I had to eat something. "That was Dalton Gray."
Her eyes widened. "The Gray? As in…?"
"Yep. The one and only. Apparently, he's the 'boy' Dad used to drive around. The one from his stories."
"Well, I'll be," Mrs. Evans breathed, sitting down. "He's certainly… grown."
"Into a giant, pain-in-the-neck iceberg," I said, unwrapping the sandwich. "He just showed up here yesterday out of nowhere. Started talking to Dad like they were old war buddies. Then he had the nerve to tell me I needed to eat, like he was my doctor or something."
"He's not wrong," Mrs. Evans said gently.
I ignored that. "And then he just stood there, filling up the room with his… his Dalton-ness. I don't get it. What is his deal? Why is he suddenly everywhere? Out of seven billion people, why did it have to be him who remembers my dad?"
Mrs. Evans listened, letting me rant. It felt good to let it out, to focus on something other than the terrifying silence from the bed.
"Maybe he's just trying to be kind," she offered.
If I had the energy I would have laughed real hard on that.
"Dalton Gray doesn't know the meaning of the word," I scoffed. "He's probably just here to make sure we don't try to sue his precious family for something. Or maybe he's bored and this is his new hobby, 'Slumming it at the Hospital.'"
She smiled a little. "You certainly have a lot of fire for him."
"He brings it out in me," I grumbled. "He looks at me like I'm a problem he needs to solve. It's maddening."
We talked for a little while longer, and her company was a temporary comfort. But when she left, the silence and the fear came rushing back, louder than before. The distraction was over.
I looked at my dad, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed too fragile. Nothing else mattered. Not the bills, not my jobs, nothing. Just him.
Speaking of jobs..
The thought of my job jolted me. I hadn't called the motel. I fished my phone out of my pocket and found Jake's number.
"Hey, Aria," he answered, his voice cheerful.
"Jake, hey. Listen, I… I can't come in tonight. Or… for the next few days. My dad… it's bad."
"Oh, man. I'm really sorry to hear that," he said, his tone instantly shifting to sympathy. "Okay, I'll let Gary know. But, uh… you know how he is. He was already complaining about being short-staffed. He said he might have to start looking for someone more… reliable."
The words felt like a punch, but a distant one. I was too numb to really feel it. "I know. I understand. Tell him to do what he has to do."
"Are you sure? Aria, you need this job."
"I need my dad more," I said, my voice cracking. "I have to go."
I hung up before he could reply. I let the phone drop into my lap. So, I was probably going to lose my night job. The panic started to bubble up again. How would I pay rent? How would I buy groceries?
But then I looked at my father's face, so peaceful in sleep, and the panic receded, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. The money, the jobs, it was all just noise. The only thing that was real, the only thing that had ever truly mattered, was lying in this bed.
And then my mind, traitorously, circled back to Dalton. To the way he'd stood there, so sure of himself. To the way he'd told me to eat, his voice laced with that same cold, clinical authority he used to order coffee. As if he cared.
That was the most confusing part. He acted like he didn't care about anyone, but he kept showing up. He'd tracked down my house. He'd come to the hospital. He'd spoken to my dad with a respect I'd never heard from him before.
Why?
I slumped forward, resting my head on the edge of the hospital bed, my fingers gently wrapping around my dad's cool, thin hand.
"I don't understand any of this, Dad," I whispered into the quiet room. "I'm so tired. And I'm so scared."
The monitor kept beeping, a steady, rhythmic reminder that time was moving forward, even when it felt like my world had stopped. And somewhere in the back of my exhausted mind, the image of Dalton Gray's impassive face lingered, an unreadable puzzle I was too heartsick to solve.