Betty breezes in, balancing two foil-covered trays like she’s about to cater a wedding, and kicks the door shut behind her. She drops them onto the counter with a clatter.
“Gluten-free on the left,” she announces, peeling back the foil. “Normal people food on the right. Choose wisely, or risk spending the day on the toilet.”
“Morning, Betty,” I mutter, squinting against the light.
She gives me a once-over, hands on her hips. “You look like a corpse. A handsome corpse, especially in those sweatpants—but still. Sit down before you fall down.”
I do as I’m told, mostly because the floor tilts. She plunks a cookie onto a napkin and shoves it into my hand.
Between chews of her own, she squints at me. “She’s fine, you know. Your sunshine girl. Just running on fumes and glitter and that sheer determination of hers.” She waggles a hand. “I’m sure she’ll circle back once the curtain falls.”
The words hit like a balm and a bruise all at once.My girl.Glitter and determination. I cling to every crumb Betty offers.
“Betty—” My throat burns, and I have to swallow hard before I can manage the rest. “She’s really okay?”
Betty rolls her eyes, swatting at the air. “She’s Lulu. She’s focused. Overwhelmed, but focused. I’m sure she’ll come talk once the dust settles.”
I sit there, cookie half-eaten, savoring her words like they’re the only thing holding me upright. My eyes catch on Chase’s jacket still hanging over the chair, proof he’s coming back. Proof I’m not totally alone.
Betty doesn’t stay long, thank god. She fusses over Dusty, rearranges my throw pillows, and threatens to install herself as my personal nurse before finally swanning out again.
“Try not to die, Hockey Boy!”
The house feels too quiet once she’s gone. Just me, Dusty, and the weight of one text message burning a hole in my pocket.
I’m still pacing the living room, trying not to cave and call Lulu, when a car pulls up in my drive. A horn honks, and I realize it must be Chase returning.
I grab my hoodie, ignoring the way my head protests when I bend to pull it on. Dusty whines as I reach for the door.
“I’ll be back, buddy,” I murmur, rubbing between his ears.
Chase is idling, arm draped out the window of his SUV, when I slowly walk down my steps. He takes one look at me as I slide into the passenger seat and snorts.
“You still look like shit, Miller.”
“Feel like it too,” I mutter, slamming the door.
“Perfect. You’ll fit right in at the hospital.” He pulls away from the curb, his usual cocky grin dimmed but still there, stretched thin around the edges.
The drive’s short, but the silence isn’t easy. I can feel him itching to say something, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. Finally, he glances over.
“Eli’s gonna be there.”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“You ready for that?”
“No.” I rub at the tender spot on my temple. “But it’s not about me. It’s about Hutch.”
Chase doesn’t argue, just turns the music up a notch, some lazy country station filling the space between us.
By the time we pull into the hospital lot, my chest is tight enough to crack. I know what’s waiting inside—scan updates, worried faces, Eli’s fury simmering like a storm cloud.
Chase slaps the wheel once before killing the engine. “Let’s go see our guy.”
Inside, the waiting room’s a cluster of Storm merch and grim expressions. Charlie’s in the corner, holding Jake’s hand. Tamara’s perched beside Eli, murmuring low, calming words he doesn’t look like he’s hearing. Zoe paces, phone in hand, hair falling out of her bun like she’s been clawing at it.
And Eli—fuck. He doesn’t even look at me when Chase and I step in. Just sets his jaw, eyes locked on the floor, fists flexing like he’s holding himself together by threads.
