“You’re unbelievable,” he growls under his breath.
“No, I think that’s you,” I say, shoving my arms into my sleeves and bending to pull on my boots.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, and the silence between us is everything we didn’t finish upstairs.
My throat tightens as I lace my boots. The laces feel stiff in my fingers. “Don’t wait up,” I say. “I’ll check in once I know more about Penny.”
Vincent shifts his weight. His voice drops. “Drive safe.”
“Always.” I zip my coat. “Make sure the kids eat something that isn’t sugar. Tell Mrs. Carter I’ll call when Willow’s eaten.”
He nods, eyes on the floor.
I scoff under my breath and open the door. Cold air floods in, sharp and clean. I step out into it and pull the door shut behind me, leaving the warmth — and everything unsaid — inside.
By the time I pull into the hospital parking lot, my shoulders are sore and my head’s pounding again. I sit there for a moment with the engine off, staring at the sterile white glow of the building ahead. The automatic doors slide open and closed in rhythm, letting in gusts of cold air.
I drag a hand over my face, inhale once, then get out. The cold hits hard, flattening the hem of my coat against my legs as I cross the asphalt.
Inside, the lobby is warm and humming with low voices, distant machines, vents cycling stale heated air through metal grates. I head for the front desk, my steps echoing on tile.
“Hi,” I say, voice coming out lower than I mean it to. “I’m looking for my daughter. Penny Castillo.”
She types something quickly, her long nails tapping rhythmically against the keys. “Room 314,” she says, glancing up with a professional smile. “Pediatrics wing. Take the elevator to the third floor, left at the nurses’ station.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, giving her a nod before turning toward the elevators.
The ride up is slow. The kind of silence that amplifies every thought I’ve been trying not to have. I shrug out of my coat halfway up, slinging it over my arm, trying to shake off the cold and everything that came with it.
When the doors slide open, soft voices drift from rooms along the hall, punctuated by the steady beep of machines.
I found Room 314 easily. The door is cracked just enough for the light to spill into the hall. I push it open quietly.
Damien’s there, standing by the small table beside Penny’s bed, cleaning up a half-empty tray of food. His hair’s a mess, shirt rumpled, but his movements are careful as he moves around the room.
He looks up as soon as I step in. Relief crosses his face fast, real. “Hey,” he says, low. “You made it.”
“Yeah.” I glance toward the bed. Penny’s small body is curled under a pale blue blanket, her breathing soft, her face still too pale against the pillow. “How’s she doing?”
“She just fell asleep,” Damien murmurs, setting the tray aside. “Managed to eat a little at lunch. The fever came back a bit so they upped her medication some, and it knocked her right out.”
I nod, the tightness in my chest easing a fraction. “Okay.”
He crosses his arms, leaning back against the far wall. “You look tense.”
“Yeah, well, I just finished talking to Vincent.” I huff, laying my coat across the chair in the corner.
Damien winces. “Yikes.” He moves toward the chair beside Penny’s bed and sinks into it, elbows resting on his knees.
“He’s so fucking stubborn,” I mutter, rubbing a hand down my face. “I don’t know when he got like this.”
Damien shrugs lightly. “Well, being the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company doesn’t exactly bring out the best in people. You know that.”
I don’t respond. My gaze drifts around the room—the drawn curtains, the dim lights, the small tray of untouched food. “Where’s Willow?”
He doesn’t look up when he answers. “She went on a walk about…” He glances at the wall clock, then curses under his breath. “Shit. Two hours ago.”
My head snaps toward him. “Two hours?”
