As we sat, I pulled out my phone. “Thank you for supporting me.”
“Anytime.” Alba braced her palms on the bench and stretched her long legs. “Teagan’s been on my shit list for months, and I wasn’t bluffing. I’d call Dad, and he’d raise hell.”
“It must be nice to have someone who’d raise hell for you,” I whispered.
Alba nudged my arm with her fist. “You’ve got me. Don’t complain, or I’ll think I’m not a good friend.”
“No complaints,” I said. “And as a good friend, you’re allowed to tell me I need some self-respect. Because I’m about to check how Asher’s race went.”
Alba sighed. “No, that’s fine. You should check. You can’t just stop caring overnight.”
I doubted I’deverstop caring. That was the brutal thing about love. Stronger than common sense, self-respect, and logic. Stronger even than a heart shattered to pieces by the same person who swore never to break it.
Nunca.I hated the word as much as I loved it.
Alba waited as I pulled up a sports site. The moment the page loaded, everything inside me stilled—even my heartbeat.
“Kaia.” She touched my arm, then stared at the screen where a picture showed Asher lying on the tarmac.
Ash. My Ash. Hurt. My hands shook as I jabbed at the stubborn link until, finally, the article opened.
“He highsided,” I said past the boulder lodged in my throat. “Like his dad.” Shivers raced up and down my spine. I forced my eyes to read, but the words blurred. “It’s a joke, Alba. Not him.”
Alba was already typing on her phone.
“He’s alive,” she said. “They took him to Emerport. Do you want to see him?”
I nodded. How could I not? Whatever happened yesterday, I still loved him. I still worried. I always would.
“Let’s go, then.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “Dad was going to visit tomorrow. I’ll ask him to pick us up today.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, praying the articles hadn’t lied. I just wanted him to be all right. He had to live, even if it was without me.
***
As Alba’s dad drove us to the hospital, a strange thought cut through the panic. If someone put his and my father’s pictures side by side on a magazine spread and asked people to circle the differences, there’d be too many to count.
Alba’s dad was shorter. More athletic. He smiled a lot—at her, especially. And though jealousy pinched, I was glad for her. That was how it should be when you lost one parent. The other should love you enough to soften the edges of grief.
Mr. Osorio smiled at me too. Alba introduced me as her best friend, and he’d told me to call him Fernando, his warmth putting me at ease.
“Well, we’re almost there,” he said, changing lanes toward downtown Emerport. “I called ahead. Visiting hours run until eight, but if he’s in the ICU, they may only allow family.”
I bit my lip, twisting my hands in my lap. I’d have to play the stepsister card, but this time I didn’t care.
“He’s also her stepbrother,” Alba said. “They should let her in.”
Her dad just nodded, as if her casually shifting from boyfriend to stepbrother wasn’t worth remarking on. I liked him even more for that.
As soon as he parked in the visitor lot, we headed for the ICU. A smiling receptionist asked for my ID. When she told me I could see Asher, I finally drew a full breath.
The faint antiseptic smell prickled my nerves. How bad was he? No updates yet—only that he was hurt.
“Want us to come?” Alba asked.
I shook my head. “No. Thanks for bringing me. I’ll text once I’m done. Go grab coffee. Your dad might need a break after the drive.”
He patted my shoulder. “Go see your boyfriend, kid. We’ll wait in the cafeteria.”
