…
I floor it. Don’t even care about the noise. Or the red light we ran two blocks away. His mom keeps coughing in the back. Gio is trying to hold her upright, his voice whispering soft nothings I can’t hear over the roaring in my ears.
I can’t stop looking in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do. Please don’t take her from him. Not now. Not after everything.
I can’t feel my fingers on the wheel. I keep gripping tighter just to make sure they’re still there. "Is she breathing okay?" I ask fast without thinking, eyes locked on the road.
Gio doesn’t answer right away. He’s in the back, crouched next to her, one hand behind her neck, the other pressed over hers.
"She’s awake," he says. But his voice sounds like it’s falling apart.
I run another light. A car honks. I don’t care. I can’t care.
"You’re doing good," I mutter. To myself. To them. I don’t even know. I just need to say something. Then I look in the mirror again.
Gio is staring down at her like the world is ending. He keeps brushing her hair back, whispering things I can’t make out.
His mouth is right near her temple. He looks so…scared. I’m not used to seeing him like that. It breaks me. He’s the one who always holds it together.
Who talks back, who fights, who laughs when things get bad. But right now? He looks like a kid trying not to break.
Fuck.
I grit my teeth and take a sharp turn, tires screeching under us. "I'm sorry," I say suddenly. I don’t even know why. "I'm sorry, Gio." He doesn’t respond. But I see his hand tighten around hers.
"I’ll get us there," I say again, barely breathing. "I promise. I’m getting us there." My heart is pounding so loud it hurts. I keep thinking of everything at once.
Her cough. The blood. The way Gio’s hands are shaking. I want to scream. I want to cry. I just keep driving.
"Two minutes," I say. "Just two more minutes."
We pull up like we’re crashing.
I think I left the keys in the ignition. Maybe the door wide open. I don’t care. I’m already halfway around the car.
"Help me!" Gio shouts as soon as I open the back door. He has her in his arms, arms that look way too strong to be holding something that fragile.
Her head is tilted against his shoulder. She’s conscious. Her lips are pale. Her fingers clutch at his shirt.
"Move!" I shout toward the entrance. "Someone help us—" And finally,finally, a nurse comes running. Another one follows with a wheelchair.
"She coughed up blood," Gio says fast. "She’s been dizzy—she collapsed, just do something," I add, out of breath, my hands on my knees, trying not to black out.
They take her. She disappears behind those sliding doors and Gio just stands there. Like someone has ripped out every part of him that knows how to move.
And then he turns to me. Eyes glassy and destroyed.
And I do the only thing I can think of.
I step forward and wrap my arms around him. Don’t even care if he pushes me off or curses at me or tells me to leave. I just hold him. Like I can glue the pieces of him back together.
"She’ll be okay," I whisper, even though I have no fucking clue. "She has to be."
And for a moment, he lets me. He just lets himself collapse.
…
We’ve been sitting there a while. Long enough for the panic to simmer into a sharp, pressing ache in my chest. The walls feel too white. The hallway too quiet.
