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Rachel.
In a way, he hated that she was the image that came to his mind. She was his mind’s subconscious soothing method. She wasn’t even here, yet she was the one who kept him grounded and optimistic.
He felt his phone in his pocket and thought about calling her. To hear her voice, to sense her smile even through the phone would be enough to fortify him for whatever lay ahead. He pulled the phone out of his pocket, eyeing the picture of Jon Snow that was his background—the cat, of course. He opened up his contacts list and saw her name, right in the frequently dialed section.
But before he could commit and hit dial, he took a deep breath, came to his senses, and tucked his phone away. He’d do this alone, as he always had. There was no use seeking Rachel’s pity when she was so far away, both physically and emotionally. What would be the sense of pulling her into this hopeless, dark scenario? It was selfish, and he couldn’t do that to her.
If she was truly worried about focus, he couldn’t pull her into this hardship. And if he was truly worried about being strong, he couldn’t falter now.
He’d deal with this with the people inside the hospital, the family he had, and leave Rachel alone. That was what she claimed she needed, and maybe that was what Zander needed to.
Sipping his coffee and taking a few more moments to himself before wandering in to see whatever awaited them as a family, Zander sighed, remembering what it was like to sit on the bench in Central Park, Rachel beside him, the future alive with possibility.
Now, the future was nothing but blackness, not a single star in the sky to give him any semblance of hope.
Life didn’t promise anything, Zander realized. It didn’t have time for that. There was no time for promises, for guarantees, or even for tomorrows.
