I tightened my arms around him. “I never want to see him again...”
Tristian shook his head. “You never have to. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
I sighed in contentment as he placed a small kiss on my shoulder.
When he spoke again, his voice was on the verge of shaking.
“I have to go to the hospital.”
I nodded. “I’ll go with you... Only if you want me to, of course.”
He leaned his head against mine. “Always.”
Chapter forty-one
Ingrid
My hands shook on the drive over, much differently than they used to.
The drive to visit Tristian’s mom in the hospital had been mostly silent. Every few minutes, I could feel him glance at me, but he didn’t say anything. He just let me process, the same way I had let him. The day left me feeling drained and utterly exhausted. But just as Tristian was there for me, I had to be there for him, so I pushed aside my tiredness.
The hospital’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright, making everything look overexposed. The white walls felt like they were closing in on us, heavy with the hollow sound of quiet sorrow. Hospitals always had that heaviness, but something about this one, this floor, made it worse the closer we got to the room with multiple doctors surrounding the door.
Tristian grabbed my hand and stopped me gently before we reached the crowd. Without saying a word, he directed me toward one of the waiting room chairs, his eyes fixed dead ahead on his mother’s door. His hand lingered in mine for a moment longer before slipping away as he turned and walked toward the doctors.
I sat, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve as I watched him from a distance. He didn’t raise his voice, not at first. But I saw his jaw tighten. One of the doctors, a younger man with silver-rimmed glasses,spoke calmly, holding a clipboard. Tristian shook his head. His body language screamed tension, barely restrained. Then another doctor said something, and Tristian’s posture shifted. His hands rose in frustration, running through his hair.
I stood up before I even realized it, watching tensions rise.
“You shouldn’t get too involved.”
I turned slowly, making eye contact with Noah Locke, who was standing only a few feet away. He was a monument to cold, unfeeling perfection—dressed in a tailored suit, his expensive watch gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
I looked back over my shoulder.
“She’s on her last leg,” he said simply, glancing toward the hospital room. “The doctors won’t say it outright, but I’ve been in enough of these rooms to know.”
My mouth was dry. “Why are you here?”
“To talk some sense into my son,” he replied. “Tristian’s emotional. Always has been. He thinks keeping her alive is some kind of redemption. Like effort will bring her back.” He stepped closer, but I didn’t move. “I paid the hospital bills, Ingrid. The insurance, the specialists, the private rooms. You think that’s cheap?”
I swallowed. “Y-you’re his father.”
“He sure as hell doesn’t think so…” Noah’s voice had no emotion. No resentment or sadness. He… he was so calm, so detached. Almost like none of this hurt him. Like it was all just business.
“Regardless… that’s life. You take care of what has value. You cut loose what doesn’t.”
My stomach turned. “She’s not a liability,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “She’s his mother.”
“A mother who’s cost me over a million in care over five years. A mother who will never open her eyes again. Never speak. Never do anything but give her son false hope.”
“You’re disgusting,” I whispered, my pulse quickening.
“I’m realistic. And you’d do well to start thinking the same way.” He looked at me with something that almost resembled patience. “You want to play the caring girlfriend? Do yourself a favor and tell him to let go before it’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
Noah looked me dead in the eye. “The doctors won’t say it, but I will. There’s no recovery coming. She’s been slipping for months.”
