Chapter Eleven

The soft hum of the car was the only sound as the city unfolded outside the tinted windows, lights bleeding across Alison's reflection. She leaned her head against the cool glass, her lashes low, but she wasn't sleeping. Her body ached from the long flight, but her mind wouldn't quiet. Too much had happened. Too many glances. Too many moments she didn't have a name for.

Beside her, Ralph sat silent, one leg crossed over the other, his jacket folded across his lap. He didn't look at her, not directly. But his gaze kept drifting—first to her hands folded in her lap, then to her cheek pressed against the window, and finally to her lips, parted just slightly in thought.

"You should go home," he said quietly, his voice deep, velvet low in the silence. "Rest. We've got work tomorrow."

She blinked slowly, turning her head toward him. His eyes met hers for a moment—steady, unreadable—and she nodded once. "You too."

"I'll be fine," he murmured, looking away, jaw tightening like he didn't want the conversation to end there, but couldn't say more.

The rest of the ride was wrapped in quiet. Not awkward—just still, like neither wanted to ruin the moment with words that didn't fit. When the car pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, Alison opened the door slowly, heels touching down on the pavement with a soft click. She paused, hand still on the doorframe.

"Goodnight," she said, not looking back.

Ralph watched her from his seat, head slightly tilted. "Alison," he said softly.

She turned, brows lifting just a little.

His throat worked. "Sleep well."

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite nothing. Then she nodded and disappeared inside, leaving him staring after her, the streetlight catching in his eyes like regret.

The shower hissed softly, steam curling around her limbs as Alison tilted her head back beneath the water, letting it wash away the weight of travel, of silence, of Ralph's gaze that still lingered behind her eyes. She stayed there longer than she meant to, not because of the heat—but because she didn't want to feel.

Wrapped in a towel, she stepped into the dim light of her bedroom. The night was quiet. She picked up her phone, fingers hovering for a second before she tapped Jayden's number.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy with sleep. "Ali?"

She smiled softly. "Hey, baby. Did I wake you?"

"It's okay," he yawned. "You back?"

"Just got in. How was school today?"

"Fine," he said quickly, then added, "Did you bring me anything?"

She laughed, a little breath of warmth. "Of course. Something sweet."

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you more," she whispered, even after the call ended.

She dressed quickly and grabbed her keys, eyes flicking to the clock. Visiting hours were almost over, but she didn't care. Something about the flight, about everything she hadn't said to Ralph, made her want to see her aunt's face. She needed something familiar. Something good.

Elsewhere, Ralph stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a glass of whiskey in hand. The city outside his window glowed faintly beneath a hazy sky. His phone buzzed once on the bed.

Jane.

He stared at it, unmoving. It buzzed again.

He picked up, brought it to his ear.

"You're back," Jane's voice flowed, too smooth, too sweet. "I saw the pictures."

Ralph didn't speak right away. He took a slow sip of the whiskey.

"I didn't know you were taking your secretary on business trips now," she added, a lilt in her tone.

"It was work," he said flatly.

"Right," she said. "And the way you were looking at her in that photo? Very professional."

He closed his eyes for a second. "What do you want, Jane?"

"Dinner. Tomorrow night."

"Jane—"

"Don't say no," she cut in quickly. "It's just food, Ralph. Or is your little secretary going to object?"

He sighed. "Don't push it."

"Good," she said, triumphant. "I'll see you at seven."

The call ended. Ralph stared at the dead phone in his hand, then tossed it onto the bed like it had burned him. His jaw clenched. That woman always knew how to twist the knife.

But as he glanced at the mirror again, he didn't see Jane's face in his mind. He saw Alison. The way she had leaned into the car window. The look in her eyes when she said goodnight.

He downed the rest of the drink and turned away.

The hospital was quiet at that hour, the kind of silence that made everything feel heavier. Alison moved quickly through the corridor, her bag hugged close to her side, the soles of her shoes making soft, clipped sounds against the tiled floor. The nurses at the reception desk greeted her with tired eyes, but she barely nodded back. She just wanted to see Aunt Liz.

Her chest felt tight.

The doctor had texted during her shower—said they needed to talk. Her aunt's condition was declining. She hadn't asked questions on the phone. She hadn't had the strength.

Now, as she neared the room, her breath caught. The door was already slightly open, voices drifting faintly through the narrow gap. One of them—low, too familiar—froze her in place.

No.

It couldn't be.

She pushed the door wider. And there he was.

Derek.

Sitting beside her aunt's hospital bed like he belonged there. Like he hadn't shattered her into pieces and walked away without a second glance.

She didn't move. Couldn't.

He was laughing softly at something Aunt Liz had said, his smile fake and charming—exactly the kind she used to fall for. The kind that made her feel like the only girl in the world… until he told her she was boring. Until he left her like she was nothing.

The moment his eyes flicked toward the door and saw her standing there, his grin widened.

"Ali," he said, standing. "You're here."

Her aunt turned her head slowly and smiled. "Sweetheart! Look who came to see me."

Alison stepped inside, the air in the room suddenly too thick. She could barely breathe. Her gaze cut straight to Derek's, sharp and disbelieving.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low, not wanting to upset Liz.

Derek tilted his head innocently, the way he always did when he was pretending. "Visiting your aunt. She always liked me."

She moved closer, her body trembling beneath her calm. "You don't belong here."

"Alison," Liz chided gently, chuckling. "It's just Derek. Don't be so dramatic."

Dramatic?

Her stomach twisted.

Derek stepped closer like he thought he still had a right. His hand brushed her arm, and she flinched, pulling back sharply. "Don't touch me."

But he only smiled, the bastard. "Still feisty, I see. That's what I love about you."

Aunt Liz laughed again, her frail hand reaching for Alison's. "You two always bickered like this. Don't fight in front of me, please. Not when I'm lying in bed like this."

Alison turned her face away, biting down hard on her tongue.

Derek used the pause to lift a small box off the side table. "I brought some stuff for her. Vitamins. Herbal things. And some of her favorite pastries."

Alison stared at the items—neatly arranged, deliberate. Like a show. Like he wanted to impress.

What was he planning?

Her aunt was smiling at him like he was the son she never had. "He's been so kind. Sat with me for hours, even massaged my hands. You don't know how lonely these halls can get."

Alison closed her eyes. "I'll speak with the doctor."

Derek followed her out without asking.

The hallway was cooler. Quieter. But the rage in her chest was starting to bubble.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed, spinning to face him.

Derek's smile faded, replaced with something too sincere. "Alison, please. I just wanted to see you."

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't act like you care. You're just playing some game—dragging her into it."

"I'm not playing," he said softly, stepping closer. "I've changed. I made mistakes, I know that. But I've missed you. And I wanted to say something important—somewhere we could talk. Just us."

She folded her arms. "Say it here."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not like this. Please. Let me take you to dinner. Just one evening. No pressure."

She opened her mouth to say no—but Liz's hopeful eyes flashed in her mind. The way she'd smiled at them both like they were still a perfect pair.

"I'm only agreeing because of her," Alison said coldly, stepping back. "Don't get it twisted."

Derek didn't reply. He just nodded once, slowly, watching her as if he could still read her. But he couldn't. Not anymore.

She turned and walked away without looking back.

Alison didn't stop walking until her heels took her down a completely different hallway—her mind scattered, her body tense. Her heart was still beating fast from seeing Derek. From hearing her aunt's voice so soft. From trying to hold herself together when everything felt like it was slipping again.

She paused at the corner and stared at the metal plaque on the wall.

Oncology Ward.

It took her a second to remember why it struck her. And then she did.

Ralph's mother.

She wasn't sure what pulled her down that hallway—maybe it was instinct, maybe curiosity, maybe something she didn't want to admit. But her feet moved anyway.

The hallway was dimmer, quieter. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried flowers. She slowed when she reached the room. The door was ajar.

Room 308. She peered in gently.

Ralph's mother was curled beneath a soft cream blanket, her head turned slightly toward the window. She was sleeping, her face peaceful but pale, her hands resting softly over her stomach. The IV line trailed from her wrist like a whisper. On the side table, a little book lay open—half-read—and beside it was a pale pink thermos.

Alison didn't step in. She stood in the doorway, her fingers brushing the frame.

She remembered Ralph's face in that other ward days ago. His eyes red, his shoulders slumped, the way he'd looked like a boy trying to hold the world together with trembling hands.

This was the woman he cried for. Alison's throat tightened.

She didn't know what she was doing there.

Maybe she just wanted to see her. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was because she understood what it meant to love someone who might be slipping away.

She stared at the older woman for a long moment, her expression softening.

"I hope you get better," she whispered under her breath. "For him."

She turned quietly and walked away, her shoes barely making a sound as she slipped back into the hallway—carrying the weight of everything heavier than before.