004

HOSPITAL NIGHTS

~CHELSEA~

The hospital waiting room chair had a permanent dip in the middle, forcing me to sit at an angle that made my already-aching back scream.

I shifted for the hundredth time, trying to find a position that hurt less.

3:42 AM.

The clock on the wall moved so slowly that I wondered if it was broken. Only a few ticks proved it was not.

I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator app. The numbers never changed no matter how many times I ran them.

Chase's treatment: $800

My bank account: $23.47

Cash in wallet: $42.75

An emergency loan from Zoe: $150

Total: $216.22

Shortage: $583.78

I had begged the hospital to let me make payments. They had agreed to start treatment with what I had, but I needed the rest within a week. The only solution was more work. I calculated again.

Extra night shifts at Crawford: 5 × $72 = $360

Extra day shifts at Rusty's: 4 × $56 = $224

Total: $584

It was possible if I didn't sleep for a week. But if I didn't sleep, I would make mistakes. If I made mistakes, I might lose one or both jobs. Then we would be worse off than before.

"Miss Lynch?"

I looked up to see Dr. Ryker standing in the doorway. The tight lines around his eyes told me everything before he spoke.

"How is he?" I asked, standing too quickly. My vision was spotted from exhaustion.

"Stable," Dr. Ryker said. "The antibiotics are helping with the infection. His pain levels are more manageable now."

"Can I see him?"

He nodded. "Briefly. He's finally sleeping."

I followed Dr. Ryker down the hallway, the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils. Hospital smells always brought back memories of my father's final days. The same beeping machines. The same squeaking shoes on linoleum.

Chase looked small in the hospital bed, his face pale against the white sheets. At sixteen, he was in that awkward stage between boy and man, all limbs and angles. The IV in his arm made my stomach clench.

"When can he come home?" I asked quietly.

"We need to monitor him for at least forty-eight hours," Dr. Ryker said. "The inflammation was quite severe. If his labs improve, perhaps Monday."

Monday. Three more days of hospital bills piling up.

"I see you made the initial payment," Dr. Ryker said, his voice carefully neutral. "Our billing department can work with you on a payment plan for the rest."

"Thank you," I said, knowing their idea of "working with me" meant minimum payments that would take years to clear.

"Try to get some rest, Chelsea," he said, his voice gentler now. "Chase is in good hands."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Rest was a luxury I could not afford.

I sat beside Chase's bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. He looked younger asleep, reminding me of the little boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.

The little boy I had promised to protect when our father left and died and our mother checked out.

I was failing at that promise.

"I'm sorry, Chase," I whispered, though he couldn't hear me. "I'm going to fix this."

I didn't know how, but I would. I had to.

********************

Dawn was breaking as I unlocked the door to our apartment. The sky was the pale gray of old dishwater, promising another hot, sticky day.

My eyes burned from lack of sleep, my body moving on autopilot. I needed a shower, two hours of sleep, then back to Rusty's for the breakfast shift.

The smell hit me first. Cigarettes and cheap cologne. My stomach dropped.

Samuel.

He sat on our threadbare couch, feet held up on the coffee table, watching something on his phone. He looked up when I entered, a smile spreading across his face that never reached his eyes.

"There she is," he said. "The working girl."

I said nothing, closing the door behind me. Samuel was my mother's on-again, off-again boyfriend.

The man who always needed "just a little help" with rent, with his car, with his gambling debts. The man who always promised to pay it back and never did.

"Where's Mom?" I asked, not moving from the door.

"Sleeping." He gestured toward her bedroom. "Rough night."

I could imagine. Rough night spending my savings, most likely.

"I need to talk to her," I said.

"Let her sleep." Samuel stood, stretching like a cat. "She was pretty upset when she got home."

"Upset?" I could not keep the bitterness from my voice. "Chase is in the hospital. I'm the one who should be upset."

Samuel moved closer, his smile fading. "Your brother's always sick with something. Your mother needed a break."

"A break that cost almost a thousand dollars?" I snapped, my exhaustion overriding my usual carefulness around Samuel. "Money that was for Chase's medical bills?"

Samuel's face hardened. "Your mother said you'd be difficult."

"Where is the money, Samuel?"

He shrugged. "Gone. Spent. That's what money's for."

I pushed past him toward my mother's room. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm with enough force to make me wince.

"Let go of me," I said quietly.

"Not until you calm down." His fingers dug deeper. "Your mother doesn't need your attitude right now."

"My attitude?" I yanked my arm away. "Chase could have died waiting for treatment I couldn't afford it because she took my money. Again."

"Drama queen." Samuel rolled his eyes. "The kid's fine. Your mother said that the account was joint. Half that money was hers anyway."

It wasn't true. The account was in my name only, but I had given my mother the card for emergencies. Real emergencies, not whatever Samuel had talked her into this time.

"Get out of my way," I said.

"Or what?" Samuel stepped closer, using his height to scare me. "You'll call the cops? Tell them your mommy took your money?" He laughed. "Good luck with that."

Fear prickled along my spine, but I held my ground. "I'll give you one more chance to move."

"Or what?" he repeated, his voice dropping dangerously. "What exactly do you think you can do to me, Chelsea?"

"She doesn't need to do anything."

We both turned. My mother stood in the doorway of her bedroom, wrapped in a faded robe that had once been pink. Her eyes were puffy, her hair a tangled mess. She looked ten years older than her thirty-nine years.

"Diana," Samuel's voice changed, softened. "Go back to bed. I've got this."

"No, you don't." My mother's voice was flat. "Leave her alone, Samuel."

Something passed between them, some silent communication I could not read. To my surprise, Samuel stepped back.

"We were just talking," he said.

"No, you weren't." My mother looked at me, her eyes unable to meet mine for more than a second. "How's Chase?"

"Stable," I said coldly. "No thanks to you."

Her face crumpled. "Chelsea, I…”

"Save it." I was too tired for another round of her excuses. "I need to sleep before my next shift. I have to earn back what you took."

"I can explain….”

"Can you explain it to Chase?" I asked. "Can you explain to him why he had to wait hours for treatment while I begged the hospital to take what little I had left?"

My mother flinched. Good. Let her feel something for once.

"Samuel, go wait in the bedroom," she said. He looked like he might argue, then thought better of it. When he was gone, my mother stepped closer.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "He said it was just for a few days. That he'd pay it back double."

The same old story. I was too exhausted to be angry anymore.

"I can't do this, Mom," I said, feeling the weight of years pressing down on me. "I can't keep picking up the pieces."

"I know," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I know I'm a mess. But I'll fix this. I promise."

How many times had I heard those words? How many times had I believed them?

"I need to sleep," I said, moving past her toward my room.

"Chelsea," she called after me. "I love you. I love Chase. I'm going to do better."

I closed my door without answering. Her promises were as empty as my bank account.

The next night at Crawford Elite felt endless. Every muscle ached, my eyes stung from lack of sleep, and the thought of four more extra shifts made me want to cry.

But crying wouldn't pay Chase's hospital bill, so I pushed my cart from room to room, trying to focus on one task at a time.

Mop the floor. Wipe the tables. Empty the trash.

When I reached the old gym, I hesitated. Would Kade Kingston be there again? Part of me hoped not. I didn't have the energy for another fight.

Another part, a part I didn't want to examine too closely, was curious to see him again.

The gym was empty. Both relieved and oddly disappointed, I began my routine cleaning. As I moved to get fresh supplies from my cart, I noticed something on top of my cleaning caddy.

A plain white envelope.

I looked around, but the hallway was empty. No students. No security guards. No one could have left it.

My name was written on the front in neat, precise handwriting.

I opened it, my tired brain struggling to process what I was seeing. Inside was cash, crisp hundreds totaling exactly what I needed for Chase's bills.

The note read simply: "Consider it payment for your silence." my fingers trembled, torn between desperate need and burning pride.