Chapter 016

Noah POV:

The waiting room chairs were too small, built for a body half my size, but I sat anyway, my knee bouncing, my head still throbbing with that low, constant ache that never fully left me anymore. Ivy had gone pale the second her phone rang, and I hadn't asked questions, just grabbed my keys and driven her here myself despite the headache blurring the edges of my vision the entire way.

A doctor approached us in the hallway, clipboard tucked under his arm. "Miss Sullivan? I'm Dr. Whitmore. I've been overseeing your grandmother's care since she was admitted."

I watched Ivy's hand tighten around mine as he explained the fall, the bruising, the heart function declining faster than anyone had hoped. Watched her go rigid when he mentioned a more aggressive treatment protocol, expensive, maybe not fully covered.

"I'd like you to see her before we discuss next steps," the doctor said. "She's asking for you."

"Do you want me to wait here?" I asked quietly.

"Please," Ivy said, her voice barely holding together. "I just need a minute with her alone."

I nodded, letting her hand slip from mine, and watched her disappear down the hallway like the floor might give out beneath her at any moment.

Then I waited.

I sat in the plastic chair, elbows on my knees, staring at the closed door at the end of the hall, and thought about everything Ivy had carried these last three weeks. My memory loss, my career is collapsing in slow motion. Morgan's cruelty, the leaked article, the anonymous threats and now this…her grandmother, the one steady piece of family she had left, slipping in front of her eyes.

She'd never once complained…not really and not in any way that made this about her.

My phone buzzed. It was Lockwood. I didn't answer because whatever update he had could wait.

Minutes crawled by. I kept replaying fragments of things I only half remembered…Ivy's voice describing a garden behind the chemistry building, the warmth in her hand when she'd held mine in this same hospital's parking lot an hour ago, the way she'd looked at me like I was still worth holding onto even when I couldn't remember why I should be.

Then the monitor inside the room shrieked.

I was on my feet before I'd even decided to stand, my head pounding with the sudden movement, my heart slamming against my ribs. The door burst open and a nurse rushed past me into the room, and behind her I caught a glimpse of Ivy frozen beside the bed, her face white with terror.

"Nurse!" Her voice tore through the hallway, raw and desperate. "Somebody help, please!"

More staff flooded past me, and I pushed forward without thinking, catching Ivy just as someone tried to guide her back, her whole body shaking.

"Let me go back in," she sobbed, pushing weakly against my chest even as her knees buckled. "She needs me, Noah, please…"

"They need space to work," I said, holding her steady, my own voice barely holding together. "I know it's terrifying. I know you want to be in there. But right now the best thing you can do for her is let them do their jobs."

She sagged against me, and I wrapped my arms around her fully, one hand smoothing over her hair, my eyes fixed over her shoulder on the closed door where the frantic beeping continued, sharper, more urgent…

Then stopped. The silence that followed was worse than any sound could have been.

The silence stretched on, unbearable, the kind that presses against your eardrums until you'd give anything to hear noise again, even something as frightening as that alarm. Ivy had gone completely still in my arms, her sobs cutting off mid-breath like she was too afraid to make a sound, too afraid that breathing might somehow make whatever was happening behind that door worse.

"Noah," she whispered against my chest. "Why did it stop? Why isn't it beeping anymore?"

I didn't have an answer. I didn't have anything except the steady thud of my own heartbeat and the desperate hope that silence meant they'd stabilized her, not the alternative neither of us could say out loud.

A nurse pushed through the door a moment later, her expression unreadable in the way medical professionals trained themselves to be, and my stomach dropped straight through the floor.

"Miss Sullivan," she said, and Ivy pulled back from me so fast I nearly lost my balance.

"Your grandmother's heart rate stabilized. We got it under control. She's resting now, but Dr. Whitmore would like to speak with you about adjusting her treatment plan going forward."

The breath Ivy had been holding came out in a broken, shuddering rush, and her knees buckled again, this time from relief instead of terror. I caught her before she could fall, holding her upright while she pressed both hands over her face, her whole body trembling.

"She's okay," she kept repeating, like she needed to hear the words out loud to believe them.

"She's okay, she's okay."

"She's okay," I echoed quietly, my hand moving in slow circles against her back the way I remembered doing before, in fragments too faint to call full memories, just instinct guiding me the way it had at her apartment weeks ago.

The nurse offered a small, tired smile. "You can see her in a few minutes, once we finish adjusting her monitors. She's asking for you again already, if that tells you anything about her spirit."

Ivy let out something between a laugh and a sob, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"That sounds like her."

I guided her to the row of chairs against the wall, easing her down gently, my own legs unsteady with relief. I hadn't expected to feel this strongly for a woman I'd only met a handful of times since my memory reset everything. But it made sense, in a strange way. Ivy's grandmother mattered to Ivy, and somewhere beneath the fog clouding most of my memories, some part of me still understood that whatever mattered to Ivy mattered to me too.

"Thank you," Ivy said quietly, once her breathing had steadied, her eyes finding mine. "For staying. For not leaving when I told you to wait outside."

"I wasn't going anywhere," I said simply.

She studied my face for a long moment, something soft and searching in her expression. "You keep showing up for me. Even with everything falling apart in your own life. I don't know how to thank you enough for that."

"You don't have to thank me," I said. "I want to be here."

The words came out easier than I expected, honest in a way that surprised even me. Whatever had existed between us before the accident, whatever promises or feelings the collision had stolen from my memory, something in me had clearly chosen her before, and apparently was choosing her again now, piece by piece, moment by moment, whether I fully understood why or not.

My phone buzzed against my thigh, and I almost ignored it again, assuming it was Lockwood following up. But something made me check, and the second I saw the screen, my stomach twisted violently.

It was an email. From my agent.

Noah — need to talk immediately. Word's spreading fast about the suspension and the Morgan situation. I've had two scouts already reach out asking if this changes our conversation about draft positioning. Also — and I need you to see this before anyone else shows it to you — there's a clip circulating from tonight. Someone caught you on video outside the hospital an hour ago. It's already got thousands of views. Call me the second you get this.

My blood went cold. A video. Outside the hospital.

I scrolled down, and beneath the email, a thumbnail preview loaded slowly, grainy footage clearly taken from someone's phone at a distance—me, helping Ivy out of the car in the parking lot, my arm wrapped around her shoulders as we hurried toward the entrance.

The caption beneath it read: Isn't this the same girl accused of hiding secrets from Carter? Wonder what she's up to at the hospital with him now.

"Noah?" Ivy's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, concern etched across her face as she noticed my expression shift.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

I turned the phone toward her slowly, watching her face drain of color as she read the caption, as she scrolled down to see the comments already multiplying beneath it, strangers speculating about her, about us, about things they knew nothing about.

"They're at the hospital," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the entrance doors like she expected a reporter to burst through them at any second. "Noah, if this gets worse, if this reaches my grandmother somehow, if she finds out people are saying things about me online while she's lying in a hospital bed…"

The doors at the end of the hallway swung open, and a woman I didn't recognize strode through them with a camera slung over her shoulder and a press badge clipped to her jacket, her eyes scanning the waiting room until they landed directly on us.