Riley
“Miss, you are fidgeting. Can you please stop?”
I froze. The woman next to me didn’t even look up from her magazine. She just said it—quietly, but sharp enough to make me want to crawl into the seat pocket.
I offered a tight smile. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m just… nervous.”
She gave me the kind of side-eye that made me want to jump out of the emergency exit. I swallowed back the rest of my words and focused on the seat in front of me, gripping the armrest like it was a lifeline. This flight couldn’t land fast enough.
But it did. Eventually. And the second the plane touched down in Madrid, I felt like my body left the rest of me behind.
I grabbed my bag from the overhead bin and practically sprinted out of the terminal. Everything around me was a blur—the foreign language announcements, the scent of airport coffee, the weight of dread settling deeper into my chest. I shoved myself into the first taxi I could find and gave Zara’s address.
The ride felt longer than the flight. My leg bounced uncontrollably as I stared out the window, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
When I finally reached Zara’s building, she didn’t even wait for me to knock. She flung the door open, her eyes wild.
“Oh my God, you’re here!” she pulled me into a hug, then yanked my suitcase inside like I was on fire.
“Hey,” I said weakly.
She stepped back and gave me a quick once-over. “Are you going to the hospital now, or should I drop you off?”
“I’ll go on my own,” I told her. “You’ve got work. I’ll manage.”
Zara paused, biting her lip like she was debating whether or not to say something. Then she blurted, “Raphina’s been keeping me updated. About Lucas.”
My breath hitched.
“He’s been in a lot of pain, yeah,” she said. “But also? He’s been talking about you. A lot.”
I blinked. “What?”
Zara nodded. “Like, nonstop. Raphina said he keeps asking if you’ve called. He talks about how he messed up. How he thinks he pushed you too far. He thinks you hate him.”
I swallowed hard, heart twisting. “I don’t hate him.”
“I know. He knows. He’s just scared you won’t come back this time.”
I didn’t say anything. I just gave her a grateful smile and stepped back out the door.
The hospital loomed in front of me like some sterile palace—grand and modern, but intimidating. I walked through the automatic doors, the cold air slapping me awake.
“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist. “I’m looking for Lucas Rivera.”
She didn’t even blink, just typed something in, then said, “East Wing.”
I made it halfway down the hall before a nurse stopped me.
“Family only,” she said. “And they must be cleared.”
I hesitated. Then I lifted my chin. “I’m his girlfriend.”
She studied me for a beat, then nodded. “Follow me.”
My legs felt numb as I followed her down the corridor. Every fluorescent light above me felt like a spotlight, like the entire world was watching me approach this one door.
The nurse knocked and opened it gently.
And there he was.
Lucas.
Propped up in a hospital bed, his arm in a sling, his leg elevated. His face was pale, tired—but the moment he saw me, his whole body seemed to tense like he couldn’t believe it.
“Riles?” His voice was low. Like he didn’t dare trust his own eyes.
My throat tightened. “Lucas.”
The nurse looked between us and smiled faintly. “Your girlfriend, Mr. Rivera.”
His eyebrows flew up. “My what?!”