Page 47 of Falling for My Billionaire Fake Date

“We’re here. It’s Alex, Aurora’s friend. Yes . . . yes, she’s here. She’s . . . fine. No, she’s fine ma’am. Yeah . . . I drove her here. The room number again? Okay . . . yeah, see you in a minute.”

I follow Alex blankly, walking behind him like some sort of lost child. Walking through the hospital halls, the smell of disinfectant hits me sharply in the nostrils, a clear indication that I’m inside the hospital. I walk in a white haze, everywhere white to me: the floors, the walls, and even the people seem white to me.

Upstairs we make a sharp turn into a corridor where I see my mother and honestly don’t know how to feel. I have a lot of questions: how the heck did she know dad’s gotten into an accident? Has she been around all along? Is she back now? And most importantly, how’s my dad doing?

We walk towards her, my sneakers squeaking on the spotless floor. She sees me and breaks into a run to meet me, bursting into tears. Strangely, I feel her hugging me tightly, soaking my collarbone with tears. But I can’t find it in me to care at the moment.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she keeps repeating, sobs rackingthrough her.

I don’t know if she’s saying sorry for dad’s accident, or maybe she’s apologizing for leaving dad. For leaving me.

I shrug out of her embrace without reciprocating her hug and see her face crumble with hurt. She steps back, wiping her nose with a tissue.

“How is he?” I ask, blandly saying my first words after several hours, my voice coming out hoarse from my prolonged silence.

“He’s fine and stable. The doctor says he should be able to go home after a few days. There are no major injuries, just some cuts and bruises, I think,” she recites, and I feel my body sag with relief.

I close my eyes tightly, holding in the dam behind my lids that is threatening to burst.

“How’re you, though?” mom asks me, and I feel a surge of anger at the question. Her eyes are wide with worry and red-rimmed from crying so much. Her nose is red too, and her lips are chapped and cracked. But she still looks breathtaking, nonetheless.

People used to tell me I looked like my mom, but I didn’t see it. More accurately, I didn’t want to see it. I see more of myself in my dad.

“And how are you, honey?” she repeats, trying to hold my hand as I evade it and see her again blink back tears. She doesn’tget to call me ‘honey,’ or hold my hands. She lost that right when she walked away so many years ago without so as much as a second thought.

“I’m going in to see dad,” I announce dully into the air, without meeting her gaze.

“Okay, sweetie. He’s sleeping at the moment. He fell asleep right after asking for you.” She smiles knowingly at that, and I feel my heart squeeze painfully.

I walk towards the door with my heart in my mouth. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I see it shake, and I clench the doorknob hard, willing my fingers to stop shaking. The door gives, and I step in, sucking in a deep breath as I do so.

I stare at the figure lying motionless on the hospital bed. His head is wrapped in a white bandage discolored with blood around the forehead. His left leg is wrapped in a cast, and his right hand is also wrapped with bandaging that’s slightly stained with blood as well.

I stagger towards his bed like a drunk, the tears now flowing freely like a burst dam. I sit on the chair beside him and take hold of his hand. I cry silently, not holding back any tears, everything crashing into me all over again.

Warm tears roll down my eyes onto his wrist and I feel him twitch. I clear my eyes as fast as possible, not wanting him to see me cry if he happens to open his eyes.

I feel a vibration against my thigh, and I sigh in despair, fishing out my phone. I see it’s a call from Brittney, and I end it immediately. I have to text her because I currently can’t talk without wailing like a dolphin, and I don’t want to disturb my dad.

I tap on the text application, and I’m met with a series of desperate messages from her phone. The last one hits with another bout of sadness, and I bite my lower lip to keep myself from crying.

I’m fine. Dad is in the hospital. He got into an accident. Alex happened to see me in the parking lot with my hands shaking and offered to drive me to the hospital. I’ll call you tomorrow, A.

Then I switch off my phone. I really don’t want to be bombarded with questions right now, and questions about my dad’s condition will only make me tear up again. And honestly, I’m tired of crying. Resting my head on the plastic bed frame, and holding on to Dad’s hand gently, I drift off into a restless sleep, lulled by the steady beeping of the hospital’s machines.

I feel something squeeze my hand, and I shift in my sleep, refusing to fall for one of Brit’s pranks again today. The hold on my hand gets tighter, and I open my eyes, ready to tell Britt what I think of her in this world and the next.

A plaster-wrapped hand comes into view, and I snap my head up. I moan a bit at the pain in my neck from my sleeping position and wince at the burning in my eyes from the salty lake they leaked so much the day before. I keep my eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to see my dad in the state I met him in last night.

His grip tightens on my hand again. I open my eyes slowly, and I am met with one of the most beautiful visions in my life. Dad is sitting up, his hospital bed adjusted to fit his back, and he is grinning widely at me.

“Dad!” I squeal, tears gathering in my eyes again, and I stand up to hug him gently, careful not to hurt him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, in a raspy voice. “Hey there . . . stop it, baby, stop crying. I’m perfectly fine.” He rubs my back, and I will myself to stop crying, knowing that dad hates to see me cry.

“I told your mom not to call you until I’m back home, but she never listened before and still doesn’t,” he sighs wistfully, patting my back.

I release him from the hug and wipe my eyes. I have questions, but not here, and not now.

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