behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Thirty-Five

HARPER

The hospital smells like bleach and old coffee and something else—something sterile and heavy and clinical that clings to the back of my throat no matter how many times I swallow. The air conditioning is cranked high, humming through the vents even though it's almost 30°C outside, the Florida humidity clinging to the windows like sweat.

I'm wearing a soft tank top Millie handed me this morning and the pair of light linen shorts she ordered while I was showering. I feel too small. My skin still remembers the sharp chill of Vancouver air, and now the heat of this place wraps around me like a fever I can't break.

Millie's beside me in a white cotton T-shirt and denim cutoffs, her hair pulled back in a messy braid she did with shaking fingers. She looks exhausted. She looks beautiful. She hasn't let go of my hand since we stepped into the hospital lobby.
It's all beige walls and uncomfortable chairs. People moving with quiet urgency. It should feel busy, but it feels frozen. Or maybe I'm the one who is.

I'm not sure I've taken a real breath since the doors opened and swallowed my mother whole.

I don't remember walking here.
I don't remember sitting down.
I don't remember the nurse's name or the way Millie talked to the receptionist, clear and focused, while I stood behind her, shaking so hard my teeth clacked. I remember her arm sliding around my waist, grounding me, like she's done a thousand times already in the past two months.

I stare at the wall across from me, at the peeling corner of a poster about blood donations. I try to make myself care. I try to think about anything but the operating room a few doors down. But all I can see is my mom's face when I saw her too many months ago. Pale. Thinner. Still trying to smile for me.

She told me not to come back after that visit. Said she didn't want me to remember her like this. But she's still her. She's still my mother. And I'm still her kid, even if I don't know how to be one right now.

I press the heel of my hand into my chest like I can push down the panic clawing its way out.

Millie pulls me into her side, her arm wrapping around my shoulders, her lips brushing the top of my head. "I'm here," she whispers, like she already knows what I need.

I don't answer. I can't. My throat's closed up tight, like grief has its hands around it. But I lean into her, let myself curl into her warmth, even though my whole body feels like it doesn't belong to me.

A doctor finally comes out. His face is kind, but tired. His scrubs are wrinkled and stained at the hip. My heart stops in my chest.

"Harper Lane?" he asks.

I nod. Somehow, I stand. Millie stands with me. Her hand stays wrapped around mine.

"The surgery was successful," he says gently. "She made it through. But... her body's weak, Miss Lane. Her lungs are fragile, failing, and there were some complications we managed, but... she's not going to recover. I'm sorry. She doesn't have more than a few days."

His voice is calm. Clinical. Like he's done this a thousand times before.

And just like that, the floor disappears. I don't fall, not really, but I go quiet. Like the world dims around the edges. Like someone turned the volume all the way down and left me behind in the silence. My ears ring. My legs tremble. I forget how to exist.

Millie's arms are around me before I even register the tears on my face.

"I've got you," she murmurs, pressing her cheek to mine. "I've got you, baby. Just breathe."

I don't want to breathe.
I want to scream.
I want to rewind time.
I want to crawl into the hospital bed and hold my mother's hand until the end. I want this to be a nightmare.