offshore | h.s

62

HARRY STYLES

The guilt has been unbearable these past few days. 

I can't believe she could've died. And I wasn't there. 

She's still in the hospital and I can't help her. In fact, I'm in an entirely different state. 

In the dimly lit hotel room in Denver, Colorado, I find myself restless on the bed, the weight of the night spent in the hospital with Gen still heavy on my mind. With the next performance looming later tonight, I know I should focus on preparation, but my thoughts keep drifting back to her.

I glance at the clock. It's early afternoon, and I decide to FaceTime her. With a few taps, her face appears on the screen, and my heart skips a beat at the sight of her tired but familiar expression.

"Hi," I say softly.

Gen's lips curve into a soft smile. "Hey, baby," she murmurs.

As she adjusts the phone slightly, I catch a glimpse of a sleeping Avery nestled next to her on the hospital bed. My heart swells at the sight of our daughter, peaceful in her slumber.

"Visiting hours?" I inquire, my gaze lingering on Avery.

Gen nods, her eyes softening. "Yeah," she confirms. "She's been asking for you."

A pang of longing hits me at the mention of Avery. "I wish I could be there," I admit, my voice heavy with regret.

"We'll make up for it when you get back," Gen reassures me, her tone gentle but resolute.

I nod, grateful for her understanding. "How are you holding up?" I ask, concern coloring my voice.

Gen's smile wavers slightly. "I'm okay," she says, her words belying the exhaustion in her eyes. "The doctor says things are stable for now."

Relief floods through me at the news. "That's good to hear," I say, though I can't shake the worry gnawing at my insides.

Gen nods, her expression serious. "Yeah," she agrees. "I should hopefully be out of here tomorrow."

"How are you feeling about the show tonight?" she asks, a hint of excitement in her voice.

"I'm excited," I reply, enthusiasm seeping into my words. But I can't stop feeling so... so guilty," I confess, my voice dropping to a whisper.

Gen's brow furrows with concern. "Harry, you shouldn't feel guilty," she says firmly. "You're doing what you have to do. We both are."

I nod, her words bringing a measure of comfort. 

"Talk to Gracie for me, will you?" Gen requests, her voice carrying a soft longing. "Shes told me she's super nervous about the whole thing."

I nod, a smile spreading across my face. "Of course," I reply. "I'll get to the arena extra early to watch her tonight."

A few hours later, I'm being driven to Ball Arena in Colorado for tonight's show. The city lights blur past the windows as I sit in the back seat, trying to center myself for the performance ahead. My phone buzzes, and I see a text from my Allison, my new therapist.

Earlier today, I had my first Zoom meeting with her, the first of many sessions we planned. It felt surprisingly good to get things off my chest, to talk about the fears and anxieties that have been weighing me down. She had listened patiently, offering insights and strategies that made me feel more hopeful than I had in a long time.

Her text reads, "Good luck tonight. Remember, you're going to be okay."

I smile at the message, feeling a warmth spread through me. It's a small gesture, but it means a lot. As the arena looms closer, I take a deep breath, feeling a bit more ready to face the night.