Every Girl Wants A Moon

Chapter 31: News

Chase

The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him harder than he could have imagined.

Chase stood in the sterile, glaringly bright lobby of the hospital, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the phone, dialing Sophia's number once again. He just needed to hear her voice, even if it was her voicemail.

His stomach was a storm of nausea and dread, a gnawing, insistent feeling that wouldn't go away.

Surgery.

The word struck him like a punch to the gut. His vision blurred momentarily as a wave of guilt hit him so forcefully it was hard to breathe.

His mind raced, thinking back to the last few hours. The last time he'd seen her, when she had left the office after he'd snapped at her. That moment where she had pulled away, her eyes shuttering, her voice quieter than usual. The way she'd looked like she didn't know where to stand—like she wasn't sure if she should stay or leave. And then, she left.

Alone.

In a cab.

He should have driven her himself. He should have made it right.

Chase scrubbed a hand over his face, but it didn't clear the weight in his chest. His mind kept racing through every possibility, and none of them were good. If she had only called him—if only he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own damn stress, too angry to pay attention to how she was feeling—maybe she wouldn't have been in that cab.

Maybe none of this would have happened.

His hands clenched at his sides, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears it felt like the entire world was vibrating with his fear.

He couldn't stand it. He had to do something. Anything.

When he heard the word surgery, that had been the moment the dread twisted into something much darker, something more suffocating. His chest felt too tight. His breaths shallow, rapid.

Internal bleeding. Broken ribs.

The images flashed too vividly in his mind. What if she didn't pull through? What if she was still in there, unconscious, helpless, because he hadn't been there when she needed him? The thought was like a dark cloud over him, pressing in on all sides.

His hands started shaking, his grip tightening around the phone until his fingers went numb. The thought of her lying there, in pain, alone, surrounded by strangers... his heart felt like it was breaking all over again.

This is my fault, he thought desperately. His thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last.

If I had just driven her home... if I had just cared enough to listen, really listen, instead of pushing her away like I did...

His chest ached with regret so sharp it felt like a physical wound. It hadn't even crossed his mind that something could happen to her tonight. He had been so wrapped up in his own anger, in his own frustration, that he had failed her.

And now? Now, she was in surgery, fighting for her life, and he couldn't even be there for her like he promised he would. The walls of the hospital seemed to close in around him, the harsh lights and sterile air suffocating in ways he couldn't control.

The seconds stretched on like hours.

He paced the waiting room, unable to sit still, unable to process the idea of her being in danger. His mind kept going over the details—what had happened to the cab? The crash? She was in the backseat, not the front. The impact had come from the side. His thoughts tangled, each theory worse than the last, and no matter how many times he tried to reassure himself, She'll be okay, it felt like a lie.