Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)

Chapter 42

It’s snowing again when he leaves the hospital and Harry stands in it for a while, feeling the flakes melt into his hot cheeks as he summons the energy to walk to the tube. There’s a man in a dressing gown out in it, too, a IV stand at his side, and Harry figures that he’s doing the same thing, that he’s relishing the small moment of quiet. Then Harry sees the cigarette between his fingers and usually he’d be disgusted, but he thinks of Zayn and realises that there are worse things to be addicted to. So when he switches his phone back on to find six voicemails from him, Harry’s heart sings. He says the same thing in each one – he’s sorry, they need to talk, he’s staying in the Park Suite at the Dorchester – and Harry doesn’t know if it’s seeing his father or hearing Zayn’s voice get weaker and weaker with each message, but before he can stop himself, he walks towards the road and hails the first black cab he sees.

‘The Dorchester,’ he tells the driver when he climbs in, hoping he has enough in his wallet to get there. He does – just – and when the doorman in the bottle green jacket and top hat opens the door of the taxi, Harry smiles.

‘How’s it going, Ted?’

‘Good evening, Mr Styles.’

‘You well?’

‘Very. Thank you, Mr Styles,’ he says with a gracious nod, opening the door. ‘Merry Christmas. I hope to see you again in the New Year.’

Harry nods back and walks into the polished lobby. The Park Suite was Karl’s favourite, too, and Harry’s stomach knots as he wonders if that’s why Zayn booked it. His legs shake a little at the thought as he walks towards the lifts, but as he’s approaching them, he sees someone coming towards him struggling with a huge vase of flowers.

‘Nope,’ she says and he lunges forward in time to catch them. He almost doesn’t, his fingers slipping as water splashes out of the vase onto his hands and through his Converse to soak his already wet socks, but he manages to hold on.

‘Oh my God! Sorry!’ he hears the woman say as he gets a faceful of pink roses.

He can’t help but laugh as he does, steadying himself and the vase. But when he looks up to tell her not to worry, his heart stops.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks, eyelashes catching in her fringe.

Coco.

Harry can’t move as he stares at her, his fingers almost slipping on the vase again. She looks younger than he remembers – fresher – her hair pulled up into an untidy bun on the top of her head and her eyes so blue it makes him yearn for summer.

‘Careful,’ she warns looking down at the puddle of water at their feet as she tries to take the vase back. She can’t hold onto it, though, her little hands slipping and spilling more water over them. The concierge rushes over to help.

‘Miss Price,’ he gasps. ‘Let me. I would have brought these up.’

Now all three of them are holding the vase and Harry should let go, he knows, but he can’t. His gaze still on her as she insists that she’s fine.

‘I needed to get out of the room, Mark. I’ve been stuck in there all day,’ she says with a melodramatic sigh, blowing at her fringe.

‘Allow me,’ the concierge says, trying to take the vase, but Harry smiles sharply.

‘I’ve got it.’

The concierge shakes his head. ‘Please, sir. I’m happy to.’

‘I said I’ve got it,’ Harry says more firmly this time.

The sudden edge in his voice surprises him as Coco peers at them over the bouquet. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but she’s there. Her. The woman Zayn loves more than him and he wants to know why. He has to know why her and not him.