Page 57 of Don’t Look Back

“I’m fine.”

It had to be the biggest lie I’d ever told myself. I wasn’t fine, but there was nothing left in me. My eyes hurt, swollen and red. I’d convinced myself that drinking the water in my hands would only produce more tears, and I was tired of crying.

I stayed at the window, listening to Charlie’s footsteps pad down the hallway and fade out of earshot.

Normally, I would have been terrified to meet Ryan’s mom. From the sounds of it, the woman was an absolute powerhouse. My parents had their hands full with me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine raising eight kids—alone.

I was pondering exactly what to say when Charlie returned, uttering my name so softly that I almost didn’t hear.

I glanced up, meeting Marisol’s gentle eyes for the first time. Tired ones, but soft, tender—a mother’s touch. It became clear to me where Ryan got his looks from: those honey-swirled chocolate eyes, the tight ringlet curls that fell over her shoulders. When she smiled at me, tears threatened once more.

“Ms. Walker⁠—”

She stopped me with a wave of her hand. “Ryan got his dad’s last name. It’s Diaz, but please call me Marisol.”

I nodded in agreement, choking down a sob. “I don’t know how much Ryan’s told you…”

“I know exactly who you are.” The soft grin widened to a warmhearted smile. “Ryan speaks very highly of you, and often.” She paused, brushing my cheek with a silky-soft hand—like a mother would. Beyond my control, tears began to fall. Her eyes met mine, and her voice cracked as she continued to speak. “Thank you for looking after my son.”

Marisol tugged me into her arms, arching onto her toes to do so. When I returned the embrace, she was so small in my arms that I thought I might break her. When she fell flat on her feet, she patted my shoulder. “What he neglected to mention was that you were the size of a redwood! I should have brought a step stool.”

Marisol led me to the chairs, and it wasn’t until my ass hit the seat that exhaustion slammed into me. Charlie quietly settled across the room, busying herself on her phone.

“Seems like we’ve got some time to kill,” Marisol said, clasping my hand in both of hers. “Tell me about yourself, Jason.”

“Actually… Call me Genie.” Out of the corner of my eye, Charlie’s head snapped up. Not even Grace had ever called me that.

Marisol smiled, but her brow furrowed. “Genie?”

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s an old family name. If this doesn’t make us family, I don’t know what will.”

“Now that’s a story I’ve got to hear.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was another few hours before we got an update. I’d been dozing on Marisol’s shoulder when a kind voice from the doorway caught my attention.

“Ms. Diaz?”

I pried my eyes open in time to see Shannon crossing the room toward us. “Ryan pulled through surgery. They’re still monitoring the brain bleed very closely, and have put him in a medically-induced coma. We hope that the sedation will allow his brain to rest. The most important thing right now is that we give him time to heal. He’s in recovery now, but you’ll be able to see him very soon.”

Marisol thanked her and I sat up, rubbing my churning stomach. The only thing to soothe the queasiness was a squeeze to my hand. “He’s alive, cariño—that’s the best we can hope for right now.”

“I should be the one comforting you,” I said, wondering if I should make a mad dash for the bathroom in the corner.

“You are. More than you know. I was really worried about Ryan being so far from home all by himself.”

As we waited, I stared at the silent TV in the corner. Charlie had fallen asleep hours ago, having given up on trying to get me to drink that damn bottle of water.

Just as my eyelids grew heavy, Shannon returned and asked if we were ready to see Ryan.

Marisol was on her feet before I could blink, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. Yes, I did want to see him—it was the only thing I’d wanted for the last… God, I didn’t even know how long it’d been, but I couldn’t even begin to prepare for what I’d see when I walked into that room.

I nudged Charlie on our way out, startling her awake. She followed close behind us, not wanting to let me out of her sight.

The steady beep of the monitors and the hiss of the ventilator met us before we even rounded the doorway. My breath hitched, and I coughed. Marisol tightened her grip on my hand, tugging me closer. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

I had no idea how she’d managed to keep it together. I was an absolute wreck.