Page 25 of What You left in Me

The words land like a slap. I reel, then snap back, voice trembling, “You think this is pretending?”

“I think,” he says, straightening from the wall, stepping closer, “that Eleanor’s already rewriting the story for the press. Julian’s playing the perfect fiancé. The town’s gossiping like it’s a goddamn sporting event.” His eyes darken, unflinching. “And I think I’m the only one willing to say it… Richard might not make it.”

The truth rips through me. Hot tears spill before I can stop them. My knees buckle a little, and I brace against the cold stone wall. “Don’t,” I say, and it comes out sounding like a whine. “Don’t say that.”

His expression shifts. He steps closer, and his hand brushes my wrist. Warm.

I suck in a ragged breath. “I can’t lose him. He’s the only parent I’ve ever had who didn’t judge me, who just… loved me. For free.” My voice breaks. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Finn’s jaw flexes. His eyes flick to the ground, then back up, steady on mine. “Dad’s the only one who ever tried…” he says quietly. His voice is rough, like he hates giving me that piece of himself.

For a long moment, we just stand there, me trembling, him holding my wrist, both of us staring into the night. The heat simmers between us, dangerous and intimate, wrong in a way I can feel down to my bones.

And then the doors hiss open again.

“Ariane?” Julian’s voice cuts through, careful, gentle, his glinting shoes clicking against the pavement. He stops short when he sees Finn, gaze narrowing. “Everything okay?”

I pull back instantly, wiping my face with the heel of my hand.

“Yeah,” I croak. “I just needed air.”

Julian steps closer, his hand brushing my back. “Come inside, sweetheart. They’ll update us soon.”

I nod, even as my skin still burns where Finn’s hand touched mine.

When I risk one last glance over my shoulder, Finn is still watching. I can’t tell what the look on his face means—but it makes my heart drop to my stomach, pounding erratically.

Chapter 9 – Finn - Doctor’s Update

Hospitals always smell like somebody tried to bleach the soul out of the building and failed. Fluorescents buzz mind-numbingly. Plastic chairs creak under people who won’t admit they’re afraid. I sit apart from the rest of them, because I can’t perform for rooms like this. I won’t. I’ve been here before.

And because, if I sit near Eleanor, I’ll say something I can’t take back. My dad would fucking hate that. No matter what Ariane thinks she knows, I do care about that.

The double doors fly open, and the cardiologist walks out in a white coat that may as well be the Grim Reaper’s cloak. He’s a man in his late-40s, with unmemorable features and an innately calm demeanor that must serve him well in his profession. He’s got a tablet in hand.

“Family of Richard Wagner?” he asks.

Eleanor is on him in three heel-clicks. “That’s us,” she says, her hand at her throat. It’s a theatrical, performative-seeming gesture, but the visible tremor probably isn’t.

Ariane is much slower to get to her feet, unsteady, like the floor might give. Julian rises with her, smoothing his tie, his hand already at the small of her back.

I stand with my hands pushed deep into my pockets, so I don’t put them through a fucking wall.

“He’s stable,” the doctor says without embellishment. The whole waiting room seems to exhale. “It was a significant myocardial infarction. We were able to stabilize him with medication and oxygen. He’s sedated for now.”

“Plain English,” I snap before I can stop myself.

The doctor isn’t fazed. If he is, his features don’t give it away. Simply, he rephrases, “He had a serious heart attack and we drugged him. He needs rest.”

“What’s next?” I press.

“We will be monitoring him in the CCU overnight,” he says. “In the morning, we’ll evaluate enzymes and imaging. Depending on what we see, we may discuss a catheterization. Possibly a stent. Or a bypass later, if indicated.” He pauses, locking the tablet’s screen. “Lifestyle changes are non-negotiable. Diet, stress, exercise. Abstaining from alcohol. Of course, he’ll also need cardiac rehab.”

Eleanor’s smile snaps into place like a visor.

“Of course, of course,” she says too quickly. “We’ll do whatever is necessary. He hasexcellentinsurance and connections. He’ll have the best.”

“Money doesn’t buy a healthy body,” I say, straining not to roll my eyes.