MIÉRCOLES
4:01 PM

Reid Harlow

I glance down at my phone.

The only thing keeping me sane right now is the cigarette tucked between my lips, letting a sense of euphoria overwhelm me as I inhale the nicotine. The painstaking silence in return is what's killing my buzz.

"No driving practice today?" I hear the backdoor behind me close, just as Presley steps out onto the deck. I spare him a glance, before facing back to the front. Presley drops into the seat next to me on the steps.

"She was supposed to..." I stop, shaking my head. It's stupid, talking to him won't fucking solve anything. "Never mind."

Presley chuckles but doesn't say anything, neither does he force an explanation. I think that night—locked outside our own house—shifted our relationship in some way. I wouldn't call it a positive, because I don't know where the fuck this might lead, but I know it's something.

We sat in silence as I took a couple more drags of my cigarette, while simultaneously checking for any notifications. A text, a voicemail, anything.

I feel something drop on my lap, and I look down to see the keys to Presley's Mustang. I turn to my foster brother, who looks ahead like he didn't just toss me his keys. "I don't need it today."

He turns to me. "What are you talking about?"

"She didn't call." I announce, dropping the keys back into his palm. The cigarette is nearly finished and I decided to drop the remainder to the floor and crush it beneath my shoe. "I'm not going to fucking teach her today."

"So, why are you outside?" He raised a brow, eyeing me. "Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, doing your homework or some shit? Do they still give homework in high school?"

"Yes, you dumbass," I roll my eyes, "but I already finished early. I think I'm like three, four weeks ahead of the class."

"Then go make it six weeks!" Presley encourages, causing a small chuckle to escape my lips. I don't say anything. "Or is there a reason why you're moping in the backyard?"

"I'm not fucking moping," I said, a bit defensive. He gives me a look. "It's just—I don't know, I just didn't want to go inside."

"Claudia is not home, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not."

"Nini and Sebastian are off with Ariah and Nico at the park."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't fucking know." I growl, my patience growing thin around him and irritation radiates off of me. I suck in a breath, trying to calm myself. "I just—I have this feeling in my stomach."

"Is it butterflies?"

"What—no!" I declare, giving Presley a deadly glare. He puts both his hands in the air, surrendering. It reminds me of the scene a couple of nights ago. "It's not butterflies, or anything. It's just...intuition."

"Intuition? Like a sixth sense?" Presley queries. I don't know if he's trying to taunt me or is actually curious. "Are you going to tell me you see ghosts next because I've seen a couple of movies like that before and I can tell you, it doesn't end well for the me in this position—"

"I will stab you."

My foster brother pauses. Then, he scoots a little to the left. "Just so we're clear, that was metaphorically right?"

I shake my head, not wanting to entertain his idiocy. The tension in my shoulders slightly relaxes with Presley here, lightening up the atmosphere, but I can't get rid of that feeling in my chest. The one that feels like something is wrong.

"No, but seriously, what's wrong?" Presley asks, all playfulness thrown out of the window and his attention folds to me. "Is it Dahlia?"

"I don't know." I answer honestly, swallowing. "She looked a little pale this morning but I didn't think anything of it. And then she wasn't in our last period and I don't fucking know..." I rub my jaw.

"Um," Presley pauses, "call her? Ask where she's at? I don't know, communicate?"

I roll my eyes, "you're fucking annoying, you know that?"

Presley gasps, placing a hand on his heart. "Am I wrong? I mean, communication is key? What do you think high school taught me? Math? English? No, it taught me how to communicate well enough with my class so we could all cheat on our final exam—"

I elbow his side and flip him off. He rubs the side of his ribs with a pout, and cuts his sentence short. My attention spans back to the phone in my hand and I flip the device over and over again in one palm.

Presley isn't wrong, but fuck if I'm going to tell him that.

I flip to the front and enter the passcode, going to dial Dahlia's number. I press the phone to my ear and ignore the sensation that Presley is practically glowing beside me. The call rings a couple of times, and I impatiently tap my leg in response.

A gust of wind blows into the backyard and ruffles the branches, and I hear an audible gasp coming from my left. "Was that you?"

I flip off my foster brother once more with my free hand, shaking my head. I was about to tell him to stop being such a fucking idiot, when the phone connects.

I instantly straighten up.

I waited for her soft, quiet voice to greet me when all I got was radio silence. I hear beeping sounds and footsteps shuffling on the other end, shouting orders, but no Dahlia.

What the fuck?

"Hello? Why aren't you talking?"

There was a pause. "You called...?"

The voice was unfamiliar, and it sounds absolutely nothing like Dahlia. There's a slight accent, almost unnoticeable, but fuck if I didn't know it wasn't my girl. "Who the fuck are you? And why the fuck do you have Dahlia's phone?"

"Wow. Are you trying to squeeze in the urban dictionary into your sentences, or is it something you do without thinking?"

My jaw sharpens, my expression drops. "You're not funny."

"And I asked for your opinion, when...?" She quips back easily, and I could sense her rolling her eyes on the other line. Presley waves a hand in front of me, mouthing who's on the other line?

I huff, not bothering to answer him as I lower the phone and put it in speaker. I look back to the phone. "I asked you who the fuck are you? And where the fuck is Dahlia?"

"Actually, Harlow, you asked me who the fuck am I and why the fuck do I have Dahlia's phone, never her place of location."

Presley snickers. I hit the back of his head. "Then answer."

"Be nice, first."

"No."

"Sir, you can't be the one pulling the cards here. I know the information you need, I have what you want. You can drop dead and I wouldn't bother a thing. Do you really want to play arrogance right now?"

Presley had to look away to hide his laugh, and I wanted to smack him a second time in the back of the head. I suppress the urge and turn back to the phone, gritting my teeth as I bare the next word. "Please?"

Presley bursts out laughing.

"Sure," she said nonchalantly, but I could swear she must be wearing some big ass grin on her face. "My name is Aysa. I'm Dahlia's friend from work."

My brows pulled together. "She doesn't work on Wednesdays."

"We're not at work. We're at the hospital."

Presley stops having the time of his life and immediately turns to face me, his widen eyes met mine and for a second—just for a split second—we both had the same exact thought. "Why the fuck is she in the hospital?"

"I don't know," the girl responds earnestly. "She called me a couple of hours ago and asked for a favor. She needed a ride to the hospital. She's with a doctor right now—"

"What hospital?" I jump to my feet, carrying the phone closer to my ear as I click the speaker off.

"Grandy Hospital Center, urgent care." Aysa told me, and that was all I needed when I ended the call and shove my phone into my back pocket. I turn to Presley, who've since stood from his spot, and hold out my hand.

"Give me the—" he throws the keys at me before I finish my sentence, and I catch them. I pause, almost surprised, before I mutter out a low: "thanks."

I turn back to the house, taking a couple of steps when Presley prompts from behind me, "let me come with you."

I open my mouth, about to agree to the suggestion when I remember the whole situation with Dahlia and Presley. I would be a fucking liar if I say I didn't harbor jealousy towards the pair. I shake my head. "No, you stay here. I'll handle this."

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MIÉRCOLES
5:32 PM

Reid Harlow

I could've killed myself as I raced to the hospital.

I rush into urgent care and step up to the recipient desk. The office clerks barely paid attention to me as they picked up calls and answered the concerns of a couple of nurses that came up to them.

"Hey!" I slam my hand on the desk, catching a couple of their eyes but most of them look away. "Where's Dahlia Gray?"

"Harlow," I hear the unfamiliar voice call from behind, twisting in my spot to see a medium brown skin girl with a blue hijab covering her hair. She stands from her seat in the waiting room, and walks over to me, stopping a safe distance from me. "I can recognize the bitterness a mile away."

I don't fucking care.

"Where's Dahlia?" I repeat, taking a step towards her. She takes a step back. I stop. "Aysa."

"She's with the doctor," Aysa said, glancing to the back of the hospital where the doctors and nurses pass through. "She's stable."

There's so many things going through my head at this minute, about why she's in the hospital in the first place, about why she chose to call Aysa instead of me, about how I didn't notice any signs earlier that she was possibly sick. It made me pissed off that I didn't catch on.

"I need to see her," I look away from her, and towards the double doors that separates the sick and the healthy. "Can she take visitors?"

"Yes—"

I don't let her finish before I begin taking big steps towards the double doors. I don't even know her fucking room number, and I'm running into this blindly. I barely took four steps in when I felt a hand grab my arm, with enough strength to keep me in place. Aysa.

I look down at her hand, touching me, and back at her—giving her a glare deadly enough to send her six feet under. My jaw clenched and I mentally counted in my head how long it'll take for her to stop fucking touching me.

She doesn't waver under my stare, and instead, tip her chin up and meet my gaze with a blank stare; calm, cool, unafraid. She drops her hand to her side, brushing the palm against her jeans. "I didn't do that because I was scared of you."

"I don't care," I snap, breaking our concentration and turning back to the doors. "What's her fucking room number?"

"You can't go back there."

"Why the fuck not?"

Aysa sucks in a deep breath, like she was trying to control her temper as much as I try to manage mine. She swallows. "Her dad's back there."

I go rigid. Frozen into place. I turn back to her, "why the fuck is her father back there?"

Aysa doesn't speak immediately, adjusting the scarf on her head. "She's his daughter."

"But he doesn't even fucking—" I cut myself short, calming myself from revealing too much. Things I can't take back. I clench my jaw, balling my hands into fists, and look to the floor. Fuck, I want a smoke. "I need to see her."

She shakes her head. "That's not a good idea."

I don't know what Dahlia told her, or if she knows, but from the looks of it—I'm betting Aysa knows more than the average person. Enough, to recognize there's some tension between Dahlia and her father.

"Look," Aysa waves her hand, catching my attention but not exactly touching me. No, she took a couple of precautionary steps back. "We don't like each other and we don't like this situation. But there's absolutely nothing we can do about it until the doctors tells us otherwise." She pauses, "So, I'm going to go sit down and I'm going to wait. I don't know what you're going to do, but one thing is for sure: you can't just charge in here and demand people's respect. You fucking earn it. Learn that."

Without another word, she turns around and heads back to the back of the waiting room, furthest away from human interaction. She takes the backpack sitting beside her and unzips a textbook, propping it open.

She is not going to study in the middle of a fucking waiting room—she is.

I stood there, frozen in one spot, with no clue on what to do next. I needed to see her and see how she's doing—but I can't do that with the whole daddy issue. I don't know what I would do meeting her father for the first time, but I guarantee it wouldn't be a pleasant experience.

I release a sigh, glancing back at Aysa minding her own business. I twist in my spot and follow after her, dropping into the spot beside her.

She stops, and turns to me. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting."

"Choose another seat."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't fucking want to," I emphasize, turning to meet her gaze. She looks at me through her brown eyes, harden with a stare that's not exactly hostile. Just irritated.

She turns away, back to her book. "Men are trash."

"You're a bitch."

"And you're an asshole."

And that's where the conversation stops and we fall into a mutual agreement. There was nothing else shared between the two of us as we waited, and waited, and waited.

Because it didn't matter what we thought about each other.

One thing is for sure.

We were here for Dahlia.

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AVA'S NOTES

i personally love the dynamic between aysa and harlow, because idk, they just hate each other haha

also, in the next chapter, it's my current favorite and i just- AH. my babies. i love them sm.

please vote and comment!!