Chapter 6: 2:14am Crises
775 Words
The call came at 2:14am.
Not security. Not his assistant line. His personal cell. The number he’d never given me.
“Esther. Hospital. Now. Car’s downstairs.”
Click.
Mom’s chemo pump was screaming. Red light. Alarm blaring. She was pale, sweating, breathing wrong. The way she breathed before the last ER trip.
I grabbed my keys, shaking. The black car was already there. Driver in a suit.
“Mr. Sterling’s orders, Ms. Cole,” he said. “Step on it.”
20 minutes to Lenox Hill. I called Adrian’s number back 4 times. Voicemail.
When we screeched to the ER, he was already there.
No suit. Gray t-shirt. Black joggers. Hair messy like he’d been dragged from sleep. First time I’d ever seen Adrian Sterling not in Tom Ford. He looked younger. Human. Scared.
“Room 4,” I said, out of breath. “Sepsis risk. Complications.”
He was already moving. I followed. Hated that I was relieved he was here. Hated more that he looked more terrified than I’d ever seen him.
Mom was hooked to machines. Nurses moved fast. Doctor talked fast. Words that meant “she might not make it.”
Adrian stood at the foot of her bed. Didn’t speak. Just watched the monitors like if he stared hard enough, they’d lie.
“Mr. Sterling, you can’t—” a nurse started.
“I can,” he said. One look and she shut up. CEO voice. Even here. “What does she need?”
“Her daughter,” the doctor said. “And time.”
Mom’s eyes opened. Found me. Found him. She smiled, weak. “Adrian? You came.”
“You know him?” I asked, confused.
“Of course, baby,” Mom whispered. “He’s been paying the hospital portion of my chemo for 3 weeks. Anonymous donor. ‘Sterling Foundation Grant.’ But I knew. Only Adrian Sterling lists it as ‘insufficient funds’ on the forms.”
My blood went cold.
3 weeks. Since I started. Since the salary advance. He’d been covering the 40% insurance didn’t pay. $8k/month. Not rent. Not food. Not life. Just the part that kept Mom alive.
“You—” I turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d quit,” he said. Jaw tight. “Pride, Esther. You have too much of it. And I couldn’t let her die because of your pride.”
Silence. Machines beeped.
He pulled a worn paperback from his back pocket. The Alchemist. Pages bent. Coffee stains. Not a CEO book.
“She asked me to bring it last Tuesday,” he said quietly. “Said it helped her sleep during chemo.”
Mom reached for it. He put it in her hand, careful. Like she was glass.
“You read to me?” Mom asked.
He didn’t answer. Just opened it. Voice low. Steady. The voice that fired people. Now reading about sheep and dreams at 2am in a hospital room.
_“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”_
His voice cracked on “conspires.” Just once.
Mom fell asleep mid-sentence. Breathing easier.
Adrian closed the book. Set it on her bedside table. Stood up. Wall back up.
“I’ll leave a private nurse,” he said. “Best in the city.”
“I can stay,” I said.
“You haven’t slept in 36 hours. You collapse, you’re useless to her.” He looked at me then. Gray eyes tired. Raw. “Go home, Esther. Sleep. That’s an order.”
“Why do you care?” The word tore out. “The hospital bills. The car. The book. Why?”
He was quiet. Hospital hummed around us.
“Because you’re the only person who says no to me,” he said finally. “Everyone else says ‘yes sir.’ You say ‘that’s illegal’ and ‘don’t touch me.’ For 10 years my world has been silent. For 6 days, you’ve been noise. I don’t want it to stop.”
My breath caught.
He walked to the door. Stopped. Didn’t turn.
“Chapter 7,” he said. “She asks if dreams are worth chasing when they hurt. What’s your answer, Esther Cole?”
He left before I could answer.
I sat next to Mom. Held her hand. Held his book.
Worn. Read. His.
And I realized: I wasn’t broke because of hospital bills anymore.
I was broke because rent was still due Friday. $2,400. And because the man who was keeping my mom alive…
still was the same man I was starting to need.
- Writer
