I woke to the harsh scent of antiseptic long before my mind untangled itself from the haze of pain and failure.
The hospital bed felt too wide, too bright, too lonely.
My body was a map of bruises, ribs ached, hip throbbed, shoulder sharp with memory of impact.
But worse than anything was the ache in my chest, heavy with humiliation and disappointment.
I lay still, eyes closed, trying to tuck away the image of the dust-filled track, the crash, the crowd's roar, and the echoing thud of the flag hitting the ground.
I never lose.
And yet here i was.
A score of beeps chimed across the room—monitors, patience, lifelines i didn't feel deserving of.
The door opened quietly, and i didn't have to look to know who was coming.
"Anastasia."
My mother's voice…, soft and cautious—hovered above me.
I cracked an eye to see her standing at the foot of the bed, debutante poise slightly unraveling under the hospital light.
Her pearl earrings caught the reflection, but her face was pale.
Behind her, Dad Raphael, leaned in from the doorway.
Grey suit clean, tie loosened, jaw set like iron.
He didn't move at first, just watched me like i was a reflection he didn't recognize.
I propped myself up on one elbow, wincing. "Hi," I managed, voice raspy.
Mom closed the distance and laid a gentle hand on my cheek.
Too gentle for the girl who saw the riding as more than a hobby. "We were worried."
I turned away. "You didn't come."
She stiffened. "We—"
"Don't."
I held up my hand. "You didn't come."
There it was: my broken heart dripping raw pride.
My father swallowed.
Mom took a breath. "We just found out."
Disbelief twisted inside. "From the internet?"
She swallowed.
I let my head drop, back to the crisp white sheets, feeling small.
The morning light crept onto the bedside table.
Nurses visited; machines beeped.
Tea arrived—mint, tasted like sanity.
I sipped while they examined my shoulder.
Mama hovered, watching their touch with motherly panic.
I finally said: "I'm fine."
The doctor smiled, clipboard capturing everything I didn't feel. "Nothing's broken. Just soft‑tissue. You'll heal."
He left us.
I set the cup down and looked at them—really looked at them.
My parents.
People who had never truly come to watch me race, who flew across oceans for Seb, but skipped my biggest moment again.
Mama choked out something. "We want to apologize."
I closed my eyes. I let her sit there.
Finally: "It's fine."
No. It wasn't.
There was silence.
A kind of silence only hospital rooms can hold—clinical, polite, echoing with what should've been said five years ago.
And then Dad asked, "Who was that boy earlier?"
I opened my eyes slowly.
Mom was the one who added, "The one in black? He was here when we arrived."
Their voices weren't suspicious, just… confused.
Of course they noticed him.
Lorenzo wasn't exactly subtle.
He looked like trouble, like the kind of boy old-money parents would cross the street to avoid.
Chain on his jeans.
Permanent scowl.
That unbothered stance that made everyone else uncomfortable just because he didn't care to play their game.
I stared at the wall. "No one."
"You were holding his jacket," Mama said gently.
I didn't answer.
Papa looked at me, really looked. "Is he your… friend?"
I let out a tired laugh. "Is that what you'd call him?"
No one spoke.
I blinked hard, jaw tight. "He was there. At the competition. Watched me fall when you couldn't be bothered to even show up."
They flinched, both of them.
I didn't care.
"He didn't need a flight to be there," I added quietly. "He just… showed up."
Dad's voice dropped low. "That still doesn't tell us who he is."
I looked him in the eye. "Someone who saw me."
And then i turned my face away.
They didn't ask again.
-
The quiet stretched thin between us, thick with unsaid things.
Lorenzo stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, shoulders stiff.
His brows were furrowed, like he was trying not to say too much trying not to crack that cold, careful exterior he always wore like armor.
I hated how familiar he looked standing there. Like he belonged.
Like this wasn't the same man who argued with me over every damn turn of a racetrack, who never let a day pass without throwing some infuriating remark about my attitude or riding posture.
"I said, we need to talk," he repeated, quieter now.
My gaze stayed fixed on the window. I couldn't look at him. If i did, I might crumble again. "I don't want to."
"I know."
"Then leave."
"I won't."
I turned to him. "Lorenzo."
"You're alone."
His voice wasn't smug.
Just steady.
Firm.
Like he already anticipated every wall i'd try to put up, and made peace with standing on the other side of it anyway.
"My parents were just here," I muttered.
"They left."
"So?" I reached for the button to call the nurse, even though i didn't need one.
I just needed something to do with my hands. "I'll be fine."
"No, you won't."
The bluntness of it landed like a slap.
My hand hovered over the button but didn't press it.
"You fell hard," he added. "And before that, you ran yourself to the ground preparing for this race. You haven't let yourself breathe in weeks. Maybe longer."
I scoffed. "Are you a doctor now?"
"No," he said simply. "But i was there."
That made me pause.
I looked at him again, properly this time. "Why?"
He blinked. "Why not?"
"Why were you there? You're not part of my team. You weren't invited. You've been scolding me for two weeks, So why were you there, Lorenzo?"
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was charged.
He took a breath, then walked slowly to the chair by the window and sat down, not in a rush, not dramatically, just enough to make it clear he wasn't leaving.
Silence stretched between us like a tightrope.
"Not everything's about winning, Atasha," he said coolly.
That pissed me off more than it should've.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to throw the IV stand just to feel something other than this dull, useless ache in my chest.
I was supposed to win.
I was supposed to bring that fifth trophy home.
Instead, I was in a hospital bed with a bruised spine and shattered pride, and now he was here, acting like he didn't care and still choosing to stay.
"You should go," I muttered, turning my head away. "I don't need you here."
"Didn't ask if you did."
The nerve of this man.
"You don't get to just show up," I snapped. "Not after everything."
He finally looked at me, and his expression was unreadable. "I didn't come to start a fight."
"Then leave."
"I'll go when i'm sure you're okay."
I glared at him. "Since when did you care whether i was okay or not?"
Another beat passed. He blinked, slowly. "I don't."
It stung more than it should've.
But it was exactly the kind of answer i expected from him—cutting and clean.
"Then why are you still sitting there?"
"I told you. Someone should be here."
"You don't even like me."
"That's never stopped you from showing up either."
I scoffed. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're exhausting," he said, not with anger, just quiet exhaustion. "But here we are."
I clenched my teeth, hating how calm he was.
I wanted him to be loud, dramatic, anything that would match the storm i was holding down in my chest.
But he just sat there, like a statue with a pulse.
I didn't know what to do with that.
So i looked away again, blinking fast, pretending like i didn't feel everything slipping out from under me.
My world was fast, controlled, full of wins and podiums.
And today it had all come crashing down, taking my pride along with it.
I wasn't ready for this version of myself—weak, bruised, alone.
Except… I wasn't alone.
I hated that.
He didn't talk after that.
He just stayed.
Through the nurse's check-in.
Through the awkward moment when she asked if he was family and he didn't answer. Through the silence that followed my parents leaving after i exploded at them.
And now… it was just him.
Again.
I broke first. "They asked about you."
He turned slightly, his brows barely lifting.
"My parents," I clarified. "They wanted to know who you were."
"What did you tell them?"
"That you were just… someone who show up"
He nodded, like that answer didn't matter either way.
"They didn't believe me," I added.
Still, no reaction.
No flicker in his eyes, no twitch in his mouth.
Typical.
"Do you always do that?"
He finally looked at me again. "Do what?"
"Sit there like you're above feeling anything?"
His stare was level. "Do you want me to cry for you, Miss Gutierrez?"
I nearly laughed, but it was hollow. "Maybe i just want you to be real."
"Funny," he said. "That's exactly what i was thinking about you."
Another stretch of silence.
The monitor beside me beeped in rhythm with my breath, and i hated how loud the room felt in between our words.
Everything was too quiet, too tense.
Like we were waiting for something neither of us was brave enough to say.
Finally, I whispered, "I didn't even see it coming."
"I know."
"I thought i could still race. Even with Jupiter sick. I thought… maybe we could pull it off."
"You shouldn't have raced."
I turned to him, sharp again. "Don't lecture me now."
"I'm not." His voice was steady. "I'm just saying what you already know."
I wanted to throw something.
I wanted to hit rewind and erase the whole day.
I wanted to go back to training with him, arguing with him, driving with him.
Anything but this.
"I failed," I whispered.
"No, you didn't."
"Then what do you call it?"
He hesitated, then said, "A bad day."
I rolled my eyes.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You think you're the only one who's ever lost something they were sure they'd win?"
"It's not the same."
"You're right," he said. "You're the great Anastasia Isabela Araneta Gutierrez. You were supposed to be untouchable."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not."
I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw something—tiredness, maybe or something deeper, harder to name.
A flicker of something fragile behind the coolness.
"I just wanted them to be proud of me," I said softly.
"I think they are."
"They didn't come."
He didn't argue.
And i didn't explain how it felt looking into the audience and finding him instead of them.
I didn't say how much i hated him for being there, how much i hated myself for wanting him there.
For looking for them and feeling something twist in my chest when it was him i found.
"You should go," I said again, but it came out weaker this time.
He didn't answer.
He just stayed seated.
Through the evening.
Through the nurse checking my vitals again. Through the moment my hands started to shake and i had to pretend it was just the meds.
He stayed.
And this time, I didn't tell him to leave.
Not again.