Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 194: Your father...

Chapter 194: Your father...

The IV drip attached to his arm dripped steadily, a slow, rhythmic reminder of how fragile his body had become over the past few days. Chris felt hollow. He still hadn’t been sleeping well. Hadn’t been eating properly. Everything felt like too much, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, suffocating him.

His father was still unconscious in the other room.

Five days.

Five days of waiting, of hoping, of drowning in the chaos that had exploded around him. But it felt like an eternity.

Not even one week since he left school.

He had tried to reach Sky.

After days of going MIA. He felt like maybe if he heard from him, anything at all, even his anger, would make him at least keep going.

He had called. Several times. Not through his own phone—he hadn’t seen it in days. His mother, the assistants, and basically everyone else had told him to stay away from the internet, to disconnect until things settled down. But Chris couldn’t. Not really.

Yesterday, he had borrowed Wilson’s phone and tried to call. No connection. He suspected it was the last straw that had made him land in this hospital.

He had tried to call Rachel too. Same thing.

Chris had seen the look on Wilson’s face, though. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. And that had set off something uneasy in Chris’s gut.

Now, as he lay in this sterile, white room, his mind heavy with exhaustion, Wilson stepped inside.

"You have a visitor," Wilson said, his voice carefully neutral.

Visitor?

Who would come here and who would be permitted by his mother to visit him?

Chris barely reacted at first. But then Wilson stepped aside, and the person who walked in made Chris sit up straighter, his pulse spiking.

Rachel.

She looked pale. Not in her usual way, but sickly, like she hadn’t been sleeping either. Like something had shaken her so badly she couldn’t recover.

Chris’s fingers curled against the hospital sheets. "Rachel? What are you doing here?"

Wilson gently slid the door closed behind her.

The moment Rachel’s eyes met his, it was as if a dam had shattered, and the raw, untamed emotion she’d held captive for so long surged forth. Her lips trembled like fragile leaves in a storm, and then, the tears began. Not a gentle trickle, but a torrent, a desperate, silent scream etched in water.

At first, the sobs were a quiet, shuddering earthquake within her, her shoulders convulsing with the force of unspoken pain. But the silence couldn’t contain it. The tremors escalated, becoming ragged, guttural cries that echoed the hollowness inside her.

Chris, his own body a landscape of dull aches and unfamiliar weakness, watched, a knot of worry tightening his chest. He didn’t understand, but he felt the weight of her sorrow, a suffocating pressure. Ignoring the sharp protest of his tired body and reminder from the doctors not to move, he pushed himself up, the IV stand, his companion. He reached for her, his arms a hesitant offering.

She lunged into his embrace, her grip desperate, her fingers digging into the thin fabric of his hospital gown as if he were the last solid thing in a world that had dissolved around her. He held her, his mind a whirlwind of questions, a silent, desperate plea for understanding. Was this for him? For the wreckage of his own life? He doubted it. This was something deeper, more raw.

Chris glanced at Wilson, silently asking what was wrong. Wilson just shrugged before stepping out, leaving them alone.

Rachel’s sobs deepened in his arms, her body trembling as she clung to him. "I... m-missed you," she choked out, her voice breaking. "Why... are you in the hospital? What happened?"

Chris exhaled softly. "I missed you too."

Truthfully, he wanted to ask about Sky. He wanted to know if Sky had tried to reach him, if he was okay. But that would be insensitive—Rachel had come here for him, and right now, she was falling apart.

"What happened to you?" He asked quietly, still holding her and letting his hand move in circles until her voice was steady.

She buried her face in his shoulder, her words muffled against the thin fabric. "They found it out."

It sounded like she wanted to cry but forced herself not to.

"What?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against her hair.

"The lies I told," she whispered, the words broken. "All of them."

A heavy silence descended. Chris understood. The fear of exposure, the terror of losing everything, had always been her shadow. He knew this had always been her worst fear.

"I had nowhere else to go," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "No one to see. I... I also just wanted to see if you were okay."

A wave of guilt washed over him, a crushing weight added to his already burdened heart. He felt the exhaustion, the weariness of their shared pain.

"I’m sorry," she sniffled, pulling back slightly, her eyes red and swollen. "I didn’t mean to... to dump this on you. Not now. Not with everything..."

He scoffed, shaking his head gently. "You are crazy if you think I wouldn’t want you here."

Her lips trembled again.

"If you can’t come to me," he said, his voice softer now, a gentle caress, "then who else are you supposed to go to? Didn’t you say I was your best friend?"

A broken sound escaped her lips, a sob that was half a surrender. She wrapped her arms around him again, clinging to him like a lifeline.

And this time, Chris let himself sink into the embrace too—feeling every bit of the strain and emotion threatening to drown them both.

However, it was shortlived.

The door suddenly burst open.

Wilson stood there, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide.

Chris stiffened. Something about the way Wilson looked made his stomach drop.

Wilson swallowed hard, his voice urgent. "Chris... your father..."

Chris’ blood ran cold.

Rachel pulled away, wiping her eyes.

Chris took a step forward, the IV dragging behind him.

Wilson’s eyes looked like tears were about to drop as he said, "He’s... awake."

For a second, Chris thought he had misheard. His heart slammed against his ribs. "What?"

"He... just woke up," Wilson said quickly. "Your mom—she told me to tell you. But asked that you rest—"

Chris didn’t wait to hear anything else. He pushed past Wilson, yanking the IV needle from his arm as he stumbled toward the door.

His father was awake.

After five days of silence. Of waiting. Of fear.

He was finally awake.