Chapter 2: Emergency Contact, Stranger’s Room

The word echoed in my head. I flicked the butt out the window and watched it fizzle on the asphalt, wishing I could toss my feelings out just as easy.

I leaned against the steering wheel and let out a bitter laugh.

It came out sharp and ugly, bouncing around the empty car. For a second, I almost felt better—like maybe if I laughed hard enough, I could shake it off.

I should’ve marched into that room looking like a million bucks, tossed my hair, and said, “Well, look who it is.” Yeah, right.

In my mind, I’d be the picture of confidence—lipstick perfect, heels clicking, not a care in the world. Instead, I’d barely managed to keep my hands from shaking. Some days, I wish I could rewrite myself, just for a minute.

But I couldn’t even look him in the eye. Just hearing his voice made me want to bolt.

I hated how small I felt, how the past still had its claws in me. I was a grown woman, but in that moment, I was just the girl Eli left behind.

Maybe I am a little pathetic. Guess my best talent is handing over my heart and watching it get stomped on.

I’d always been good at loving hard and losing harder. Some people are built for armor; I’m built for open wounds.

Later, I snuck by Eli’s room a few more times, even asked his doctor about his recovery.

I’d wander the halls with a coffee cup I didn’t need, pretending I was just another visitor. I caught glimpses of him—sometimes laughing, sometimes asleep, always surrounded by people. I never went in. Just hovered at the edges, like a ghost.

His room was always full—men, women, always someone at his side, laughing and talking.

It was a revolving door. Old friends, new faces, even a couple of nurses who seemed a little too invested. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Eli was a magnet for attention, always had been.

Didn’t surprise me. Eli was always the popular one, even as a kid. People just gravitated to him.

He could make anyone feel like the only person in the room. That easy grin, the way he remembered the little things—it was his superpower. Meanwhile, I was always the observer, the one on the fringe.

He was the center of every crowd. Always.

Even now, broken and bruised, he was holding court. It stung, watching him slip so easily back into the role I’d loved and hated in equal measure.

The last time I asked the doctor, he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted: “Honestly, the guy in 214 isn’t that bad off. Minor fracture, mild concussion—he’ll be fine.”

The doctor looked like he’d been running on caffeine and frustration for days. He glanced over his glasses, voice flat but not unkind. I could tell Eli was just another blip on his radar, not the center of the universe the way he was for me.

“I know everyone cares, but could you maybe pick one person to ask about him? I’ve explained his condition eight times today, and it’s making it hard for other families to get updates.” Figures.

He rubbed his forehead, clearly at the end of his rope. For a second, I almost laughed—leave it to Eli to turn a hospital stay into a social event.

I didn’t have the nerve to say I wasn’t family, so I just apologized and ducked out.

My cheeks burned as I mumbled sorry and hurried away. The truth stuck in my throat: I didn’t belong here anymore. Not really.

And of course—right into Eli in the hallway.

I nearly collided with him—my heart thudded, my mind scrambling for an exit. Fate has a cruel sense of timing.

He was flanked by three people—one holding his IV, one with an arm around his waist, another trailing close.

It looked like a parade, Eli in the middle, everyone fussing over him. He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he didn’t hate the attention.

It was like he was some kind of rock star. Unbelievable.

Even with a hospital gown and bedhead, he pulled it off. Some people just have that pull, I guess. The hallway seemed to bend around him.

I heard him grumble, “I’m not an invalid, guys. Let go, I can walk.”

His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of a smile. He never did like being babied, even when he needed it.

Then he spotted me.

Our eyes met, and for a second, everything else faded out. My palms went clammy, and I tried to steady my breathing, praying nobody noticed.

I wished the hospital hallway would swallow me up—there was nowhere to hide my nerves.

I wanted to disappear. Blend into the beige walls. Anything but stand there with my heart pounding out of my chest.

After a second, I managed to say, “Long time, Eli.”

My voice came out smaller than I wanted, but at least it didn’t crack. I forced a half-smile, hoping it looked casual.

“Hey, Eli, who’s she?”

One of his friends eyed me, curiosity sharp. I felt their gaze, measuring, weighing. Judging.

He looked at me, his face unreadable. “Just someone from my hometown.”

His words landed heavy, colder than I expected. For a second, I wondered if he even remembered everything we’d been through.

“So close, I thought she was your ex.”

Someone snickered, and I felt my cheeks flush. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Eli and I leaned on each other for over twenty years. I wore his only winter coat; he wore my only scarf.

We were each other’s safety net, swapping hand-me-downs and secrets. I still remembered the scratchy wool scarf he’d borrowed for months, the way it smelled like his cologne by the end of winter.

We split a plate of grilled cheese. Crashed in the same bed.

Late-night grilled cheese, ramen noodles, and falling asleep tangled up together. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was ours.

Now, we’re just people from the same town.

Strangers, really. The kind you nod to in the grocery store, nothing more.

I gripped my phone and turned to leave.

My fingers dug into the case, knuckles white. I couldn’t stand another second under those fluorescent lights, with everyone watching. Get me out of here.

Eli called after me: “Wait.”

His voice cut through the noise. I stopped, breath caught in my throat.

He asked if I’d paid his hospital bill.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe gratitude. Or maybe just old habits dying hard.

“I saw a call from you on my phone. That was the hospital, right? You’re still using that old debit card, aren’t you? I’ll Venmo you.”

He sounded almost sheepish, like he didn’t know how to fit me into his life anymore.

“No need,” I said. “If anyone should pay, it’s me.”

The words came out before I could think. I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t find the right way.

Eli paused.

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but the words got stuck.

“I spent so much of your money back then, I feel bad. Give me your account, I’ll pay you back.”

He finally met my eyes, voice softer. Maybe he really did feel guilty, or maybe he just wanted to tie up loose ends.