“We’re managing,” Mr. Montgomery replied, his voice gruff with concern. “It helps knowing you’re here though. Eva always did trust you.”
I hovered near the doorway for a second too long before retreating to the same seat I’d claimed earlier. I sank back into the stiff chair, the trail mix forgotten in the front pocket of my hoodie.
I tried not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but it was hard not to hear the fondness in their voices, the shared history. Kate laughed at something Mrs. Montgomery said, and I hated how easy it all sounded.
I kept my eyes fixed on a framed nature print across the room—a forest clearing with no discernible focal point. Just trees andlight and fog. I focused on that instead of the image of Kate slipping back seamlessly into Eva’s world like she’d never left.
Eventually, a woman in pink scrubs and white tennis shoes came into the waiting room.
“Montgomery family?”
Eva’s parents stood. The hospital staffer smiled kindly. “She’s awake,” she said. “Everything went well. You can see her now.”
The nurse disappeared with Eva’s parents, their voices trailing off as they headed down the hall. I stayed in my seat, unsure whether I was supposed to follow or wait until they came back. I was still trying to decide my next action when Veronica Haddish lowered herself into the chair beside mine.
“Now that we’ve got a minute,” she said, her voice low and her tone all business, “I wanted to touch base about next steps. Especially as it pertains to media framing.”
I blinked at her. “Media framing?”
She nodded, opening a slim folder I hadn’t noticed before. “We don’t want to spin this as a setback. Instead, we highlight the comeback arc—her discipline, her resilience, her focus on recovery. We’re going to be fielding a lot of questions over the next few weeks. I want to make sure we’re on the same page before the messaging goes public.”
The folder contained glossy printouts and clipped together notes. I flipped through a mock-up of what looked like a press statement. There were even a few early logo treatments—Eva Montgomery: The Returnscrawled across them in bold serif font.
My stomach tightened.
“Sorry, but is now really the time?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet. “She just got out of surgery.”
Veronica gave me a look that wasn’t quite surprised, but was clearly patient. It was a reaction akin to how someone mightrespond to a naive question in a high-level meeting. “It’s never too early to start protecting the narrative. Trust me, Lex—if we don’t tell the story, someone else will.”
Across the waiting room, Kate stood and stretched her arms over her head. I watched her turn slightly, her eyes flicking to where Veronica and I sat together. I couldn’t tell if she was eavesdropping, but she didn’t exactly look away, either.
I shifted in my seat. “That might be your job, but mine is to be her girlfriend. She doesn’t need a brand strategy right now; she needs rest.”
Veronica closed the folder, looking neither offended nor dissuaded. “Of course. I only wanted to get this on your radar.”
With immaculate timing, the nurse from before returned. She scanned the room briefly before her eyes settled on me. She gave me a gentle smile. “She’s asking for you.”
I was already on my feet, Veronica’s PR folder untouched on the seat beside me.
My initial thoughtwas how small she looked in the hospital bed.
On a basketball court, in an ad campaign, or plastered across a billboard in Times Square, Eva Montgomery was larger than life. In a post-op recovery room in Boston, Massachusetts, she looked young and vulnerable. Fragile.
Her right leg was elevated, wrapped tight in a brace. A cold therapy sleeve hummed quietly in the background. Her braids were a little messy, and her skin had lost some of its warmth. But her eyes lit up when they found me.
“Hey you,” she said, her voice dry and thin. “I wasn’t quite sure you’d make it.”
“I’m so sorry I was late,” I rushed to apologize. I had the strangest urge to fall to my knees. “Traffic was?—”
“You’re here now,” she cut me off. “That’s all that matters.”
I exhaled. Just like that, she let me off the hook. No lecture. No guilt. No scorekeeping. I relaxed with the realization that she wouldn’t hold me to impossible standards—not even now.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Sore,” she admitted. “Still a little groggy.”
I grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it closer to her bed. I took her hand in mine and stroked reassuring fingers across her palm and knuckles. Her skin was cool to the touch when normally she was an inferno.
