Chapter Nine
Matt delved into the task at hand and studied everything Carrisa sent to him. The ride was long though and soon Matt’s mind wandered. Heading to a hospital brought up his father’s attack again.
They arrived together, moving through the hospital doors as a single unit without discussing it.
Matt spoke first at the desk.
That had already arranged itself.
Dan Symbiac. ICU. Surgery in progress.
The nurse didn’t soften the words. She didn’t need to.
A stab wound. Significant blood loss.
A critical organ seemed to be hit, but she didn’t have anything specific yet.
Then: a question about blood.
No one hesitated.
One by one, they followed the orderly down the corridor. Sleeves rolled. Names confirmed. Vials filled. Bella went pale but held steady, one hand resting instinctively on her stomach. Nate stayed close without hovering. Matt watched all of it with a detached precision that had nothing to do with calm.
Only Ted matched him.
The explanation came quietly, as if volume might soften the implications. Ted nodded too quickly. Already agreeing. Already ahead of it. He gave as much as they would take.
When he came back, he looked wired. Unsettled. His voice too fast, words stacking over each other—talking through procedures he half-understood, outcomes he’d read about in articles no one else finished.
Then he stopped, mid-thought.
“Carissa,” he said, turning toward her. “Can I borrow the car? I need my laptop.”
The concerned sister offered to drive with how much blood he just gave. Noone else today. Ted just said thanks.
Matt and Nate drifted to the cafeteria because there was nowhere else to go.
Food was ordered, placed, pushed aside. Plates untouched. Forks lifted, lowered. The silence between them was thick—too dense to ignore, too familiar to apologize for. Instinct took over. They began talking about finance.
Markets. Positions. Currency pivots.
The technical shorthand of finance was enough to hold the shape of the moment.
It was familiar ground for both of them.
Matt mentioned, almost casually, how he’d introduced Nate to Bella. A networking event. Two firms overlapping. Bella had stopped by to see Matt because she always did—checking in, orbiting without intruding.
Nate remembered.
How she hadn’t tried to impress. How she’d listened more than she spoke.
How that had stayed with him.
The relationship had unfolded quietly after that. No rush. No spectacle. Matt had approved without ever needing to say so. Nate was steady. Good for her. That had mattered.
They talked numbers they didn’t care about.
Trends that wouldn’t matter by the weekend.
It wasn’t conversation. It was survival.
A way to not speak Dan’s name every few seconds.
A way to make the waiting pass without measuring it.
The distraction didn’t erase anything.
It just made the weight of it survivable.