?Chapter 1082:


    Eventually, Gracie caved. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully before addressing Dunn.


    “Dunn, isn’t Rickey the grandson of your teacher?”


    “Yes.”


    Gracie pressed further. “I remember you two being close once. Then, all of a sudden, you stopped talking. Was it because of Aurora?”


    Dunn’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly. His mind was elsewhere. “Yeah.”


    Gracie inhaled sharply. Fred, unable to contain himself any longer, leaned forward. “Are Rickey and Aurora just friends?”


    Dunn’s jaw tightened.


    A mother knows her child best. Sensing the shift in her son’s mood, Gracie quickly ced a hand on Fred’s arm, a silent plea for restraint.


    “Dunn, your father and I don’t doubt Aurora’s character. But if Rickey has feelings for her, doesn’t that put you in a difficult position? Wouldn’t that be unfair to you?”


    “Mom, I trust Aurora.” Ahead, the traffic light flickered red. Dunn eased the car to a stop, his voice steady, firm.


    Aurora boarded the earliest flight to Bristania.


    Rickey wasn’t in the hospital. A man like him, stubborn to the bone, would rather endure pain in solitude than be tethered to a hospital bed. She went straight to his house, barely pausing for breath before ringing the doorbell.


    Rickey’s father answered, his expression betraying his surprise.


    “Aurora? What are you doing here?”


    “Hello, Mr. Kelly.” She steadied herself, trying to mask the desperation in her voice. “How’s Rickey? How bad is it?”


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    Rickey’s father had always been a man of humor, quick with a jest and a knowing smile. But today, his usual lightheartedness was gone. The weight in his eyes told her everything before his lips could form the words.


    His hesitation made Aurora’s stomach drop. Whatever she had prepared herself for crumbled in an instant.


    Before he could answer, her feet had already moved.


    “His room’s on the second floor,” his father called after her. “Last door at the far south end.”


    “Thanks.” Aurora took the stairs two at a time, her pulse roaring in her ears. The moment she pushed open the door, the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant filled her lungs.


    She froze. Nothing else mattered. Not the time lost between them. Not the awkwardness that had settled like dust on their past. Not the tangled mess of emotions she had yet to unravel. All she wanted was for him to be alive.


    “Rickey?”


    Hey there, still as a painting. His body was swathed in bandages, an IV drip trailing from his arm like a lifeline. His face—usually filled with mischief, stubbornness, life—was deathly pale.


    Aurora’s breath hitched. She didn’t realize she’d been holding it until she saw the faint, rhythmic rise of his chest.


    She stepped closer, and Rickey’s pallid face, drained of its usual warmth, sharpened into view.


    Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Rickey’s eyes fluttered open—dazed, unfocused. He blinked against the haze clouding his vision.


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