Jace stood outside the hospital under the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, the envelope clutched tightly in his sweating palm. Inside was a check—Elias's check. The amount scrawled on it could cover months of rent, erase debts, and buy his brother a second chance at life. It felt like blood money. And still, he clung to it like salvation.
He stepped into the hospital, swallowed by its sterile chill. The scent of antiseptic and worry clung to every corner. At the reception, a nurse barely looked up when he gave Noah's name, instead motioning toward the surgical ward.
"They're prepping him now," she said. "We're waiting on payment confirmation."
Wordlessly, Jace handed over the envelope. His hands trembled from the unbearable weight of whether he was going to lose his brother, the last family he had left, today.
The nurse took the check and disappeared behind the glass. Jace was left alone with nothing but the echo of his racing heartbeat and the sterile hum of the hospital.
What if it doesn't work?
What if Noah doesn't wake up this time?
The thought choked him.
His phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He fished it out and saw his manager's name flashing across the screen.
Jace closed his eyes briefly before answering. "Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?" his boss snapped. "It's Friday night, we're swamped, and you're a no-show again."
"I told Michelle yesterday. My brother is in surgery. I'm not leaving him."
"You missed Tuesday. You missed last weekend. Do you think this job will wait for you forever? If you keep pulling this crap, you're out. And that means no paycheck, Rivera."
There was a silence. The tension on the line buzzed louder than the hospital lights.
Jace's voice came out flat. "Do what you have to do. Fire me. I'm not leaving Noah."
A beat of stunned quiet.
Then the line went dead.
He stared at the screen, waiting for the usual panic to set in—the frantic voice that reminded him of rent, bills, hunger.
But nothing came.
Only calm.
He was finally still, centered. For once, he wasn't playing a role. Wasn't seducing or manipulating or surviving. He was just a brother, waiting for the boy who meant more to him than his own life.
He moved to the waiting room and sank into a hard plastic chair, knees bouncing, fingers twitching restlessly. Minutes stretched like hours. Every tick of the wall clock was a blade across his nerves.
Please,he prayed. Let him survive.
Around him, other families waited too. A woman clutched a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline. A man murmured into his clasped hands. A teenager sobbed quietly in the corner.
Jace bowed his head, elbows on his knees. Images of Noah flooded his mind—his laughter, his tantrums, his resilience. The way he always looked up to Jace like he could fix everything, even when Jace was breaking inside.
Another hour passed.
Then another.
The surgery dragged on. Each second was a question without an answer.
He got up and paced the corridor, his feet memorizing the tiles. Nurses passed, doctors disappeared behind swinging doors, but no one came for him.
He stared at the door to the surgical wing, willing someone to walk through it.
Three hours.
Four.
It felt like eternity. Jace had lost all sense of time. He sat, stood, paced, sat again. A quiet madness settled in his bones.
Then, finally, a nurse stepped out, scanning the room.
"Mr. Rivera?"
Jace leapt to his feet. "Yes?"
She gave a tired but kind smile. "The surgery is over. The kidney has been successfully implanted. There were no complications. Noah's stable."
The air left his lungs in a single, broken exhale. His knees buckled slightly, and he grabbed the wall for support. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding everything in.
Tears burned his eyes.
"Can I see him?"
"He's still unconscious, but yes. Just for a few minutes."
She led him down a long hallway that smelled like hope and exhaustion. At the end was Noah's room, dimly lit, filled with soft beeping. Machines surrounded his little brother, but Jace's eyes went straight to his face.
Pale. Still. But breathing.
He sat by the bed and took Noah's hand, brushing his thumb gently over the back of it.
"You're so damn stubborn," Jace whispered, voice thick. "Just like me."
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Noah's forehead.
"You're going to be okay now. You hear me? You made it."
Tears slipped down his cheeks freely now, unchecked. His chest heaved with relief, with gratitude, with something close to peace.
He didn't care about the job.
Didn't care about the Crane estate.
Didn't even care about Elias in this moment.
All that mattered was this: Noah was alive.
He stayed like that for a long time, just watching his brother breathe.
Outside, the city buzzed with life, unaware of the miracle that had taken place behind hospital walls.
But in here, Jace allowed himself to fall apart—and slowly, quietly, begin to heal.