Chapter 3

"Why did you block her?" Derek demanded, bursting into the rehab room four days later.

I was sitting on a padded table, working on my balance. My therapist steadied my shoulder as I turned toward him.

Tiffany stood behind him, dabbing at her eyes.

"You need to leave," I said. "I'm doing rehab."

"The TV crew came today," Tiffany said. "I tried to call you during the interview. Everyone watched me sit there waiting."

"I didn't agree to be in your interview."

Derek came closer. "I arranged that for you. I wanted people to know the new captain was someone you saved, someone you trained."

I'd turned down interviews after my own rescues because he'd asked me to. "Rescue work isn't a performance," he'd told me.

His gaze dropped to the sweat on my forehead. He reached to wipe it, and I turned away.

"Is this for me," I asked, "or do you need me to make her look good?"

"Can you stop being so childish?"

I picked up my phone and unlocked it. "Look at how many times she's called me."

He snatched it from my hand.

"Derek. Give it back."

He stepped beyond my reach. "There, I've unblocked her." His thumbs kept moving.

When he turned the screen toward me, he'd posted on my Instagram.

[This is Aria Lockwood. My account was hacked earlier. Sorry for the confusion.]

"There. That should settle it."

My therapist moved closer. "Aria, do you want them to leave?"

"Yes." I held out my hand. "And I want my phone."

Derek put it on the table beside me. "Pull another stunt like this, and I'll stop paying for your mother's care."

He took Tiffany out with him. I waited until the door closed before asking my therapist to help me back into my wheelchair.

My hands were shaking when I changed my phone's passcode.

Then I changed my Instagram password and signed out the other sessions. I saved a screenshot of his post before taking it down.

Back in my room, I backed up my complaints and Derek's replies, including the one marked No further action.

My lawyer confirmed that the request to preserve the original mission footage had been filed. We still hadn't received the recording.

I put those messages away when Derek called that night. "In three days, you're making a public statement," he said. "The new captain can't have these rumors hanging over her."

"I'm not going on camera."

"Then write it down. Send me a letter. I'll read it for you."

I pressed my thumb against the edge of the phone. "And what am I supposed to say?"

"That it was an accident. That you support Tiffany. Aria, you know what people are saying."

I looked at the circled date beneath my list of things to collect. "I heard you."

He told me he'd arrange everything, then hung up.

Three days later, I watched the transport team wheel my mother's stretcher toward the hospital exit.

I followed in my wheelchair, my bag on my lap. The folded list was still inside; our things at the house would have to wait.

At the new facility, I sat beside my mother while a nurse settled her into bed. Her eyes stayed closed as I took her hand. "We're here, Mom," I said.

I stayed until the nurse had checked what she needed. Then I asked to be taken to my room in the rehabilitation unit.

I removed Derek from my approved visitor list and told the staff not to share my room number.

Once the door was closed, I called my lawyer. "We've arrived. Have the papers delivered."

That afternoon, I opened the rescue team's livestream on my phone.

Derek sat beside Tiffany, wearing the tie I'd bought him for his promotion. She leaned toward him as he checked his watch.

"We're just waiting for Aria's statement," he told the interviewer.

I turned up the volume.

A staff member came into view carrying the envelope my lawyer had arranged to have delivered. She handed it to Derek.

He looked at his name on the front and smiled. "Here it is," he said, holding it up. "Aria's clarification letter."

Tiffany straightened beside him. Derek opened the envelope and drew out the papers.

His smile froze. The camera was still on his face.