Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny ( Quintessa and Tyrone )
Chapter 297

Quintessa let go of Tyrone's hand and turned to leave the room. Manny glanced at him, quickly grabbed her stuff, and followed her out.

Tyrone felt as if there was a lump in his chest, making it impossible for him to voice his feelings. He wanted to call out to Quintessa, to say something - anything - but the words just wouldn't come. He could only watch as she walked away.

He didn't immediately chase after her. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions clouding his mind. He felt utterly miserable.

His phone began to ring, but Tyrone was in no mood to check or answer it. However, the relentless ringing eventually wore him down, and he checked the caller ID to see it was his mom.

With a heavy sigh, he answered, "Hey, Mom."

"Ty, where have you been hiding these past few days?"

He lied effortlessly, "Busy, working late."

Mrs. York snapped back, "Working late, my foot! I went to your office, and Jason told me you haven't been in for two days."

Caught in his lie, Tyrone remained unfazed, "Oh, I was on a business trip."

"A business trip? Since when do you go on business trips alone? Don't treat me like a fool, Ty."

"I'm dealing with some stuff, Mom. Just leave it."

He was about to hang up but then thought better of it, "Mom, what does it mean if you see someone doesn't care about her own well-being, never relies on anyone else, and would rather bleed out than ask for help, but it makes you feel bad inside?"

Mrs. York replied, "Well, like there's a weight on your chest, suffocating and aching in a dull, persistent way?"

Surprised, Tyrone exclaimed, "Exactly! How did you know? Mom, when did you get so insightful?"

Mrs. York scoffed, "Tyrone, who are you worrying over?"

Tyrone rolled his eyes, "Worry? It's just she seemed pitiful."

"My dear boy, when have you ever pitied anyone? If you feel sorry for her, that means you genuinely care. Who is she? Tell me." Tyrone felt his heart somehow race at those words, as if something serious was about to happen; he replied, "It's no one."

Mrs. York pressed, "Is it possibly?"

He quickly interrupted, "Stop guessing, Mom. I'll tell you when I figure it out, okay? Gotta go."

"Wait, son, are you in Zion City right now?" Mrs. York's voice trailed off as Tyrone ended the call.

"That little rascal." Mrs. York cussed, tossing her phone aside, calling out, "Wilma! Wilma!"

Wilma hurried over, "Yes, ma'am?"

Brightening up, Mrs. York declared, "Find us a tour group to Zion City, maybe a three-day or five-day package. We're going on a trip." Wilma was stunned, "A trip?"

Mrs. York rarely traveled, especially not on a whim, and when she did, it was usually to some renowned international destination.

With a wave of her hand, Mrs. York urged, "Hurry up. I need to pack. Traveling in this heat is going to be dreadful."

Wilma, puzzled, asked, "But why join a tour group? We could just go by ourselves."

"You don't understand. Going by ourselves makes it look intentional. Joining a tour is different; it's all arranged by them, so it doesn't seem like I'm meddling."

Wilma couldn't help but think that the logic was a bit flawed, but then again, the mother and son often shared the same peculiar reasoning.