Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I hate the guilt that nags me. It scratches the back of my neck like a stray cat clawing at me.
I haven’t visited Dad much. Mom goes every day, of course, and spends a few hours with him. Falcon and Savannah, his fiancé, go often as well. I’ve probably been there more often than Eagle, though. My younger brother always has his own agenda.
When I reach the hospital, I bypass the valet parking—even though I have fortune enough for ten lifetimes, I’m never ostentatious—and park in the lot. I get out of the truck, lock it with my key fob, and then walk into the hospital, my boots clicking on the marble tile.
I stroll to the elevator, press number four, and head up to my father’s room.
When was I last here?
Last week, I think. I sat next to my mother for about an hour, saying nothing to her or to my comatose father. When a spam text hit my phone, I told my mother it was important and I had to go.
She didn’t ask me to elaborate.
If she had, I would have made something up.
But part of me knew she wouldn’t. She and I are kind of like oil and water. I have no doubt that she loves me just as much as she loves my brothers and sisters, but yeah. We don’t really mix.
When I was little, I wondered if it was because I was the only one who didn’t get her eyes.
Now I realize that we’re just different. We look at life in opposite ways. She likes to tell me I look at things in absolutes—what’s right and what’s wrong. In her eyes, nothing is truly wrong or truly right.
Frankly, I think that’s bullshit.
But she is who she is, and I am who I am.
I walk through the hallway leading to my father’s room.
“Hey, Hawk,” one of the nurses says to me.
I give her a friendly wave and smile. “Hi, Grace.”
“Such amazing news about your dad.” Grace’s eyes shine.
Grace has been my dad’s day nurse since he got here. She’s taken great care of him, and a few times I’ve thought about asking her out for coffee.
She’s really pretty—blond hair, blue eyes, killer body—but something has always stopped me.
“Yeah, thanks.” I give her a smile. “Is my mom in there?”
“Yeah, and Falcon and Savannah too.”
“I’m sure my sisters and brother will be here soon.”
“Anyway…” Grace bites her lip.
“Yeah?”
She sighs. “I need to see your ID.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What? You know who I am.”
“I know. But your brother—”
“Falcon?”
“Yeah. He says we need to ID everyone who goes into your dad’s room now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh…why, exactly?”
She shrugs. “You can ask him, I guess. He’s arranged for an armed security guard to stand outside the room.”
“What the…?”
Grace sighs. “He insists. Claims the security team says no exceptions, not even for family.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She shrugs. “It seems a little excessive, but I just work here. The guard should get here soon. In the meantime…”
I shake my head, pull my wallet out of my pocket, and flash her my driver’s license. “There you go.”
“Great photo!” She smiles. “I look like a caterpillar in mine.”
“How could you look like a caterpillar?” I ask. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
“I’m totally serious.” Grace reaches behind the nurse’s station and grabs her purse. She takes out her wallet and hands me her license.
Oh my God. She does look like a caterpillar. Her eyes are half-lidded, her mouth is scrunched into this awkward uncertain line, and her hair is slicked back so tightly she could pass for a larva mid-transformation.
I glance at her and then back at the photo. “Were you…molting?”
Grace snorts and snatches the license out of my hand. “It was raining. I had the flu. And I was running late, okay?”
“Still adorable,” I say, grinning.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the blush creeping up her neck. “Shut up.”
“Never.” I smile again and then walk the few more steps to my father’s room, where the door is slightly ajar.
“Hey,” I say as I enter.
My father is sitting up in bed, his eyes open. His face is gaunt. He’s lost some weight. I suppose living solely on IV fluids and a food tube will do that to you.
“Hawk,” my mother says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her voice is even. Artificially so. Is she really glad I’m here, or is that just what a mother is supposed to say when she sees her son?
She’s in a chair at my father’s bedside, holding his hand. I walk over, lean down, and give her a kiss on the cheek. Falcon and Savannah are standing at the foot of his bed. I nod to them.
Then I go around to the other side of the bed. “Dad, how are you?”
“I’m… The fence is good,” Dad says. Then he blinks his eyes.