by Ginny Baird
Honor immediately headed to her father, but Nick hung back.
“No crying,” Matt said, the words slurred. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “So beautiful. S-sorry…missed it. Graduated. I’m so proud. And I love you, baby girl.”
“Don’t talk, Dad.” Honor kissed his cheek. “Mom recorded it all. You can be bored with it later—when you’re better.”
Matt nodded, the movement stiff. “Good.” He was hurting; she could hear it, see it. “Nick?” The word a plea.
Nick crossed the room, hands shoved in pockets, jaw muscle working. “I’m here, Dad.”
Matt reached up, his hand shaking so bad that Nick had no choice but to cradle it in both of his.
Felicity saw her boy’s chin quiver, saw him wrinkle up his nose, the way his breathing hitched. He’d held on to his resentment for so long, he wasn’t about to lose control now. But seeing him struggle hurt—so much.
“I love you, son.” Matt spoke clearly, enunciating carefully. “I love you both so much.”
“We love you, too, Dad,” Honor said, kissing him again. “You just concentrate on healing thoughts. Good stuff. Fast cars and ice cream and puppies and—”
A nurse came in, effectively shooing the kids away while pulling the rails up on his bed. “It’s time, Dr. Buchanan.”
“One second,” Matt said. “Felicity.”
Felicity jumped. “Yes?”
Matt waited until they were alone before speaking. His gaze pinned hers, and his voice wavered. “Amber’s dead. Jack.” His face crumpled. “And Jack…”
Her heart stopped. “Matt, I—”
“He’s alone, Felicity.” His blue eyes bore into hers. “Please…” He pressed his head back into his pillows, closing his eyes. “Take him.” It was a gruff whisper. “Love him.”
She stepped closer, hating the crush of air from her lungs. “He needs you, Matt.” She leaned over him. “You’re his father.”
His gaze burned. “I’m a doctor; I know what’s happening. This is it.” He spoke calmly, even as his eyes glistened. “I’m asking you to care for my son.”
“Matt…” Felicity stared at him through horrible, painful tears. “Fight. You hear me?”
“Please, Filly.” He grabbed her arm. “Please.”
She squeezed his hand. “I promise I will. You promise you’ll fight.”
He nodded once, relaxing against the mattress.
“We’re going now, Dr. Buchanan.” The nurse brushed past her, kicking off the brake on the hospital bed.
Felicity trailed behind, numb.
“He will be okay,” Honor said, taking her hand. “He’s so fit and healthy. He’s going to be fine.”
Felicity squeezed her hand, unable to shake the dread seeping into her bones. She wanted to believe that was true. But the look on Matt’s face… “How long will the surgery take?” she asked Graham.
“It depends. A while.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I can call you if you want to go home?”
Honor shook her head. “We’re staying, right, Mom?”
She nodded. “Nick?”
Nick was still staring at the doors they’d wheeled Matt through. “We can stay.”
“Want to see Jack?” Graham asked.
“Jack?” Felicity frowned. “He’s here? Matt said they were leaving him home with a babysitter.” This wasn’t a place for a baby. Especially now. Her heart ached for the little boy. For Amber. And for Matt.
Graham stared at her. “Jack…he was in the car, too.”
Felicity stared at Graham, sinking further into despair. “He was?”
“Oh my God.” Honor covered her mouth, bursting into tears then. “Is Amber with him? Poor little guy’s got to be freaking out.”
Graham looked at her but didn’t say a word.
“Is he hurt?” Felicity asked.
“He’s in a coma—sustained some head trauma,” Graham said. “His right femur is broken and there’s a lot of scrapes and bruises. But children are amazingly resilient.”
“Amber can sit with him.” Nick shoved his hands into his pockets, shooting a look at Honor.
“No, she can’t.” Felicity shook her head.
“Yes, she can,” Nick argued. “He’s her kid. Her problem. Not yours.”
“Nick, he’s your brother,” Honor argued.
“No, he’s not,” Nick shot back.
“Nick.” Felicity faced her son. “He is your half brother.” She touched Nick’s cheek. “And he needs us right now. Amber died in the crash.” She pulled Honor close, trying to hug them both—but Nick stayed stiff. “That little boy has no one in the world except your dad. And us.”
Nick stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
“I could use some coffee,” Graham said. “Anyone else?”
“Yes, please, Graham. Thank you.” Felicity looked at the man who’d once been one of her closest friends. “And thank you for being here.”
“Jack’s around the corner.” Graham nodded. “Nick, walk with me?”
“Come on, Mom.” Honor held her hand out. On her daughter’s face she saw everything that was churning inside of her. Fear, determination, sadness, and the need to do something so the horror of the night wouldn’t bring her to her knees.
…
Graham glanced at his daughter, Diana, sitting in the corner of the hospital cafeteria. The thick black eye makeup she wore ran in tracks down her cheeks, her chin rested on her knees, and her earbuds were—as always—plugged in. She was mad at him—as always. This time, he’d been the asshole who was stopping her from having a life. Meaning he wasn’t letting her drive five hours away with a bunch of kids he didn’t know to listen to a band called Broken Souls.
She saw him, saw Nick, and wiped her cheeks. His first instinct was to go to her, to hug her, to comfort her. But she’d already told him what he could do with his instincts. Nothing like hearing your daughter tell you to screw off to warm the cockles of your heart.
“Coffee?” he asked Nick.
Nick shook his head, pacing back and forth while Graham fed coins into the coffee machine.
“Soda?” he asked.
Nick shook his head again, rolling his shoulders.
“Candy bar?”
Nick stopped, leveling him with a hard look. “I’m good.”
He doubted that. And while the boy had every right to be upset, something told Graham it went deeper. Before his wife had died, before Matt had deserted his family, before his and Matt’s practice had disintegrated, he’d known Nick well. Holidays, birthdays, summer cookouts, vacations—the Murphys and Buchanans had been close. And then life had taken a rapid nosedive, his world splintering into pieces so small there was nothing recognizable left. He glanced at Diana again, her too-skinny frame turned away from them as she held on to this latest grief with every fiber of her being.
She believed she was a ‘magnet for bad-luck’. From her grandparents to her pets to her mother, Diana’s life did appear to be one long strand of miserable pearls. And now, tonight.
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