by Penny Reid
Quinn, arms crossed, rolled his eyes.
Alex, his hands stuffed in his pockets, watched the scene unfold with a whisper of a sardonic smile.
Whereas Drew and I shared a furtive smirk.
I admit, the first time I’d met Nico, I was a little starstruck, too. On TV he was so funny. And in person he was just so friggin’ nice.
I’d moved past the starstruck stage after a year or so. Now he was just Nico, funny guy, good guy, great cook. Mostly, I was glad to know him.
But right now? Right this minute?
Thank God for freaking Nico.
“What are you doing here? Do you live here?” One of the other police officers asked while the security guards pressed forward, each handing him something to sign while they took turns snapping pictures.
Caleb glanced at his Rolex, gritting his teeth, then crossed his arms. His eyes darted beyond my shoulder, presumably to Kat, and narrowed into threatening slits. So I stepped in his line of sight, sending him a few eyeball threats of my own.
“Actually,” Nico addressed this to Officer Denver, “Kathleen—Kat—is a friend of mine.”
“She is?”
Caleb sighed, loudly.
“Yep. We’ve known each other for a long time, one of my best friends. And how about this?” Nico glanced at Caleb meaningfully, then back to Officer Denver. “I’ll vouch for her, give you some time to figure things out with the judge. In fact, I’ll give you my phone number and you can reach out if you need anything.”
All the officers were nodding before Nico had finished, with Officer Denver giving Nico a grateful smile. “Yeah. Yes. That’s fine.”
Caleb continued watching us all with his weasel eyes while Nico gave the officers his number, then turned a big grin to the nearest of the black suit gang, offering a handshake and a joke. The joke had everyone nearby laughing, including Quinn.
Or maybe Quinn was laughing at Caleb, like I was.
A few minutes later, the officers were gone, leaving Caleb’s private security to fanboy over Nico. I was struck by the sudden urge to dust off my shoulders with the back of my fingers, disaster averted, problem solved.
I was about to turn back to Kat, suggest we head inside, maybe take Wally for a walk, when Caleb abruptly darted forward, making a reckless beeline for his cousin. I moved to intercept, but Drew got there before I did, interrupting the man’s trajectory and staring him down with a glare of Viking-level frost and ice.
“Back off,” Drew rumbled, taking a threatening step forward. Steven was also there, at Drew’s shoulder, trying to look intimidating.
Caleb ignored them, leaning to the side to snipe at Kat, “You’re staying here?”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Her voice was devoid of emotion.
“Are you sure about that? While you were off getting married to Sinn Féin over here,” he gestured to me as I came to her side, “your father had a stroke, and was admitted to the hospital.”
Kat stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“Zachariah is in the ICU,” he spat, giving Kat a mocking glare. “He was admitted three weeks ago.”
“ICU? Three weeks . . . ?” Kat’s gaze dropped and I could see she was trying to process this news.
“Marks didn’t tell you?” Caleb’s mouth twisted into a smug smirk and he took a step away, looking satisfied by her bewilderment and his point scored.
Her gaze cut back to his, but she said nothing.
“He didn’t tell you . . .” He seemed surprised. “Of course. Don’t you see? He’s been making all the decisions, keeping the old man on life support for three weeks, so he won’t die, so you won’t inherit. Marks has been pulling your strings for years, he’s pulling everyone’s strings. You’re his puppet. You think he’s going to like your new thug of a husband? Hmm?”
Ashley came to stand in front of Kat, blocking Caleb from view and slipping her arm around Kat’s waist. “Come on, baby. Come with me. We’ll call, check on your daddy.”
Meanwhile, Sandra placed a staying hand on my arm, giving me a little headshake and mouthed, He’s not worth it.
She then inserted herself between me and Kat, wrapping her arm around her from the other side. “Yes. Let’s make tea and check on your father. Now that you’ve crushed this little man’s evil hopes and dreams, I imagine he has a hairless cat to stroke and a monologue to prepare.”
The group of them strolled slowly into the building, Drew and Steven in front, Alex between Sandra and Caleb, with Nico bringing up the rear as he waved and smiled to his adoring fans.
I watched her go, made sure she was safely inside and the door was shut, before turning my attention back to her cousin, ready to administer any and all nature of threats to ensure he backed the fuck off, including but not limited to raining down an ungodly firestorm of—
“Dan.” Quinn stepped into my line of sight, his arms crossed, his voice low. “You need to go.”
“I need to cut his tongue out and shove it up his ass.”
“Yeah, maybe later.” He shrugged. “But right now, you need to take the plane and go to Boston with Kat.”
That pulled me out of my violent reflections, my eyes refocusing on Quinn. “What?”
“Take Kat.” His expression was patient, but concerned. “Take her home to Boston. Her dad’s in the ICU. She needs to see him. You can get there tonight, three hours from now she could be sitting at his side.”
I was nodding before he was finished. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Take the plane.” He gave me a pat on my shoulder. “I’ll call ahead. Everything will be ready. Just take her and go.”
I started around him, but then stopped. “Wait, what about Wally?”
Quinn blinked at me once, giving me a look like, come on man. “Alex,” was all he said.
Right. Alex. Wally loves Alex.
My friend lifted his chin toward the building. “Go. And don’t worry about this dipshit.” Quinn’s eyes turned cold as we both glanced at Caleb, now several feet away and ranting to someone on his cell phone while intermittently screaming at his security detail that they were all fired.
“He won’t be bothering you for a few days.” Quinn’s mouth curved into a subtle smile. “Maybe even longer.”
Part II
What Happens in Boston, Becomes Headlines All Around the World
Chapter Seventeen
Medical Power of Attorney: “A legal instrument that allows you to select the person that you want to make healthcare decisions for you if and when you become unable to make them for yourself.”
—Wex Legal Dictionary
**Kat**
I messaged my professors and informed them my father was in the hospital and I didn’t know when or if I’d be returning to class. I also promised to keep them in the loop as much as possible. Then I sent an email to my boss and Ms. Opal communicating a similar message.
I then sent a text to Steven, letting him know I’d be out of town. Dan messaged Quinn and asked Janie to spread the word.
I didn’t feel like talking during the flight. Mostly, this was because I didn’t know what I was feeling apart from angry with Eugene and stunned by the news about my father.
Dan, apparently sensing this, didn’t try to speak to me. But he did hold me the entire time we were in the air. He held my hand as we walked through Logan Airport, in the car on the drive to the hospital, and once we arrived.
He held my hand as I approached the reception desk, when the hospital administrator—who’d been expecting us because Ashley had called ahead—guided us to the ICU. As we boarded the elevator and as we walked the halls, I noticed he seemed to be looking around, perhaps expecting another ambush from Caleb, or for someone to stop us.
No one did.
When we finally arrived at my father’s room, Dan pulled me close, bringing me against his chest and holding me there.
We didn’t go inside. Instead, we stood outside the glass room and looked in. I could barely see hi
m. He was hooked up to some kind of breathing apparatus that covered the bottom half of his face. Plastic tubing traveled from him to various machines, which beeped or buzzed, but held no significance to me.
Dan was the first to speak. “What can I do?” He punctuated this with a kiss on my temple.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I expected to feel something different than what I’m feeling.”
“What are you feeling?”
“Ms. Caravel-Tyson?”
Dan and I both turned toward the sound of my name, finding a doctor hovering some feet away. Next to her was the hospital administrator who’d led us through the labyrinth of elevators and hallways to the ICU.
“I’m Dr. Merkel, your father’s attending.”
Shaking myself, I extended a hand. “Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you. This is my husband, Daniel O’Malley.”
She took my hand, then Dan’s, giving us both a perfunctory smile; I was grateful for her professionalism. “I understand that you haven’t been informed about the full extent of your father’s condition?”
“Please assume I know nothing.”
Her smile fell completely away, and the grim set of her mouth reminded me a little of Eugene’s when he was about to deliver bad news.
“Your father is on life support. He had a stroke three weeks ago, a very severe stroke, and had no heartbeat for over seven minutes as they attempted to revive him.”
The hospital administrator stepped forward, butting in eagerly, “Please know, Ms. Caravel-Tyson, we’ve done everything we possibly can. No hospital in the world could do more. We understand your father is a very important person—as are you—and his support to our institution has meant—”
“Yeah, she gets it. This place is the best.” Dan held out a hand, effectively cutting the man off. “Now isn’t the time. Okay?”
“Yes. Of course. I’m so sorry.” The administrator glanced between us, nodding, then took a step back, clearing his throat and looking a little embarrassed.
Dr. Merkel shot the man an impatient look, crossed her arms, and continued, “Mr. Tyson’s brain shows no frontal lobe activity. He is effectively brain-dead.” She paused here, as though waiting for me to cry, or gasp, or demonstrate some emotion.
I didn’t.
She continued, “He is only alive because of the measures taken, but—in our team’s opinion—he will not recover from his present state. He cannot breathe on his own. This means you should prepare yourself for when the life support measures are removed. He will not survive beyond a few minutes.”
I nodded, absorbing this information, and feeling very detached from it. “I understand.”
Dr. Merkel studied me, then asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Do you want to go inside?” She lifted her chin to the glass box behind me, her tone gentle. “Do you want to say goodbye?”
“Goodbye?” I felt Dan stiffen at my side. “You just said he’d live as long as he’s hooked up to the machines.”
“Yes. That’s right. But, the order came down earlier today, your father is to be removed from life support tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Dan and I shared a look. “You’re taking him off life support tomorrow?”
“I thought that was why you were here.” Her gaze moved between the two of us. “To say goodbye.”
I shook my head, looking to Dan. This was all happening too fast, I couldn’t keep up.
“Thank you, Dr. Merkel. We’re going to need a minute.” He held me to him and I was grateful, because he felt like the only solid thing in the world at that moment. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the floor beneath my feet shifted into quicksand.
“Of course.” Her gaze lingered on Dan for a protracted moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Mr. O’Malley, was it?”
“That’s right.”
She seemed to consider him before asking, “Are you related to Eleanor?”
Dan drew in a quick breath, standing up straighter. “Uh, yeah. She’s my mom.”
The administrator perked up at this, a small smile brightening his face. “Nurse O’Malley is one of our best, we’re very proud to have her on our team.”
Dan gave the man a look that told me he was uncomfortable, but he only nodded, muttering, “Thanks.”
Dr. Merkel lifted her chin, looking at us like we were something new, her voice losing some of its formality. “Does she know you’re here?”
Dan shook his head. “No. Is she working tonight?”
“Your mom?” I looked at him, not following the conversation.
He gave me a contrite shrug paired with an apologetic smile, whispering close to my ear so only I could hear, “She’s an ICU nurse here.”
I started and my mouth fell open.
“I saw her earlier.” Dr. Merkel checked her watch. “I’m not sure, but I think her shift may have just ended.” Then she looked at me. “Do you want me to call her? You should lean on your family, let them take care of you.”
“I—I don’t—” I struggled to respond. Did I want Dr. Merkel to call Dan’s mom? A woman I’d never met? So I could lean on her?
I didn’t think so.
But I couldn’t quite think. And before I’d managed to pull my wits together, I felt Dan tense again, this time his fingers dug into my upper arm.
“Oh no,” he said quietly.
I looked at him. He was staring with wide eyes beyond Dr. Merkel, his posture rigid. I followed his gaze, and found the object—or rather, the person—of his focus.
A woman about my height, with auburn hair pinned in a bun, wearing scrubs with little puppies on them, was walking toward us. Eyes, big and brown and almost identical to his, swung from Dan to me.
I could only stare as the woman approached, as she greeted Dr. Merkel, as she sent her son a hard look, and finally, as she stepped forward, standing directly in front of me, her eyes impossibly warm and compassionate.
“Oh Kathleen, my darling. I’m so very, very sorry,” she whispered, reaching for my hands and holding them in hers, her eyes misting as they moved over my face in a look that could only be described as compassionate. “Take a few moments, gather your thoughts, and decide what you want to do. If you want to spend the night here, just say the word. We can set you up in a room nearby, or you can sit with your father. It’s entirely up to you.”
I nodded, and—inexplicably—I felt my chin wobble.
She tutted, her hand coming to my face and cupping my cheek lovingly, making me feel like she’d done this to me a hundred times.
Maybe she had, but not to me. Maybe she’d comforted a hundred daughters, perhaps over a thousand.
“But if you want to leave and come back tomorrow, you should. That’s completely understandable. You have some difficult days ahead of you and you’ll need your strength.”
I nodded, blinking against my blurring vision.
“Oh, my dear. My poor dear.” The next thing I knew, she was pulling me into a hug and I was clinging to her. I was also crying.
I didn’t want to stay.
I sat with my father for fifteen minutes. The sound of the machines, watching his chest’s artificial rise and fall, but otherwise his body’s complete stillness, it felt like he was already gone.
So I left the glass room and rejoined Dan and his mom, Eleanor, in the hall and we all left together. She wrapped her arm around me as we walked, encouraging me to lean on her shoulder and promising me tea and cookies when we arrived home.
Home.
I didn’t think about it. I just let the tide take me. The three of us got in a car, minutes passed, Dan held my hand. Eleanor’s pleasant voice filled the silence with news about various family members; the way she spoke reminded me of Dan, and her stories probably would’ve made me laugh in normal circumstances.
After a short time, we arrived at our destination, a three-story house on a tidy street in Jamaica Plain. Dan and the driver brought in the bags while Eleanor e
scorted me into the house.
The first thing I noticed was the giant crucifix hanging over the entryway table where some people might’ve placed a mirror. Around the crucifix were several beaded necklaces with more, smaller, crucifixes attached to the end of them. On one side of the big cross was a picture of Jesus and a picture of the current pope. On the other side was a picture of John F. Kennedy and a picture of Martin Luther King Jr.
I huffed a little laugh, not because I thought anything about the display was funny, but because it caught me by surprise.
“I have cookies, but I know it’s late, and I know you just got off a plane.” She led me out of the entryway, an arm looped in mine. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping, and you decide what you want to do.”
Belatedly, as she guided me up the stairs, I realized the first floor of the house smelled like fresh baked bread and cookies. As we climbed the wooden steps, the aroma of orange oil and caraway seed greeted me. I glanced at the gleaming wooden banister, deciding she must polish it often for the wood to look so fine.
We skipped the first door in the second floor hall, and stopped in front of the second.
“This was Dan’s room growing up.” She gave me a little smile paired with a slight shrug as she revealed the room and encouraged me to walk in.
It was medium-sized, with a sturdy if not beat up dresser, a queen-size bed, and a nightstand. The walls were wallpapered with posters, some were of bands, some were of women in very little clothing, but most were of hockey players.
“He liked the Bruins,” she gestured to a team poster. “Takes after his mom that way.”
“He’s great,” I blurted, nodding for no reason. “He’s so great. He’s the best. I don’t deserve him.”
Her smile was immediate, but subdued. She opened her mouth, like she was going to respond, but we were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the staircase. Dan appeared a moment later in the doorway, holding our bags.
He stopped short, looking between the two of us. “Can I come in?”