Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Where is he?" Taylor’s voice cut through the hushed, sterile waiting room, sharp with desperation. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face, for a nurse, a doctor—anyone who could tell her something.
But there was no one.
No one except Nick.
Her stomach tightened at the sight of him rising from the stiff vinyl chair, his expression careful, measured. He pointed to the set of heavy double doors at the far end of the hall. "Back there. The doctor is with him now."
The air felt thick, suffocating. Taylor hated hospitals—the stifling sterility, the cloying scent of antiseptic that burned her nose, the way every overhead page of a Code Blue sent a bolt of terror through her spine.
She couldn’t be here. She needed to be back there. With him.
Her feet were already moving, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. "What room is he in?"
She didn’t wait for an answer. She wouldn’t.
Nick’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist just as she reached the doors.
"Taylor, wait."
She yanked, trying to shake him off. "Let me go."
"Listen to me?—"
"Not now, Nick. We can talk later." Panic clawed at her throat, made her voice sharp, shaky. "I need to see my grandfather."
"That’s what I’m trying to tell you." His grip was firm, steady, and the gentleness in his voice only made her heart pound harder. "Only one person can be with him right now. Your grandmother just went back."
Her stomach plummeted.
Nana.
Taylor swallowed hard, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. She needed to see him—she needed to tell him she loved him, just in case?—
No.
She refused to let herself finish the thought.
He was going to make it.
He had to.
Her knees wobbled beneath her. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.
Nick must have seen it—felt the way her body trembled beneath his touch. "Let’s sit down," he murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor in a storm.
She gave a jerky nod, letting him guide her toward the faded green vinyl couch hugging the waiting room wall. As soon as she sat, she realized just how weak her legs had become.
"Tell me what happened." The words came out breathless, barely above a whisper.
Nick’s jaw tightened. "He started having chest pains. Your grandmother called 911. She said she tried to reach you, but no one answered."
Her gut twisted. The mower. She’d been outside, pulling on that stupid, stubborn mower cord, cursing at it, while her grandfather had been struggling to breathe.
"She called me," Nick continued. "I met her here at the hospital. She thought you might be with me."
Nana, ever the optimist. Ever hopeful.
Taylor’s fingers curled into fists in her lap.
"Your grandfather will be fine," Nick said.
She snapped her head up. "You don’t know that."
His lips pressed together, but he nodded. "No. But I’ve certainly bent God’s ear since I’ve been here." He attempted a small smile, but his blue eyes remained clouded with worry. "I’m betting He’ll make Bill well just to shut me up."
A shaky breath escaped her. "I hope you’re right."
"I know I am."
Her fingers dug into her purse, searching for a tissue, but her hands were trembling too much to grasp one. A few stray tears slipped free, trailing down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Nick reached for her hand, his grip warm, solid. "If they don’t come out in five minutes, I’ll go check."
Taylor glanced at her phone, her knuckles white. "If someone’s not here in two minutes, I’ll check."
Nick exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You’re one determined woman."
She barely heard him, her mind locked on the door, on the seconds ticking down.
"Taylor?"
She tore her gaze from the clock. "Yes?"
Nick hesitated, then locked eyes with her, his blue gaze shining under the fluorescent lights. "I’m sorry about this morning."
The words hit her like a shock of ice water.
Her chest ached, but she shook her head. "It doesn’t matter."
"It does." His voice was rough, weighted. "I should have told you about the job the moment I found out. I was wrong to keep it from you, and I hope you can forgive me."
The pain of his betrayal resurfaced, cutting fresh, raw. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much it hurt.
But this wasn’t the time.
She opened her mouth—to tell him so—but the sharp ring of his phone interrupted her.
Nick sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Lanagan." His voice was clipped, professional. Taylor barely paid attention, her eyes flicking back to the hallway.
Thirty seconds.
His expression darkened. "Now? Erik, you’ll have to reschedule. Yes, I understand the risk. Anytime tomorrow would be fine."
Taylor pushed to her feet. "You can go, Nick. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do."
She wasn’t being cold. She just couldn’t handle one more thing right now.
Nick slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood. "I’m not going anywhere."
She stared at him.
"We’re going to check on Bill," he said firmly.
Something inside her cracked. She didn’t want to do this alone.
Nick must have seen it because he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers lightly over her lips. "Family is more important."
Something flickered inside her. Something deep and terrifying.
But she didn’t have time to think about what it meant.
Not when a familiar voice suddenly called her name.
"Ms. Rollins?"
Her head jerked toward the hallway.
Dr. Pierce.
The sight of him sent a bolt of ice through her veins. His white coat. The stethoscope draped around his neck. That same calm, clinical expression he’d worn when he’d told her?—
Her stomach twisted.
He had been the one to tell her about her father.
Now he was here. Telling her about her grandfather.
Nick’s arm slipped around her waist, a silent, grounding presence.
She forced her voice not to shake. "How is he?"
Dr. Pierce hesitated. The same way he had before.
Her chest tightened.
No. Please. Not again.
"He’s stable."
Her knees nearly buckled.
"However—"
Her stomach dropped again.
The doctor met her gaze. "His heart is in atrial fibrillation. We’re preparing to perform a cardioversion. The consent forms are being signed now."
Taylor’s breath caught. "Shock his heart?"
"It sounds dangerous, but it’s the best course of action. He’s strong otherwise. I’m optimistic."
Nick squeezed her hand, grounding her.
Taylor nodded, even as the lump in her throat grew. "Please… just do everything you can."
Dr. Pierce gave a brief nod. "We will."
“Thank you. He and my grandmother are all I have.” Taylor exhaled shakily, struggling to keep herself together.
Nick’s voice was low against her ear. "What you told the doctor wasn’t entirely true."
She turned to him.
His gaze was intense, unwavering.
"You also have me," he murmured.
Her throat constricted.
She wanted to believe him.
For now, she thought.
But for how long ?
* * *
Tony took a slow sip of coffee, his gaze fixed on the restaurant’s glass doors. Claire was late. As usual.
The silence inside the nearly empty restaurant stretched around him. The clink of silverware and low murmurs of conversation drifted from a small group of businessmen at a table near the back, but otherwise, the place felt hollow. He had chosen a window seat, wanting space, wanting clarity—two things that had eluded him for weeks.
Tomorrow, at ten a.m., he’d be on a plane, leaving all of this behind. Cedar Ridge. Claire. Taylor.
He swallowed the last bitter dregs of his coffee just as Claire swept through the entrance, her arrival as dramatic as ever.
“I thought I said to wait in the lobby.” She barely glanced at him, instead pulling off her designer sunglasses and slipping them into her handbag. Her lips, painted a shade too deep for daylight, curved into a smug smile as she brushed an absent kiss against his cheek before sinking gracefully into the chair across from him.
Tony didn’t return the smile. He simply set his cup down, the ceramic clinking softly against the saucer. "You also said we’d meet at three."
Claire lifted a perfectly manicured brow as she flipped open the menu. “You’re such a clock-watcher.”
He didn’t bother replying. She wouldn’t apologize. She never did.
A waiter appeared beside their table, young, tanned, ridiculously eager. His sun-streaked hair and toned arms gave him the look of someone who belonged more on a surfboard than serving iced tea.
“What can I get for you?” The kid’s attention was all on Claire, his smile a little too friendly.
Claire, of course, basked in it. She tilted her head, her dark lashes sweeping down in a well-practiced move that Tony had seen her use a thousand times before. “I’ll have a glass of strawberry apricot iced tea.”
The waiter’s grin widened. “Will that be all?”
Claire let her gaze linger, full of practiced charm. “For now.”
Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes—or gag.
Claire’s gaze followed the waiter until he disappeared into the kitchen.
“You’d be robbing the cradle with that one,” Tony said dryly.
“He’s cute.” Her smile was slow, indulgent. “Did you notice?”
“I’ll make sure to check him out when he comes back,” Tony deadpanned.
Her amusement flickered. Then, just as quickly, her expression cooled. A knowing gleam sparked in her dark eyes as she reached across the table, resting her hand over his.
“Don’t be jealous.”
Tony laughed, short and sharp. "Jealous? As if."
For a split second, something flashed across her face—hurt, maybe. But then, just as fast, it vanished behind the steel of her well-rehearsed indifference. She pulled her hand back.
Tony sighed. "Claire, I’m sorry."
Her eyes narrowed. "Let’s get down to business." The flirtation disappeared, replaced by something sharper. "Did you succeed in your mission?"
Tony glanced toward the kitchen just as the waiter reappeared, moving with annoying efficiency. He took his time setting Claire’s iced tea on the table, his movements deliberate, his eyes lingering on her a beat too long.
“Thank you,” Tony said flatly, cutting the moment short. “That’ll be all for now.”
The kid hesitated, clearly waiting for Claire to object, but when she didn’t, he turned and walked away.
Tony leaned forward, his fingers laced together on the table. His voice dropped to a low, warning tone. “And what if I had succeeded, Claire? Were you planning to broadcast it to the world?”
She sat up straighter, her eyes gleaming. "You did it!"
The raw, gleeful excitement in her voice made Tony’s stomach turn. How had he ever found her attractive?
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He let the moment stretch, let her bask in her victory. Then he took a breath and shattered it.
“I didn’t even try.”
The change was immediate. The sparkle in her eyes darkened into something cold and unreadable.
Her voice, when it came, was dangerously smooth. "What kind of game are you playing?"
He had to give her credit. No screaming, no throwing things. Claire was smarter than that.
"No game," Tony said simply, leaning back. And for the first time in weeks, he felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation—peace.
"Taylor is my friend," he continued, "She’s in love with Nick. End of story."
Claire didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned forward, her dark eyes burning with something furious, something lethal. "No, it’s not the end."
Her voice was quiet, controlled, but Tony could hear the venom curling beneath the surface.
"I paid you a lot of money?—"
"I’ll pay you back." He said it without hesitation. He’d made the decision the moment he dropped Taylor off at the hospital.
Claire’s lip curled. "With what?" She let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Your good looks?"
Tony absorbed the insult without flinching. He knew what she saw when she looked at him—the same shallow, easy-going man he’d pretended to be. A man willing to take money to manipulate an old friend.
But that wasn’t him. Not anymore.
Seeing Taylor again had been a wake-up call. A reminder of who he used to be. Who he wanted to be.
And for the first time in years, Tony had hope.
Claire must have sensed the shift because her expression changed, suspicion flickering across her face.
Tony smiled. A real one. The kind that had nothing to do with deception.
"You’ll get your money, Claire."
Then he stood, tossing a few bills on the table for the coffee.
"But this conversation?" His gaze locked onto hers. "It’s over."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
For good.