Chapter 27
Patrick
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, somehow both taking forever and flying by at the same damn time. I can’t focus on anyone or anything around me; my knee is bouncing, and my palms are sweating as we wait to start the boarding process.
I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t even this big of a mess when I lost Emilia.
Not because it didn’t tear a hole right through me—because it certainly did—but because we had time.
Emilia and I had twenty years together, and while watching her slowly fade away was one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced… it wasn’t this.
It wasn’t this sudden, unexpected, visceral loss.
At the thought that Cain is already gone, I fight to keep my dinner down.
What I’d eaten of it, at least.
Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck, and the tunnel vision forces my head between my knees.
“Dad, do you want some water or anything?” Liam asks beside me.
“No,” I whisper with a slight shake of my head.
What I really want is about six shots of liquor, to pass out for days, and to wake up only when Cain does.
Announcements start for our flight, and suddenly, I feel someone standing in front of me.
Probably someone from boarding group nine lining up already.
But then there’s a hand on my shoulder and a voice I’d recognize anywhere.
“Hey, Patrick. I’m sorry to hear about your friend. What happened to him is awful. If you need anything on the flight, just let me know, okay?”
Finally raising my head, I look up to find Taylor Landry staring down at me with a soft smile.
The harsh fluorescent lights glint off his wedding band, and for the first time since breaking up, I don’t feel anger, sadness, or jealousy over that diamond-studded circle.
I simply hope he’s as in love with Knox as I am with Cain.
I’ve danced around it, said the words at him and in reference to him, but I’ve never come right out and said ‘I love you.’ And now, I may never get the chance.
I nod, too overwhelmed by my revelation to answer verbally, and Taylor begins chatting with Damon and Liam before saying, “See you on board.”
Ten minutes later, I’m clicking my seatbelt into place in my row nineteen aisle seat, when Taylor appears again, discreetly passing me two airplane bottles of bourbon.
“I’m not sure what you need, but if it helps take the edge off, you can have these.”
His kindness may be the final nail in my coffin tonight.
“Thank you,” I mutter, taking the bottles even though I know I’m not going to drink them. I need my head as clear as possible, and I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m Cain’s emergency contact.
Thirty minutes later, the boarding doors close, the safety brief is given, and we’re pushing back from the gate.
When the fasten seatbelt sign is turned off, and the flight attendants begin their beverage service, I start rehearsing what I’m going to say to Taylor. It’s because of him I’m on this flight at all. I need to thank him. To apologize again. Something.
Taylor is still gorgeous. I imagine he always will be. Although he’s aesthetically pleasing to look at, Tay’s beauty radiates outward from within. It’s a light that not even my horrible treatment of him could put out.
I hear the cart approaching, and a man in the row behind mine turns on the charm, shamelessly flirting with my ex. Not that you can always judge a book by its cover, but Tay usually makes his cover pretty damn easy to read, and he was always being hit on by men.
“I’ll take a Sprite, and uh, is there any chance I could get your number with that?”
My anger and fear for Cain bubbles over, and I turn in my seat, replying sharply, “He’s married.”
“To you?” the man fires back without missing a beat.
Seething, I answer, “No. I was the idiot who pushed him away. But he’s married to a very nice man who takes care of him and who loves him very much.”
“He’s right,” Taylor says to the guy as he opens the can of Sprite, handing it to him. “But I’m still flattered you asked. Thank you.”
We’re only thirty minutes into the flight, and my body and mind are both restless. When Tay gets to our row, he places napkins on all our trays, and Liam snorts, looking at Damon.
“Thank God you don’t get hit on like that, because otherwise, I’d punch a lot of shit.”
Taylor smiles.
“You think anyone’s going to hit on him when his face literally says ‘fuck off’ ninety-nine percent of the time?”
Liam’s grin grows wider, and Damon groans.
“Li, shut up,” my son-in-law says in a clear warning.
But of course, Liam does not.
“That face doesn’t say ‘fuck off’, Tay. It says, ‘fuck me’.”
Taylor lets out a bark of laughter.
“Only you would interpret that scowl like that, Liam. What can I get y’all to drink?”
Once we’ve all answered, Taylor turns to tend to the row next to us, and without thinking this through, I grab his hand, causing his head to whip toward me, eyes locked where I’m squeezing.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I whisper.
He can’t hear me over the roar of the engine, though, so he squats down next to my seat.
“What was that?” he asks, a mere ten inches from my face.
“I said I’m so fucking sorry, Taylor. The friend I’m going to see…
he…” How do I explain this? “He’s a big part of the reason that I was the way I was with you.
I’ve learned the hard way that the saying is true: people who’ve been hurt hurt other people.
And you were my ‘other people’.” I’m starting to ramble, but he needs to hear this, and I need to say it.
“You never deserved what I did to you. Any of you,” I add, grabbing Liam’s hand and making eye contact with Damon to make sure everyone is listening.
“Cain and I were fire and gasoline…worse, probably. We were toxic and young, and chose a path that was pretty dangerous at the time. But there are people who mark you forever, and I still carry his scars.” Turning my attention back to Taylor, I reveal the thing that scares me the most. “When I came to the hospital to see you,” I swallow hard, fighting tears, “you were lying in that bed, and I knew it was my fault. Perhaps this is my penance. Maybe the fact that Cain is fighting for his life is my fault, too.”
“Patrick, you’re being too hard on yourself,” Taylor says, finally causing me to choke on a sob.
“What happened to Cain is a terrible act of violence. What happened between you and me was a misguided act of love. Not only have I forgiven you, but I’ve found my happily ever after, and I probably wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for you.
So, give yourself some grace. I hope Cain pulls through and you guys are able to make it work. ”
I twist in my seat to cup his face and run my thumb along his cheekbone.
“Thank you for being there for me when I needed someone the most.”
He places his hand over mine, and it feels like closure.
Finally.
Damon and Liam take care of getting the rental car while I check in with the hospital for an update.
Cain is still in surgery.
We’re going on four hours which can’t mean anything good, but I push that thought away.
He’s going to be okay.
He has to be okay.
The boys drop me off a block from the hospital. It’s the closest they can get with all the police barricades.
In all my concern for Cain, I hadn’t even stopped to consider the chaos this place must be in after an active shooting. People are on vents in the ICU, women are giving birth; it’s not like they can just move everyone out because of the threat.
An officer stops me, and I explain the best I can who I am and why I’m here.
He permits me to move past the yellow police tape and talks into a radio on his chest before sending me along the sidewalk toward the main entrance.
Dan Rutledge greets me inside the sliding doors and reaches forward to shake my hand.
“Mr. Miller, I’m sorry to meet again under these circumstances.
” I stay quiet, simply offering a nod. I’m choosing to believe Cain will pull through, and that means my interactions with this man matter because he’s still Cain’s boss.
But he seems unable to let things go. “I didn’t realize you and Dr. Rosemont had gotten so close in your time here that he would name you his emergency contact,” he says in a curiously judgmental tone as he leads me through a crowded hallway.
We carefully move around officers who are taking statements from patients with bewildered expressions, some still so shaken, they’re sobbing.
“What the hell happened? How did that man get a gun through the doors?” I ask, not offering an explanation to satisfy his curiosity about Cain and me.
“This is an emergency room, not an airport. There are no metal detectors,” Dan says, leading me to an elevator and stepping inside.
“So, people are allowed to just come in and walk wherever they please?”
“Of course not. But as the emergency room of a large trauma center, I’m sure you can understand how chaotic things can get down there.”
“You’re really going to blame the attempt on Cain’s life on your emergency room being understaffed and your employees being too exhausted to maintain order and notice who’s coming and going?
You’re treating stab wounds from gangbangers and overdoses by addicts who will do anything for their next fix, for fuck’s sake! WHY IS THERE NO SECURITY?” I bellow.
The sound ricochets off the metal walls of the elevator, and Dan winces.
“I never claimed to be perfect,” he says.
“Clearly,” I snarl. “What happened to the man who shot him?”
“He shot himself right after.”
I grip the small railing to steady myself. So much fucking loss.
“Why did he come after Cain?”
“Dr. Rosemont couldn’t save the man’s wife.”
The defeat in Dan’s tone tells me there’s more to this story. He’s caving under some invisible pressure.
“Bullshit. Cain can save anyone. I’ve seen him work miracles that would impress Jesus Christ Himself. What really happened, Dan?”