Chapter Thirty-Six
Aubrey
It took me twenty minutes to get to the hospital.
I’d considered taking a cab, but the rush-hour traffic meant driving would take as long as the subway, and sprinting through the stations at least made it feel like I was getting there faster.
I tried calling Evan on the way, but he didn’t answer, leaving me with nothing but his single text to go on.
Evan: Dad had a heart attack. At Philly Memorial
I could strangle him. He’d always been brief in text, but he could have at least let me know how bad it was, his dad’s current status—something.
Beneath the fright, I recognized he probably didn’t know much more than I did and was dealing with doctors and paperwork and shock, all while trying not to have a panic attack from being back in the hospital where his mom had died.
It was why I hadn’t kept calling. The best way for me to figure out what was going on was to get there.
I did try calling Gabe, but his phone went to voicemail too, and I didn’t want to leave a message about this. Not until I had more information.
It turned out I didn’t need to. He was already in the waiting room when I found the right one, with Evan slouched in the chair beside him.
The picture tugged at my heart, throwing me back to theme park trips and visits to the museum growing up when they would sit side by side on a bench just like that. Except those times, Evan had usually beamed up at his big brother, laughing at something Gabe said.
Now, they both looked drained. Two worn rags with every drop wrung out.
They lifted their heads as I approached. Evan’s eyes were red and puffy.
“How is he?” I asked, bracing for the worst.
“In surgery,” Evan said. “No word yet how it’s going.”
Surgery. A thousand thoughts had to be running through his head from that one word. At least that many ran through mine, few of them comforting.
Before I could think of what to say, Gabe took Evan’s hand in his and squeezed it. More surprising still was Evan squeezed it back.
I sought Gabe’s eyes, no clue what I would see there. Between the tournament, his shoulder, the coaching offer, and last night—so much had happened in so short a time, I wouldn’t blame him for shutting down completely.
But he hadn’t. His gaze shone clearly with warmth, fear, and above all, determination. The kind he wore into a fight, ready to withstand any swing that came his way.
I reached for his left hand with my right and Evan’s right with my left, connecting us in a circle. They clasped my hands back, grounding us together in a way that felt like if we could just hold on, everything would be okay.
I poured every ounce of love, strength, and hope I had into those bonds. Then all we could do was wait.
An hour later, Evan was passed out on Gabe’s right shoulder, and I had taken the seat on Gabe’s left. Still no word on their dad. None of us had said anything since we’d joined hands earlier, finding a strange comfort in the silence, but it was taking everything in me not to break that silence now.
Normally, I had no problem not talking, especially when things were intense. But sitting next to Gabe, all I could think was how I probably wouldn’t have many more opportunities to spend with him in person, and I didn’t want to waste it.
I also didn’t want to throw him off if he preferred the silence. He saved me from having to guess.
“I’ve been trying to decide what my mom would be doing if she were here,” he said quietly, his focus directed out at the room. “I’ve narrowed it down to yoga by the window or holding that woman’s hands and telling her everything will be okay.”
I followed the shift of his gaze to the family in the row of chairs perpendicular to ours, a woman in probably her late sixties holding a fist to her mouth while tears wet her cheeks. Three younger adults—her kids, I guessed—sat shell-shocked around her.
Immediately, my brain filled in the image of Mrs. Hardt kneeling in front of her, holding the woman’s hands between hers, murmuring words of encouragement.
To hold on to hope. That doctors could do miracles these days.
That her husband or mother or sister—whoever it was—would pull through and be bitching about the hospital food in no time.
It was in her nature to put others at ease and prop them up when they were ready to fall down—like a dowel propped up a plant whose leaves had grown too heavy for its stem.
“She was always solid in a crisis,” I said. My lips rose. “Remember when Evan flipped his bike and broke his arm, and I went screaming down the street to call nine-one-one?”
Gabe broke into a grin. “Didn’t you actually scream nine-nine-one?”
I laughed, remembering. “Yeah. Your mom came outside, calmly jogged to Evan, moved his bike onto the lawn, and carried him to the car. I was melting down because I thought his arm was going to need to be cut off, and she didn’t even blink.”
She’d been my superhero. And when she got sick, she’d been stronger than all of us.
I tried to carry some of her strength now. Gabe seemed to be doing the same. Maybe between the two of us, we could offer a fraction of her comfort to each other.
My phone buzzed in my bag, and I dug it out to find a message from Jillian.
Jillian: Looks like a keeper.
Two photos were attached to her message: one of a spotless prep kitchen and one of Mack’s completed paperwork.
Me: She cleaned the kitchen?
I figured she’d just leave, and if I was lucky, she might come back.
Jillian: Was mopping the floor when Luis got there. I added the time to her payroll.
My shoulders sagged in relief.
Me: Thank you
Jillian: Go be with your family.
I didn’t have to tell her that was what the Hardts were to me.
“Everything okay with work?” Gabe asked. “You didn’t leave an event, did you?”
“No.” I showed him the pictures. “I finally have the start to my team.”
It brought back the buzz of excitement I’d had when plans for the catering division were first underway. I’d missed that buzz. Missed looking forward to being in the kitchen.
Allowing myself to open up to Jillian had helped.
It made me feel like she really was on my team, a partner, even though I technically worked for her.
She and Jase had that sort of dynamic at Ardena, but it had taken this long for me to embrace that I got to have it now too.
Almost like I’d been stuck in my sous-chef mentality and had finally stepped into the role of head chef for real.
I looked at Gabe. “Thank you for helping me with all this. You really kept me going.”
Professionally, these had been the toughest months of my life. Tougher even than after my grandma and Mrs. Hardt had died.
Back then, work had been a refuge from the grief. Something I could sink into the tempo of since I wasn’t the one leading the ship. Every little decision hadn’t come down to me. I just did what I was told, even if the one giving the orders was an egotistical prick.
This was the first time I’d had to navigate things on my own, and in what had sometimes felt like floating alone at sea, Gabe had been my inflatable raft.
He gave me a doubtful look. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. You helped me prep for that wedding when the guy I hired bailed. You went with me to get menu inspiration and had my back with Christian. You let me vent and made it okay that I missed my old job. You reminded me I still had a team.”
He’d given me the courage to go to Jillian and Jase for help when, before, I would have rather muscled through the frustration on my own for fear of being a burden.
I never felt like one with Gabe. He’d made me feel safe to voice my wants and needs. To let myself have them in the first place.
He squirmed in his chair as I rattled off the list but didn’t argue against it. Which was good. In the same way I needed to let myself accept it was okay to sometimes take from others, he needed to accept he was capable of giving.
Not just capable. Exceptional.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind how much of himself he would give to his fighters as a coach in Colorado. Envy rooted deep in my chest at how lucky they were.
I was about to ask about the job, since he’d probably gotten more details by now, but a man in dark green scrubs walked into the waiting room.
Gabe and I lurched to our feet as he headed our way, startling Evan from his sleep. He blinked a few times, saw the doctor coming, and jumped to his feet beside us.
The doctor greeted us. “I’m Dr. Cho,” he said, shaking our hands in turn. “I’m the surgeon on your father’s case. He’s doing well.”
Our collective breaths released.
“He was lucky. We had to place three stents in his heart to open the blockages, but so far, they seem to be holding, and his blood flow has improved. I’d like to keep him for a couple of days to monitor him closely, but I have every reason to believe he’ll be fine.”
“When can we see him?” Evan asked.
“We had to put him under general anesthesia, so it will be an hour or two before he’s awake and settled in his room. A nurse will come get you as soon as he is. I’ll check on him regularly throughout the night and will be around tomorrow to talk through any questions.”
“Thank you,” Gabe said.
We shook his hand again and watched him leave.
Evan scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need a sedative.”
“We all need food,” I said. “We should see what the cafeteria has.”
“Maybe one of us should stay here, just in case?” Evan said. “Actually, let me run to the bathroom quick, then whoever wants to go to the cafeteria first can.”
He headed down the hallway for the bathroom, seeming less shaken than before. I doubted he’d actually relax until he was by his dad’s side with his dad awake and talking.
Gabe stared out the window.
“You okay?” I grazed his pinky with mine. The faint touch zinged up my arm, and I curled my hand in on itself to stop from lacing my fingers with his.
He blinked as if coming out of a daze. When his eyes found mine, they were impossible to read. “Can I hold you?”
The question caught me by surprise, twisting my heart, but I recovered quickly. “Of course.”
He could always hold me. Always.
I stepped into his arms, melting under their solid warmth and inhaling the smell of rain that clung to his shirt. I savored the moment, knowing it would be one of the last I’d get in his embrace.
It didn’t stop me from noticing he hadn’t answered my question.