19. Cormac
Chapter Nineteen
CORMAC
The moment the wheels of the plane touch down in LA, my chest tightens to the point of pain. The whole flight, I’ve been running the scenario over and over in my head.
Ray collapsed right in front of Scout.
That’s enough to traumatize a kid for life. And if he doesn’t make it…
The thought makes a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck.
Scout’s terrified voice keeps echoing in my mind, replaying every frantic step he took to alert a neighbor of Ray’s collapse.
My gut twists, thinking about him running down the street, full of adrenaline and fear. No six-year-old should have to deal with that.
I should have been there. I should have seen the signs and anticipated the strain I’d been putting on Ray, the responsibility I dumped on him.
What if he dies, and it’s all my fault?
The cab crawls through the LA traffic, every red light and honk making my stomach tighten.
I hate feeling this helpless. I hate the way my chest aches with guilt.
Ray’s life is fragile, more fragile than I like to admit, and if I fail him, if I fail Scout, I won’t ever forgive myself.
I stalk through the sliding doors of the hospital, ignoring the receptionist’s startled glance as she looks at my face. I don’t have time to ask about visiting hours or to make small talk. I just walk until I hear Ray’s deep voice echoing down one of the halls of the cardio wing.
“Take this fucking thing off me.”
“Sir, you need to keep your IV in?—”
“I’m not in pain.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Well, good luck trying to find a vein.”
I hover in the doorway to the room, feeling overwhelmed with relief at the sight of Ray sitting up and talking. He’s hooked up to half a dozen machines, and his complexion is slightly gray, but he’s alive.
“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?” I say to announce myself.
The nurse turns around to glare at me. “Sir, you shouldn’t be?—”
“This is my nephew,” Ray says without hesitation. “He can stay.”
I walk into the room and drop into the chair beside his bed.
The nurse quickly finishes up with her task and disappears, leaving the two of us alone.
“How are you?”
“Oh, you know…”
“You had a heart attack.”
“I’m aware. Think it’s all those damn pancakes your son makes me eat.”
I know it’s Ray’s way of trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work.
“You could have died.”
“I’m going to die, eventually.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is.” Ray holds a hand to his chest as he winces. “I just don’t want it to be in front of your son. The kid struggles to sleep enough as it is without having nightmares of me corking it.”
“Fuck, Ray. I’m so sorry?—”
He waves his hand with the IV taped in place. “Enough of that. It’s bad enough that you came all this way as it is. There’s no need. Holly is already fussing. I don’t need you to as well.”
“Holly’s here?”
I haven’t seen Ray’s daughter in years, but I’m glad she’s here. I don’t like the thought of leaving Ray by himself, no matter what he says.
“She took Scout down to the cafeteria to get a milkshake. I think he was getting a little anxious seeing me surrounded by all these machines, you know?”
Even I’m feeling anxious seeing Ray like this, so god knows what state Scout is in.
Even though every beep of the monitors is a reminder that he’s alive, it does little to quiet the guilt clawing at me.
I replay the last few months in my mind, the pressure I piled on Ray, the long nights I expected him to cover for me, the phone calls I didn’t take because I was busy. I hate that it’s taken him having a heart attack for me to realize that things need to change, but they will.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Ray’s health is not worth jeopardizing just because I refuse to ask for help.
Finally, I stand and clap Ray on the shoulder.
“I’m going to find Scout. Try not to die while I’m gone.”
Ray huffs a laugh. “I’ll try my best.”
I leave Ray to rest and head down to the cafeteria in search of Scout. I spot him near the vending machines, holding a carton of chocolate milk.
He looks a little pale, but otherwise unharmed.
Relief floods through me at the sight of my son, and my legs move faster than my thoughts.
I scoop him up before he can register that it’s me, but the second he does, he tightens his arms around my neck and buries his face in my shoulder.
For a moment, nothing else exists.
“You did good, Scout,” I whisper. “You saved him. You…you saved Ray’s life.”
His small arms squeeze me back. “Is Ray going to be okay?”
I brush a hand over his hair as I swallow past the lump in my throat. “He’s going to be fine. He’s going to stay with Holly for a little while, just to make sure he rests.”
Scout pulls back, and I set him down on the floor and kneel in front of him.
He looks anxiously down at the floor, and I know something is bothering him.
“What’s wrong?”
Scout glances up at me as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt. “What about me? Where am I going to go?”
“You’re coming home with me,” I say without a second of hesitation.
Scout’s eyes widen before he throws his arms around my neck, almost knocking me over.
I smile. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
“But we can still see Ray, right?”
“Of course. But for now, we need to let him rest.”
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, you know that.”
There’s that anxious expression again that has my chest tightening. I swear I never used to worry this much when I was a kid. Scout must have gotten it from his mother.
“Did Ray end up in the hospital because he ate too many pancakes? Because I’ve eaten a lot, and I don’t want to die.”
It takes everything I have not to laugh. I take his face in my hands. “No, bud. It wasn’t the pancakes.”
Scout lets out a sigh of relief.
“I was worried for a second.”
I ruffle his hair. “Glad to know your priorities are in order.”
After spending some time with Ray, Scout and I say our goodbyes before heading back to the house to collect Scout’s things.
The place feels eerie without Ray’s presence, but Scout doesn’t seem to notice as he starts packing up his toys.
I pause in the middle of his bedroom, taking in the traces of the life I’ve mostly been absent from.
Soccer trophies line the shelf above the desk, each one a reminder of games I never watched and victories I never celebrated with my son.
My body feels weighed down by guilt as I head into the kitchen, where Scout is unsticking a drawing taped to the fridge.
It’s a colorful family portrait he must have drawn of me, him, and Ray, complete with his tattoos and scarred head.
I smile. “I can see the resemblance.”
Scout says nothing as he looks down at the drawing.
“I think Ray should have it.” He tapes it back up and walks out of the room.
I watch him go, feeling my stomach twist.
The poor kid has already lost his mother, and today he almost lost a man who has been more of a father to him than I ever have.
I follow him back into his room, where I find him holding a small soccer medal on a piece of fraying blue ribbon.
“I won this in the district championship… I wish you could have been there.”
I swallow hard, crouching down beside him. “I know, Scout. But I’m here now. And I promise… I’m not going anywhere.”
He studies me for a long moment, then carefully tucks the medal into his backpack as if carrying it with him will keep it safe.
Guilt slashes at me, but mixed with it is a new sense of determination.
From now on, I won’t let him feel the absence of his father the way he has so far. I’ll be here, really here, for him.
We finish gathering his things, some action figures, a few clothes, and some well-loved books.
Once his backpack is fit to bursting, he carries it out to the car.
I watch him carefully, his small hands clutching his treasures, and a strange weight lifts just slightly off my chest.
Scout glances up at me, his eyes, so identical to my own, full of trust.
For the first time since Ray’s collapse, I feel hope that I might just be able to figure this out and be the father that he needs, but more importantly, that he deserves.
It feels like days pass before we arrive at the penthouse.
The moment the elevator doors slide shut behind us, Scout goes still. His eyes sweep over the open-plan living space as he grips the strap of his backpack a little tighter.
“This is…big,” he says quietly.
I almost laugh because that’s the understatement of the century, but I catch myself.
He’s not impressed. He’s overwhelmed.
“Yeah. It takes some getting used to.”
He nods, though I’m not sure he believes me.
I let him wander at his own pace.
He walks over to the windows that stretch the full height of the wall, showing off a panoramic view of the city. Scout presses his forehead against the glass, watching the tiny cars far below.
“They look like toys.” He sounds amazed.
I move to stand behind him with my hands in my pockets, trying to imagine seeing the city through his eyes.
His eyes flit to me and then back to the window and the world below. “Do you get scared being up this high?”
“No. It reminds me how big the world is. How much there is to see.”
He thinks about that for a second before giving a small, thoughtful nod. Then he moves on. He tests the couch next, sitting gingerly on the edge as he runs a hand over the smooth leather, then immediately pulls it back like it’s stung him, and that hits me harder than I expect.
Shit. He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable in his own home.
I clear my throat. “You can sit wherever you want here. Touch whatever you want. It’s your home too.”
Scout glances over at me with uncertainty in his eyes before jumping off the couch.
“Can I see my room?”
“Sure thing. It’s just up the stairs on the right.”
It turns out his room is not much better. I barely had a chance to do much to it other than clear out a few overpriced pieces of art that Kieran left behind.
I had huge plans to paint the walls and swap out the king-sized bed for a racecar one just like I promised, and stock the shelves with toys and books.
But I didn’t. Instead, I chose to spend the scarce amount of free time I have sleeping with my assistant, leaving Scout with a bed that he can barely climb onto.
Nothing about this room screams Scout, and he knows it from the way his face falls as he looks around.
I've never felt less deserving of being Scout’s father than I do right now.
He opens his backpack without a word and starts unloading the only pieces of his home he has left, his action figures and a handful of mismatched plastic cars. He lines up the action figures on a low shelf, their bright colors popping against the monochrome palette of the room.
“Do you want them somewhere higher?” I want to be helpful.
He shakes his head as he continues to arrange his things. “Here’s good. They can see the whole room this way.”
Once he’s finished, he crosses the room and climbs onto the bed. He bounces once to test the mattress before flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
“It’s weird,” he says quietly.
“What is?”
“This room. It’s so big. It’s like it ate my old one.”
I sit on the edge of the mattress and look around.
“If you want to change it, we can. Paint, new furniture, whatever you want. We’ll make it yours.”
He turns his head toward me. “Really?”
“Really.”
He smiles, and it eases something tight in my chest.
For the rest of the evening, Scout stays in his room, glued to his iPad.
I figure he can use some time and space to decompress, so I leave him to it. But every so often, I peer inside and watch him, taking in the way he is trying so damn hard to act like none of this change scares him. But I can see it clear as day on his face.
This is going to be a learning curve for both of us.
I can’t do it alone, and as much as it hurts me to admit it, I know exactly who I need to call.
For the first time since Kieran forced me to hire an assistant, I’m grateful because Fiona is the first person who comes to mind.
I haven’t forgotten how she was willing to jeopardize her interview in order to check on her sick niece. And when it comes to looking after Scout, I need someone with that level of integrity and who I know I can trust without a shadow of a doubt.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this.
My relationship with Fiona is complicated and messy in ways I don’t fully understand yet. But I know she is genuine, and her work ethic is second to none.
I can’t even begin to try and explain to myself why she is the only person I can think of to bring into Scout’s life.
However, I don’t have a lot of time or other options, so I pull out my phone and type out a message to Fiona.
ME: Need to see you first thing in the morning. My place.
Sent.
I tuck the phone away and glance back at Scout.
He’s curled up tight, clutching his stuffed dinosaur to his chest as he watches his film, though his eyelids are starting to droop with exhaustion.
I can’t quite believe he’s here.
For the first time in years, I can let myself hope that we can finally be a proper family.