Chapter 25
JULIAN
We’re three blocks away from her parent’s home when Lyra’s phone buzzes.
She reads the text, an expression of worry forming on her face.
“Hospital,” she says. “Dad’s going into pre-op tonight. Two hours.”
Shit.
“Remy, change of plans.” I lean forward, then glance over at Lyra. “What hospital?”
“Ochsner Medical,” she says, citing the address while she texts. I notice her hands are shaking. “Mom says the surgeon decided not to wait, that Dad’s numbers dropped again.”
I reach over and place my hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She squeezes back.
Remy gets us there quickly. She’s eager to get out, practically opening the door before we’ve even parked.
She gets out as soon as Remy pulls to a stop, grabbing her bag and rushing toward the entrance. I tip Remy, then follow.
The surgical wing at Ochsner is cool and bright, the scent of antiseptic is thick in the air. Lyra navigates the corridors without hesitation, and I get the sense that she’s been here before—too many times. I follow behind, not wanting to crowd her.
As I walk, I notice people looking at me. I suppose a six-foot-four man dressed in a dark tailored suit striding through a New Orleans hospital in the middle of the night is a strange sight for them to see.
Lyra rounds a corner and stops. As I approach, I see we’ve reached a post-op waiting area.
A man in his mid-sixties is resting in a hospital bed.
His face and hands are weathered, but I can sense a strength there, one beneath the disease, the same strength that I see in Lyra.
He’s wearing a hospital gown and a Saints cap.
When his eyes find Lyra, they light up, and I instantly see the deep, uncomplicated love between them.
Lyra’s mother is petite and slender and has dark hair. But there’s strength in her, too, despite her size. Lyra has her eyes. She gazes at me, sizing me up right then and there.
“Baby girl…” Her mother crosses the room and pulls Lyra into a tight hug as if she’ll never let go. “You came.”
“Of course I came, Mama.”
“And who’s this?” Her father looks at me with the direct gaze of a man who’s been protective of his little girl since the day she was born. “You’re too well-dressed to be a doctor.”
“Dad, this is Julian. He’s—” She pauses. I watch her as she searches for the right word. “He’s my—”
“Julian Volkov,” I say, saving her the effort as I step forward and shake her father’s hand. “I work with Lyra.”
“Robert Thibodeaux. Everyone calls me Bobby.” His handshake is weak, but I can see the strength in his eyes.
“And I’m Samantha,” her mother says. “Sam is fine.”
“A pleasure to meet you both.” I shake Sam’s hand, as well.
“You flew down with her,” Bobby says.
“I did, sir.”
“From New York.”
“That is correct, sir.”
Bobby looks at Lyra, then at me. He nods slowly, in a way that suggests he knows exactly what’s going on and that he’ll deal with it later.
Fair enough.
Sam hugs Lyra again then pulls back, her expression shifting from joy to stress.
“Mama, what’s wrong?”
Sam glances aside, as if the matter is something she doesn’t want to discuss in front of me. But before I can excuse myself, she speaks.
“Honey, it’s… the insurance. There was a problem.”
Lyra stiffens, confusion forming on her face. “What do you mean? I got the confirmation email this afternoon that it was approved.”
“Well, it was approved, but then it wasn’t.
The hospital called and said something about a change in your employment status triggering a review.
They said… that the policy lapsed when you left the Volkov company and the reinstatement hasn’t been processed yet.
They want at least 50 percent of the full surgical cost up front or they won’t—” Her voice cracks and she presses her hand to her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to sort it out all day, but no one will give me a straight answer. ”
Lyra’s face has completely drained of color. “What… what’s the amount?”
When Sam tells her, Lyra backs up, sitting down in the nearest chair. I can see it in her eyes—rapid calculations where she’s trying to figure out math that just won’t work.
I decide to save her the trouble.
“Excuse me for one moment,” I say.
I step around the corner and slip out my phone, looking up where the billing department of the hospital is located.
Part of me knows I should tell Lyra what I’m about to do. But the greater part of me knows she’d fight me on it.
I reach the billing department and speak to the woman there on the night shift. I tell her who I’m with and give her my information.
After a few moments, I’m headed back to the waiting area. Sam and Lyra are seated next to each other, both of them with worried eyes.
“Maybe we can do a payment plan for the first part,” Lyra says.
“Sweetie, the interest rates on those plans are outrageous. You can’t—”
“I don’t care what the interest rate is. This is Dad we’re talking about.”
No sense in letting them worry any longer.
“It’s done,” I tell them as I approach.
Lyra lifts her gaze slowly, as if not quite sure what I just said.
“What’s done?”
“The payment. It’s been taken care of in full.”
Realization flashes in Lyra’s eyes. “Is that where you went? Julian. No.”
“Taken care of?” Sam asks, a confused expression on her face.
Bobby cocks his head, as if thinking this might be some kind of sick joke.
“Yes. I gave them my information, and all current billing is covered. Any future bills will be sent to me.”
Lyra rises slowly. “Julian, no,” she says again, her voice cracking at the edges. “I can’t let you—”
“Lyra. This isn’t up for discussion. Your father needs surgery and he needs it tonight. The insurance company is stalling, and the only reason you’re even in this bind is because things that never should’ve happened motivated you to quit.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Lyra, let me do this. Please.”
The word please is what undoes her. The resistance fades, and she seems to realize there’s no good reason to fight against someone trying to help save her father’s life.
“Okay,” she whispers, tears forming in her eyes. “Okay.”
Sam is crying quietly, the tears of a woman who’s been bracing for the worst but is finally tasting relief.
She grabs my hand with both of hers and squeezes.
She doesn’t say thank you because she’s too choked up to speak, but she doesn’t have to.
The squeeze and the look in her eyes says everything.
Bobby watches from his hospital bed.
“You work with her,” he says, his gaze directed on me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Uh-huh.” He adjusts his Saints cap. “Sam, I think I like this one better than the other one.”
Lyra makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.
Twenty minutes later, the surgical team wheels Bobby’s bed out of the waiting area and through the double doors to the operating room. Sam holds his hand until the last possible second. Once Bobby is no longer visible, Lyra stands with her mother, arms around her shoulders, steady and strong.
She turns to me and smiles.
Nothing else needs to be said.