Chapter Twenty-Three Ezra
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ezra
I have never broken more speeding laws in my life, and considering my track record, that’s saying something.
My tires squeal as I take off from the red light I hated to stop at.
Summer sits beside me in the Porsche, her hands folded tightly in her lap as she stares out at the dark road.
Other than muttering “dad” and “hospital,” she hasn’t said anything since the call, and that scares the shit out of me on a level I hadn’t realized I was ever able to reach.
Seeing her break the way she did . . . going catatonic, essentially . . . fuck, it wrecked me.
I never want to see her like that again. I can’t. I’m not sure I could survive it.
I still don’t know exactly what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s bad.
It’s why I had to help her back into the dress I had impatiently taken off her just hours earlier, put her shoes on her, and lead her to the car.
I even had to buckle her in, tears rolling down her cheeks as she refused to look at me.
When I finally pull up to the hospital, I park right in front of the entrance.
“Sir,” the security guard says as I help Summer from the car. “You can’t park here, sir. This is a loading and unloading zone only.”
“Then tow it!” I tell them, tossing them the keys over my shoulder as I trail behind Summer as she practically sprints through the sliding glass doors.
Her sneakers squeak against the floor as she skids to a stop at the front counter. I barely keep myself from running into her. My hip aches, but it’s the last thing I’m focusing on right now. This is all about her.
“Daniel Turner.”
The woman sitting behind the counter raises one perfectly shaped brow. “Is that your name or the person you’re looking for?”
“Yes. Wait, no. Yes. I—I—I—” She huffs. “I don’t have time for this!”
Oh fuck. She’s losing it.
I step up behind her, placing my hand on the small of her back. She leans into the touch for only a moment before jerking away, almost like she’s catching herself doing something she shouldn’t be doing.
I pretend I don’t notice as I turn to the receptionist. My eyes flash to her name tag.
“Good morning, Drea.” She smiles at me, and I know right away she’s more likely to listen to me than to Summer. “We’re looking for Daniel Turner. Sheriff Turner.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Ezra. Rawlings. This is Summer, his daughter.”
“You’re his daughter?” the receptionist asks Summer.
She nods, her lips trembling as she holds back tears.
I fight the urge to reach out to her, to make sure she’s okay. “We received a call that Daniel was admitted here. Can you help us sort out where he is, Drea?”
“All right. Let me see.” Her nails clack against her keyboard, her eyes flying over the screen. “Right. He’s still in surgery.”
“Surgery?!” Summer shrieks.
“Yes, and that’s all I can tell you for now. You’ll need to wait for his doctor for more information.” She points down the hall. “There’s a waiting room around the corner. We have coffee and vending machines in case you get hungry.”
She looks back at her computer, dismissing us, and I know if I don’t get Summer out of here soon, she might explode.
“Come on,” I say to her, tugging on her arm. “Let’s go sit. Hopefully his doctor will be out soon.”
Summer glares at Drea, and I almost feel bad for her. But I’m too busy being worried about Summer to truly care.
We make our way to the waiting room, and the first thing I notice is the quietness. It’s almost eerie. There are several people spread around and plenty of empty seats. We take two near the back.
For a while we just sit there. Summer stares at nothing in particular, and I stare at her.
The urge to reach over and hold her is so fucking strong, but I don’t. I’m not sure what she needs right now, but I’m waiting for her to tell me.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask her after thirty minutes have gone by.
She shakes her head.
I rise from the chair and make my way to the vending machine and pay far too much for a bottle of water. When I peek back over at her, she’s still staring blankly, and I can only imagine the thoughts racing through her mind. I’m sure they’re the same going through mine.
Is her father going to be okay? Will he survive this? Will he ever be the same if he does? How fucking long is this surgery going to take?
I grab the water from the dispenser, crack it open, and gulp it down. I refill it from the water fountain, then resume my spot next to Summer.
She moves for the first time since sitting down, and it’s to slump back in her seat.
She’s tired and defeated, and I don’t blame her one bit.
Her head falls into her hands, and I know instantly she’s crying. Her shoulders shake, her little whimpers ringing in my ears, and it fucking hurts. Seeing her like this, going through this. It’s literally making my chest ache.
I press on it, trying to suppress the feelings, but it’s useless.
So, instead, I turn to her and rub her back.
“He’ll be okay,” I say softly. “He’s Sheriff Turner, for crying out loud. There’s no way he won’t be all right. Besides, if he’s not okay, then who the hell is going to yell at me for speeding, huh?”
“Deputy Jenkins.”
“Fucking Jenkins.”
She laughs lightly, but it turns into more sobs just as quickly as it comes, and I have to close my eyes. Seeing her like this is too hard.
She eventually falls over into me, her head practically in my lap. I let her stay like that, running my fingers through her hair, wanting so desperately to wipe away her tears, but I don’t.
One hour goes by, then two.
From the window, I can see that the sun is beginning to peek through the Cascades. The colors streaking through the sky are objectively gorgeous, but nothing feels pretty in this moment. Not with Summer lying in my lap, her heart breaking into tinier pieces by the second.
We’re nearing three hours when a new face finally steps through the doors.
I look up immediately, but Summer stays where she is. I feel her slipping, losing hope, and I wish I could give her all of mine.
“Summer Rawlings?”
My heart stutters, doing a goddamn somersault right in my chest cavity.
Fuck, that sounds good. Too good.
“That’s me.”
She rises to her feet, pushing her bangs out of her puffy eyes. I follow behind her, pain shooting from my hip into my groin. It’s fucking electric, and I grit my teeth against it.
“Well, sort of. It’s Turner. Summer Turner. Is my dad okay?”
The doctor gives us a warm smile. “Hi, Summer. I’m Dr. Swift. Your father is doing just fine. The surgery to remove the blockage in his heart was successful, and he’s currently in a room resting.”
Summer exhales, her shoulders relaxing marginally.
“What happened? I thought he was okay. He was on meds, and he was eating better and—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Swift says. “Let’s tackle one question at a time, okay?”
Summer nods, wringing her hands together in front of her. “Okay. All right. I just . . .”
“I know. This is hard. I get that. It’s all very overwhelming.
” The doctor sighs. “First of all, we don’t know why it happened.
Sometimes it just does, even with proper medication.
It could have been a number of things, or it could have been nothing at all.
All we know is that the blockage is gone.
He’s breathing on his own, and his vitals are stable.
He’s sleeping, and right now that’s what we want.
His body is tired. Mine would be, too, after going through all that.
We’re going to let him get some sleep, and we’ll run more tests and develop an action plan when he wakes up. Sound good?”
Summer nods, her bottom lip trembling as she fights the tears that are teetering on the edge of her brown eyes. “Sounds good.” She sniffles. “Can I . . . Can I see him?”
“Of course you can. Just remember—rest.”
We both nod, then trail behind her as she leads us through some double doors around the corner.
Summer stares ahead the entire time, and while I’m dying to reach out and touch her, I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers instead. She needs space, and I need to respect that, no matter how badly it’s killing me not to be there for her.
“This is it,” Dr. Swift says as we stop in front of what looks to be a private room.
“Before we go in, I do want to warn you that he looks a bit pale. But he’s just undergone surgery, so that’s not surprising.
Just try to remember that it won’t last, okay?
I’m sure he’ll get his color back within a day or two. ”
Summer takes an encouraging breath, then nods.
The doctor pushes open the door, then steps aside to let us pass, and my heart leaps into my throat at the sight before me.
I don’t know Daniel Turner well, but he’s always been this larger-than-life presence, even though I have a few inches on him. It’s never mattered. He’s a figure in this town. Hell, he’s the figure.
But right now he looks small. Tiny, even. He’s lying in the middle of the hospital bed, machines surrounding him, and he looks frail. Weak.
How could I ever think I was weak when I never looked anything like this? I might have lost my career, but I still have my life. I still have time. I still have so much fucking future ahead of me.
I can’t believe I spent all those years being angry when I could have been living.
I could have been loving.
I look over to Summer just in time to see her face crumple.
“I didn’t see it,” she whispers, staring at her father, tears brimming in her eyes. “I didn’t see it. He said he was okay, and I let it go when I should have known better. I let him suffer. I let him . . . I let this happen.” The tears spill over, her shoulders hunching inward. “I did this.”
I trail my fingers over her back. “Summer, you didn’t. You—”
She lurches away, and it’s cutting right down to my fucking core. Especially when she looks at me like she’s done.
“No, stop.” Her face is hard, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“You don’t understand, Ezra. I did this because I haven’t been paying attention.
Because I’ve been . . . I’ve been distracted.
I haven’t been home enough. I’ve been focused on everything else.
Because . . . because I went and fell in love with the one guy who isn’t capable of loving me back. ”
Her words nearly knock me over.
Summer . . . loves me? How? When?
“I wasted all my time here on things that weren’t important. I should have been there for him. I should have seen it, and I didn’t. I failed as a chef, and I failed as a daughter. That’s all I’ll ever be—a failure. A fraud. An absolute fucking disappointment.”
I want to scream at her. I want to tell her how wrong she is. She’s none of those things. She never fucking was.
She sucks in a deep breath.
“You should go, Ezra.” Her words are like a slap to the face, even though I know she doesn’t mean them. “I’m sure there’s plenty to be done around the cidery for the wedding.”
How could I possibly leave knowing she’s here hurting? That she’s sitting here chewing on those gorgeous lips I love so much, waiting for the worst news? How could I ever leave her?
I can’t.
So I don’t.
I interlock my hand with hers, squeeze it tightly, and wait.
She’s trying to push me away, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her.
Daniel wakes up mid-Saturday, and Summer bursts into tears instantly.
I step out of the room to give them privacy, and when I come back, they’re both asleep again.
I stay the rest of the day and night, my hip shrieking over me sleeping in the world’s most uncomfortable chair. It’s happy for the break when I go home for a few hours to shower and change on Sunday.
As I’m headed back to the hospital, I hook a left instead of a right and go to Summer’s, using the code she gave me when she was sick. I grab her a change of clothes, the book sitting on her bedside table, a phone charger, and her tablet, just in case.
A little bit later I walk through the double doors of the main hospital entrance, a duffel bag of clothes slung over one shoulder and a paper sack full of food in the other hand.
The receptionist waves at me as I pass, and not a single nurse stops me as I waltz through the ICU back to the room where Daniel is.
Summer does a double take when I enter.
“You’re back?” she asks, her eyes falling to the bag from Dickie’s Gourmet Burgers I have in my hand.
“I’m back.”
I hand it over, then set her duffel beside her on the floor before folding myself back into the uncomfortable chair.
I stay there that night too.
On Monday, I convince Summer to go home and shower.
She’s resistant at first, but when her dad chimes in about how bad she smells, she heeds my instructions and goes.
I hand her my Porsche keys—which they didn’t tow, thank fuck—and I take her spot next to her father.
We sit in silence for a long time. Daniel still drifts in and out of sleep because, apparently, a heart attack at his age really takes it out of you, and I scroll through the emails on my phone.
The cidery is buzzing with the upcoming wedding this weekend, and my staff—and Noah—are keeping me informed every step of the way.
“Did I ever tell you I used to be a fan of yours back in your playing days?”
I look over at Daniel, who is staring at me from his bed, still looking far too pale. “No, but I knew it anyway.”
“How?”
I shrug. “You never gave me a ticket before.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He closes his eyes once more, exhaling heavily, like even just this short conversation has worn him out. “I’m still a fan, you know.”
“Even with my lead foot?”
“Even with that. My daughter is a fan too. She’s having a hard time with this, but she’s glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re here.”
I’m glad I’m here too, I want to say back, but I don’t.
These last few days, being next to Summer like I’ve been and not being able to touch her, hold her, or tell her that I love her, too, has just about killed me.
Because, yeah, despite trying at every turn not to, I’ve done the dumbest thing I’ve ever done before—I’ve fallen in love with her, and I’m not about to let her give up on us before we’ve even really started.
My thoughts spin into overdrive, and Daniel’s snores fill the room.
I stay the night again.