Chapter 25
“Your husband had a heart attack.”
I almost ask the doctor to say it again, but someone else rushes in with a question. The whole conversation is had while a buzzing rings in my ears, almost making it so I can’t quite trust anything anyone says. My chest aches with some hollow feeling, like I can’t quite take a breath.
“Breathe.” August squeezes my hand where we’re connected, as if reading my mind.
I inhale sharply, the sound more a gasp than a clear breath, but no one seems to notice. When I turn my chin slightly, I meet hazel eyes that hold unshed tears and concern. But they give me a momentary sense of calm, enough that I can process what’s happened.
Dad had a heart attack at the barbecue. An ambulance had shown up, and EMTs shocked him after Patrick had doled out round after round of CPR. The doctor mentions that my brother pretty much saved our father’s life.
Now, here we are, my whole family huddled in some waiting room hours after the barbecue. We’ve been waiting for any news, quiet sobs echoing in the space.
And the whole time, August has not left my side. No one has even looked our way with the chaos of this medical emergency, but I wouldn’t care if they did. She didn’t cut and run, and she didn’t second guess coming to the hospital. I’d laid out my feelings on that boat ride, and here she is proving that she’s willing to give us a shot, too.
“When can we see him?” Mom’s voice is a tenth of what it normally is.
The doctor is young, maybe even younger than I am. But he sounds legitimate, so I don’t say anything. “You can go in one by one, maybe groups of two if he’s up for it. But we need to keep him calm, no riling him up.”
“Go, Ma.” Liam gently pushes my mother toward the door.
“You want me to come with you?” Alana asks her, gripping our mother’s hand.
Mom nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. I know none of us want to see him alone. Just thinking about our oak tree of a father in that hospital bed makes me want to bend at the knees and vomit.
They leave the waiting room in a shuffle that is both frantic and fearful. Everyone seems to take a breath as a whole because, hopefully, the worst of it is over. But I guess who is to know.
“I can’t believe this.” Patrick shakes his head.
Liam, his usual self, hasn’t said more than a monosyllabic sentence since Dad collapsed. Gabrielle and Cass coordinated for our barbecue campout to be cleaned up, and now Gabrielle is at their house watching all of the kids.
“Someone is going to need to relieve Gabrielle soon,” August says at my side, always reading my mind. “I might go and help her out.”
“That would be so great, Auggy, thank you.” Warren gives her a small smile.
I don’t want her to go, but my God, she is selfless. Always thinking about how she can help our family out. I’m falling further and further for her, even in this horrible moment.
“Can I get you all anything before I go?” She looks directly at me.
I squeeze her hand and clear my throat. “You could stay.”
I feel everyone’s eyes on us.
“They probably won’t let me in to see him, and you should all go first anyway. He’s going to need some rest. Helping out Gabby is how I can help.”
In my head, I know this, yet I just want her to sit beside me in this sterile room for hours until I have to face my father. “Let me walk you out.”
It’s odd coming out of a hospital when someone you love is in the midst of a crisis. Everything outside is pretty peaceful and serene; the air smells the same, and the temperature hasn’t dropped like your heart does every time you hear a beep from one of the rooms. Staying inside a hospital makes you feel like weeks have gone by when, really, it’s probably only minutes.
“He’s going to be okay,” August reassures me once we hit the parking lot.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I nod. “Just can’t get the image of him collapsing out of my head.”
She nods as if seeing it in front of her eyes, too. “You don’t have to. But you do have to know that they’re taking such great care of him, and he survived. That’s a miracle alone. He’s still here. No one could take that ox out, even his own heart.”
We both laugh at her attempt to make me feel better.
“I’ll see you at home later?” I ask, wanting to know she’ll be there for me.
“Of course.”
I know she’s trying to give me some distance to process, but all I want is to hold her in my arms. So I do. I step into her space, pull her body to mine, and capture her mouth.
The kiss is gentle and caressing; there isn’t passion or heat behind it, but it lights me up in a completely different way. This is a kiss between two people who are trying to comfort and support each other, and that’s somehow more intimate than our lust-fueled midnight romps. This kiss gives me enough strength to go back into that hospital, and I’m not sure I could have done so without August.
“Thank you for being you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to her forehead.
“I’ll be at home waiting for you,” she promises.
Those words sound so sweet and right. When we first made the roommate agreement, I could never have imagined we’d be here, yet I’m not scared of it at all. In fact, if we went right on living together while trying to date, it would feel like the most normal thing in the world.
I watch her walk to her car to make sure she gets in and drives away safely. And also to watch her ass in those running shorts because I need all the good mental images to walk back into that hospital.
By the time I get back up to the waiting room, Warren, Patrick, and Liam have already gone in. Nonna made a quick visit, and now, it’s time for me to go in and see Dad.
Part of me wants to stay here glued to this uncomfortable plastic chair because what the hell am I going to say? The last big conversation we had was a fight, and we’ve been having petty disagreements about the restaurant all year.
“He’s your father, you’re his son, you love each other. Nothing else matters.” Mom hugs me to her as I stand to walk to his room.
I choke back tears because, holy shit, this could have ended completely differently.
My legs feel shaky as I walk to the room my family instructed me was Dad’s, counting the numbers on the wall to keep me sane as I go. Standing outside the door, I knock and walk in to complaining.
“This damn straw must be broken. And the TV won’t tune to the fishing channel, so I can’t watch anything. The mattress is killing my back.” Dad starts to wiggle around, cords tangling as he tries to get up.
“Dad, you have to slow down.” I rush to him, trying to push him back to a lying position.
“These pillows won’t lay the right way, and can you get that nurse? I want to go home, they’ve run their tests.” He sighs as if we’re all inconveniencing him.
“Give it up, old man, the cranky grandpa act doesn’t suit you,” I quip, and that stops him.
“You’ve always been the one with the wisecracks.” He points at me affectionately.
I untangle the wires, fix his pillows, and then attempt to put something agreeable on the television.
“You have to slow down. And not just in here, but in life. You retired for a reason. You need to enjoy it, or something like this happens,” I scold him for the second time.
Dad looks at me, really looks at me, and for the first time, I realize his eyes are glassy.
“I know. I know I do.” He blows out a breath.
And because I can’t handle this kind of emotion when it comes to him, I have to crack a joke through a watery laugh.
“I’d be so pissed at you if you died and you hadn’t agreed that my pork ragù over creamy polenta was the best addition to the menu in years.”
Dad sighs, coughing slightly as he tries to talk. I lift the hospital water to his lips, and he sips a bit of water.
“I’ve been a fool, my son. A stubborn bastard, to all my children. You were growing up and moving on, all four of you, and I couldn’t handle it. God, I’ve been an asshole. Where I should have been supporting and cheering you on, I tried to tear you down. I tried to keep you in the same spots you were in when you were little kids, and it was always about me, not you. You have the most innovative brain when it comes to food that I’ve ever seen. And I was jealous of it. I’m a proud man who couldn’t handle his son having a natural talent that he never had, how foolish does that make me? Everything was changing, and I felt like I was being pushed out, and … all I’ve ever known is hard work and raising you kids. What will I be without those things?”
My heart catches in my throat. “A good, honest man who has a legacy of love underneath his belt.”
It’s sappier than I thought I could get, but Dad is breaking my heart. How can he not see that he built all of this?
He nods, and I’m shocked as hell when a tear slides down his cheek. “You’re right, of course. Just took me too long and almost the end of my life to see that.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” My gut clenches at the thought.
“Not until I try that ragu, I’m not,” he jokes.
A beat passes, and Dad studies me. He doesn’t look as frail and ill as I imagined, but it’s so strange to see him in here. I can’t wait to take him home and watch as Mom dotes on him while he grumps. That’s where Liam gets it from, and I’ll take some sort of pleasure in watching him attempt to relax.
Dad taps his chin. “The restaurant, it’s our legacy. But it’s not the only thing. This family is more important than anything. My wife, my children, that is what matters. I know that kitchen is your pride and joy, and it might be cliché, but it won’t take care of you when you’re lying in a hospital bed. Only love can do that. I’ve watched you all come in and out of this room as I lie here, trying to be so strong. It’s a hell of a reality check. Just make sure you don’t let your mind get as far down the path of ego as I did. Learn from my mistake. Because if I notice anything, it’s that the girl living in your house means a heck of a lot to you, and you shouldn’t let her get away.”
Surprise makes my jaw drop. “And here I thought Mom was the only psychic one in this family.”
Dad shakes his head. “Oh, son, don’t you know by now that your mother and I discuss everything? We’ve known about August’s crush on you since she started working for us. Only recently have I seen you look at her the same way, and it took you damn near long enough. Just don’t screw it up.”
Looking at my shoes, I chuckle. “I’m trying not to.”
“I love you, Evan.” The words are hoarse as he says them.
I reach for his hand. “I love you, too, Dad.”