Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
What if he never finds out I’m his dad?
My hands tighten on the steering wheel until I think I’ll tear it right off.
When I finally arrive at the hospital, parking is atrocious. I slam my way into an empty space, not bothering to make sure I parked straight, and sprint for the entrance through the vast garage.
Upstairs, the receptionist directs me to the waiting room. I take the stairs three at a time, leaping through the last corridor until finally I see her.
Salem.
She’s tucked away in the corner of the waiting room, her legs crooked under her. She’s just staring at the wall.
It’s like someone picked her up and poured her soul out.
“Salem,” I call, and her head jerks up. Some of the emptiness drains from her face, replaced by relief, and she uncurls herself, holding out a hand.
Then her face crumples.
“Salem,” I growl again, pulling her into my arms.
Awkwardness forgotten—everything but this, the painful knowledge that our son is seriously sick and there’s nothing either of us can do.
She wraps her arms around me and buries her head in my shoulder. I cradle her closer, wishing I could whisk her away. There’s nothing more depressing than a waiting room filled with worried souls, just like the woman in my arms.
This is where people go to wait for miracles. Waiting and hoping because no one can guarantee life, not even if they have an MD behind their name. What else is there to do in a hospital waiting room but quietly scream at God and the universe?
Salem’s hand pulls me closer, just for a second, before she shrinks back.
I slide a hand through her hair and smooth it down her cheek, though she isn’t crying. Her red eyes say there’s been too much of that already.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you,” she whispers, one hand gripping my wrist like she’s scared I’ll disappear into thin air if she stops.
Fuck.
It’s so easy for her to say that, and it unlocks something in my chest.
“Missed you, too, Lady Bug. I wouldn’t be anywhere else. How are you? How’s Arlo?”
The question I need to ask and almost don’t want to know.
It feels like Schrodinger’s cat. If I don’t ask, he might be fine. He might be recovering. The ugly truth doesn’t have to exist if I don’t call for it.
But dammit, I need to know.
She doesn’t cry, but her chest heaves. For a second, I wonder if she’ll have the breath to tell me.
Her hair falls limply around her face. She takes a strand and pulls it roughly, twisting it around her delicate fingers.
“Salem?” I tilt her face up so I can read it properly, searching in her eyes for answers the way astrologers watch the stars.
She releases a shuddering breath.
“I… I don’t know,” she says, still twisting her hair around. “It just doesn’t make sense. We were out and it was a normal day, Patton.”
Fear grips my chest and I inhale deeply, all I can do to keep my voice level.
“Look at me,” I tell her, and finally she focuses, two pinpricks of awareness gleaming through the shock. “What did the doctor tell you? What happened?”
She presses her lips together so tightly I can’t see them.
I grit my teeth with effort.
It’s not that I want to rage at her—hell, I want to wipe the sadness from her eyes and make sure she never feels it again—but there’s this jagged vibration in my chest that needs to come out.
She inhales and wipes her dry, red eyes.
“It was a normal morning,” she says quietly. A whisper, really. I pull her closer so I can hear her. “I swear he didn’t eat anything awful. He didn’t have anything I didn’t.”
“So they think it’s food poisoning?”
“No, it’s…” She swallows so hard I see her throat dip. “More like regular poisoning.”
“What the fuck?” I barely remember to keep my voice down as other people look at us. “What do you mean, regular poisoning?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know! One minute, he was fine. The next, he’s throwing up everywhere and I couldn’t—” She tears at her hair. I catch her wrists to hold them still, pressing them gently to my chest. “I should have known something like this was bound to happen,” she says, more quietly this time.
“Salem—”
“We know I’m bad luck. It follows me everywhere. I just thought it would hurt us, not Arlo. I didn’t think it would ever come after him.”
I resist the urge to shake her.
“Salem,” I say gently. “That’s crazy talk, all right?”
“Is it?” Her eyes are damp and she shakes her head. “Then how did this happen? Tell me.”
Not because of some crazy bad voodoo curse bullshit, that’s for sure.
But she’s upset.
I’m upset.
The last thing we need is to give in and make this whole situation worse.
What I need to do is find out what the hell happened before I go insane.