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“Never leave home without them,” I quip lightly. “Now hush up and read.”

The next hour crawls by at an agonizing pace. I manage a few chapters of my book, but the words blur together meaninglessly. At some point a nurse brings us bad hospital coffee in styrofoam cups. The bitter liquid scorches my tongue but offers a welcome distraction.

When Dr. Klein finally reappears, Jeff and I both lurch to our feet in unison. I search the doctor’s tired face, heart clenching.

“The surgery went well.” Dr. Klein’s voice resonates with professional satisfaction. “We were able to fully repair the damaged tissue without issues.”

Sweet, dizzying relief surges through me. My knees nearly buckle. Jeff grips my shoulder to steady himself.

“So he’s okay?” Hope edges into his tone. “What now?”

“He’s stable in recovery. The next 48 hours are critical while he regains strength.” Dr. Klein levels us with a serious look over the rims of his glasses. “I won’t sugarcoat it - complications can still arise. But this was a very successful first step.”

The knot in my chest loosens fractionally. Not out of the woods yet, but moving in the right direction.

“When can we see him?” Jeff asks roughly.

“I’ll allow brief visits once we have him settled in the ICU.” Dr. Klein checks his watch. “Give us an hour to get him monitored and stabilized. The nurses will come get you.”

We thank him profusely, shaking his hand in turn. As Dr. Klein leaves, I wrap Jeff in a fierce hug, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. His arms come around me, the embrace grounding us both. No further need for empty platitudes or false assurances. Dad’s not out of the woods, but he’s cleared the first hurdle. That’s all we can ask for now.

When the nurse finally fetches us an hour later, every nerve in my body thrums with anticipation laced with dread. I trail close behind Jeff down the hallway, knees weak. The steady beep of machinery greets us as we round the corner.

And there lies my father - pale and small-looking tucked into the large hospital bed, but breathing evenly. Strongly. The monitor above his head spikes with a steady rhythm.

Sweet relief, laced with lingering dread. But for now, we’ll take this small victory.

One step at a time.

FOURTEEN

XAVIER

The scent of freshly baked brownies wafts from the kitchen as I step across the threshold into Emma’s home. My palms suddenly feel slick against the bottle of red wine I’m carrying. What am I thinking, agreeing to this little family gathering? I’m used to high-profile events, flashing camera lights, and microphones shoved in my face. Not awkward small talk over a home-cooked meal. But when Emma invited me, sincerity shining in her bottle-green eyes, I said yes before my brain could talk me out of it.

“Well, look who it is!” A robust voice booms out as Emma’s father Charles rolls into view in a wheelchair. His frame seems shrunken since the surgery, but his eyes are as sharp as ever. “The man of the hour arrives.”

I offer my hand, which he clasps in a hearty shake. “It’s good to see you up and around, sir.”

“Ah, please, call me Charlie. ‘Sir’ reminds me too much of my old man.” He gives my shoulder a firm pat, nearly knocking me off balance. For a man who just went through an operation less than a week ago, he sure packs a punch.

Emma appears behind him, a vision in yoga pants and a loose top, auburn waves escaping from her clip. “Don’t scare him off yet, Dad. I just got him here.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior.” Charlie holds up three fingers like a Boy Scout. “Scout’s honor.”

I chuckle, feeling my nerves uncoil slightly. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Something smells amazing in here,” I say, offering Emma the wine. “I brought a little something to contribute.”

“Ooh, Syrah, my favorite.” Emma’s eyes glimmer as she takes it. “Dad’s famous lasagna should be just about ready. Jeff is in the den watching last season’s highlights as usual. I’ll give you the grand tour in a minute.”

As if on cue, Jeff’s lanky form unfolds from the couch and ambles into view. His face lights up when he sees me.

“Xavier! Glad you could make it, man.”

We clasp hands, and I give him a light pat on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it. I hear your dad’s lasagna is the stuff of legend.”

Jeff nods, an earnest smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.