Page 96

Jackson

I made a promise I can’t keep.

Marlow’s been gone longer than expected. Sitting in the waiting room, I stare down the hall where a doctor and nurse flanked her sides and then led her away. It’s been more than thirty minutes, and I’m debating when I should go ask about her.

I’ve already been told once that I’ll have to wait since I’m not family.

I’m her fucking family. They may not know it, but I do.

Two nurses at the nurses’ station keep glancing over at me.

I’m used to women staring at me and checking me out, but this is different.

Their expressions are not filled with flirtation.

As they whisper to each other, I stand, unable to read their faces, and return once again.

“Hi, I’m here with Marlow Marché. Her father is in surgery.

” I glance down the hall when the doors open, but it’s not her.

“Since we were told not to use our cell phones in the hospital, I’m hoping you can update me. ”

“We can’t give you any details since you’re not family, but we do understand that she’s alone and . . .” They stop to glance at each other again.

“Alone and what?”

The older one pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then picks up the phone. “Let me see if I can locate her.”

“Thank you.” I step off to the side when a lady walks up to talk to the one at the computer.

I purposely eavesdrop, needing more information and hoping it will lead me to Marlow’s location. Fuck the rules. Although it’s tempting to call or text her, I’m not risking lives to do so, but I’ll physically search this maze until I find her.

She sets the phone down and signals me to the other end of the tall counter. “Ms. Marché would like to see you.”

Wait, has it been her keeping me out this entire time?

“Okay.” I follow her down the hall. She swipes her key card to open the secured double doors.

We go up another floor and down a long hallway.

She’s not been answering any of my questions, but finally stops where two hallways intersect, and says, “I can’t give any updates. I’m sorry.”

As much as I don’t get what I want, I know she’s following policy to protect the patients and their families.

Family. I want mine back. I want to see her smile and feel the brush of her hand against mine.

I want to see her blue eyes finding me across a crowded room and taste her lips once more before I fall asleep.

“Here we are.” The nurse steps aside and says, “But I will say, hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”

The drop of my stomach has me hesitating. The nurse doesn’t stay, but shit, what have they told her?

I slowly open the door to find Marlow staring out the window. Her back is to me, and she doesn’t move, not a muscle. I shut the door and then quietly cross the room. “Marlow?”

Her gaze pivots to me as her arms, which are crossed over her chest, tighten together. There’s an emptiness in the usually vibrant blue skies of her eyes, like death has already taken its toll. I reach out, but she shifts her shoulder.

Dropping her head forward, she closes her eyes, squeezing them tight. One deep breath is taken and then another. “He’s not going to make it. He’s not going to live.”

“I’m sorry.”

She levels me with a glare. “You promised. You promised me he would be okay.”

Faith and reality are two different things. I said what I needed to make her hold on to hope, but I crossed a line. I can’t explain my way out of this no matter how badly I want to. There isn’t a way. I’d rather her hate me for reassuring her than to ever realize she can’t count on me.

I think I just screwed that up as well, though.

“I’m so sorry. What did the doctor say?”

Tears overrun her lower lids, and through strengthening sobs, she says, “They don’t know, but he’s had a series of minor heart attacks that he chalked up to heartburn.

This was a massive one. He might need a new heart or angioplasty, stents, a pacemaker.

I don’t know. They were saying so much, and I didn’t understand the terminology.

I understood when they said he won’t get a heart in time.

The list is too long and there’s already a patient in this hospital waiting.

His health alone precludes him from topping the list from the other person.

God, I hate myself for selfishly wishing he’d get it.

” Her arm flies out to the side. “Someone else would have to die.”

“It’s not selfish. You love him. He’s your dad.”

“He’s my dad, Jackson,” she cries, looking at me through blurry eyes that have brightened through the tears.

“He’s not even sixty. Sure, he drinks a lot, loves a good party, and smokes cigars like a chimney, but I was na?ve and thought I had years, but now I have hours, and I don’t even know if I get that because he’s still in surgery.

I wasted the time I did have with him being mad for stupid reasons.

Money kept us apart.” She steps forward almost involuntarily.

Fuck. I don’t care anymore. I grab her and envelop her in love. My love that I can only hope is strong enough to heal her pain one day. Her body rattles with each sob and jaded breath. “Everything’s always about money.”

I can’t help but bite my tongue. There’s no way I can drag my situation with the lawsuit, the threat to my reputation and career, into this room with us when it’s all because of money and greed.

It would prove her point but how would she see me? A party to her pain? No, I won’t say a thing. I refuse to put that on her.

With her head on my shoulder, she says, “They’re still hoping for a miracle because that’s the only thing that can save him.”

Every wrack of her body leaves a mark on my soul. I’ve failed to protect her, but more so, I’ve failed to shield her in the first place. I should have demanded to go with her. I should have insisted we stay together. How long has she been alone with this devastating news?

I stroke the back of her head and down her hair to her shoulder blades, holding her to me as close as I can.

She’s suddenly untangling herself from me as if I’m holding her captive.

Maybe I am in some way. I don’t feel the need to apologize, even if I was holding her for me.

She says, “I realized . . .” She drops onto the couch, the weight of her own body appearing to be a burden.

“He gave me those bags because he wasn’t around to give me more.

He bought them simply because he thought I’d like them. And I fucking sold them .”

She crumples forward, her cries becoming heavier. I sit down and rub her back. “Marlow?” She doesn’t respond. “Marlow, look at me.”

A listless effort is made before she’s crying again while hunched over.

I pick her up by the middle, but she comes willingly and sits on my lap, letting me hold her with her head on my shoulder.

“The handbags aren’t your connection to him.

Sure, they remind you of him, but your connection isn’t superficial. It’s the memories you made growing up.”

She hangs on every word and then sniffles. “He wasn’t the best father, but sometimes, he was a great dad.”

I kiss the top of her head. “That’s his legacy.”

She takes that in, appearing to draw strength from it.

When she leans back enough for me to catch her teary-eyed gaze, I say, “You won’t ever have a lack of shoulders to cry on.

” The next words get choked in my throat, causing her to blink back her tears and reach to caress my face. “I have two reserved just for you.”

Despite the sight of her tears beginning to dry, they spring right back into her eyes. Kissing my chin and then higher on the corner of my mouth, she whispers, “They’ll always be my safe place and favorite.”

We didn’t break up earlier in her bedroom, but this feels like the beginning of our goodbye.

I embrace her, leaning my head against the top of hers and staring at the pale green wall across the room. Eventually, I close my eyes and let the pain sink in. Soon, it will become real. It’s all I’ll have left to hold.

The door opens, and Marlow pops onto her feet. “Is he out of surgery?”

“He is,” the nurse says. “He’s out of surgery.” Her hands fly in front of her. “He’s not out of the woods. In fact, he’s deep in them, but you should get some time with him.”

“When?” Marlow asks.

“Not for a few hours. I recommend getting some lunch. Enjoy the sunshine. The doctor said you might be able to see him around four, four thirty. When he’s settled in a room, the doctor will provide you with the details regarding the surgery.” She backs out of the door, closing it behind her.

When I stand, Marlow looks at me. “I don’t know what to think, Jackson.”

“You don’t need to think through anything. Just let your heart tell you what to do.” I open the door, and add, “Let’s get you something to eat. Nurse’s orders.”

We walk back through the maze of hallways, following the signs like mice searching for the reward. It’s not until we walk outside that we find Lorie Marché yelling at a doctor.

“Dammit,” she says, ducking behind me. “I can’t deal with her right now.”

“Marlow!” Lorie’s ire is directed at us. We’ve met. I can’t say she’s on good terms with anyone in our friend group, especially not Marlow. Her stepmom embodies the negative stereotype.

Marlow stands behind my left arm like a deer in headlights, and I’m happy to be her barrier. Lorie comes over and says, “They won’t let me see Bob. Did you do this? Are you purposely keeping me from my husband?”

When she takes a step closer, I raise my hands just in front of me. “We’re good, Lorie, if you keep some distance.”

Her head jolts back in offense. “Like I’m the one who’s causing drama?”

Marlow moves beside me and takes my hand, standing as a united front. She replies, “I didn’t make a list or submit any names. If you’re not allowed in, that’s my dad’s request.”

Her gaze volleys between the hospital and us a few times before she says, “I’ll talk to my lawyer.”

“Probably best.” Turning to me, Marlow asks, “Where are we parked?”

I help her out of that mess the best I can, but we both look back to make sure Lorie’s not following us.

As we walk into the parking garage, I don’t know where our relationship stands exactly, but I won’t tempt the fates. I have her hand in mine, but I can only hope I still hold her heart.