Page 51 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

I nodded, and he kissed me hard, then turned to the phone. A few seconds after, he picked it up and said, “Ryder Calloway for the patient in room six. I’m his son.” Silence and then, “Thank you.”

As soon as he hung up, the doors began to open at a snail’s pace. My pulse pounded in my ears so loudly I almost missed his final, “You got this.” But I could never overlook the press of his lips against mine.

I probably should have thanked him or reassured him I wouldn’t collapse or puke all over the floor, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore.

I walked straight through the double doors, feeling like a pirate’s captive walking the plank to my doom.

Every step I took brought me closer to a situation I didn’t yet understand but knew would be bad.

The ICU had the distinct odor of disinfectant and despair.

High-pitched beeping came from all directions, some short and staccato, while others were drawn out or in multiples.

The air felt charged with anxiety and fear.

I struggled to force my gaze to the left, where the rooms were, instead staring straight ahead at a bustling nurses’ station.

If I didn’t look, I couldn’t see anything devastating.

“Mr. Calloway?”

I startled, then glanced down to find a five-foot-nothing perky woman in maroon scrubs. She had her blonde hair tied up in a neat bun and hideous white rubber shoes. A medical mask hid most of her facial features, except for her eyes, which shone with compassion.

“Um, yeah. That’s me. But you can call me Ryder.”

“Come with me, Ryder. I’m Avery, and I’m the nurse taking care of your father until seven o’clock tonight.”

I followed as she continued to speak.

“Your mother is in with him now. We’re expecting the neurologist soon.

” She stopped outside a room with a sliding glass door and a pulled curtain.

“It’s always a little shocking for family members to see their loved ones in the ICU for the first time, so let me tell you a little about what you can expect. ”

“Uh, okay, thanks.” Maybe a heads-up would keep me from freaking out when I walked in there.

“He has a breathing tube in his throat, but that is temporary. The neurologist will explain it more. Several machines are monitoring him right now, so don’t be startled by the wires, IVs, and tubes.

He is stable right now, and the neurologist will explain the plan when she arrives in a few moments. Are you ready?”

Was I ready? Hell no. Did it matter? Apparently not.

“Yes, I am.” My right palm tingled. I’d give anything to have Alex there beside me, holding my hand and bleeding his strength into me.

She slid open the door and stepped into the room, pushing the curtain aside for me. The second I entered the small room, my gaze zeroed in on my father lying still in the mechanical bed in the center of the room. There wasn’t anything else to capture my attention.

Though I’d been warned what to expect, my loud gasp ripped through the room. Avery squeezed my upper arm before moving to a computer mounted on the left wall.

My father lay on his back, completely still but for the rise and fall of his chest. A tube ran from his mouth to a loud machine, which I assumed pumped oxygen into his lungs.

Jesus.

Wires seemed to come from everywhere, leading to a screen mounted near his bed. Multiple lines fed into two separate IVs, one in each hand. Another tube extended beneath the covers to a bag hanging on the side of the bed. It was halfway full of dark yellow liquid.

He looked small and vulnerable, nothing like the business mogul who ran a billion-dollar empire. Nothing like the man who disapproved of my choices and had no problem telling me.

He’d hate anyone seeing him this way. If a photo were leaked to the press, he’d ruin the life of the whistleblower.

Strange as it was, he’d probably hate being seen in a gray hospital gown with the horrid geometric pattern more than anything else.

The man hadn’t left the house in anything but a bespoke suit or golf outfit in decades.

What now? Was I supposed to talk to him? Touch him?

A delicate throat clearing had me jerking my gaze to the right, where my mother sat in a high-back chair against the wall.

She looked terrible—mussed hair, red-rimmed eyes, hands clenched on her lap.

I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen her looking anything less than perfect.

She didn’t even let her children see her without a full face of makeup and coiffed hair.

My father was—shit, is—her life.

“Mother—”

The curtain slid open, and a tall, willowy woman in a long white coat stepped into the room. “Good morning,” she said in a soft tone. “I am Dr. Travers, one of the neurologists here on staff. Are you here to see Mr. Calloway?”

I glanced at my mother, who seemed near catatonic at this point.

She didn’t respond, so I stepped forward and held out my hand.

“Yes, I’m Ryder, his son. And this is my mother, his wife, Sylvia.

My sister is out of town, but I’m sure she’ll be coming straight back. ” God, had my mom even called Vera?

Dr. Travers shook my hand. “Very nice to meet you, though I’m sorry about the circumstances.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Calloway suffered an embolic stroke, which means a blood clot in his brain restricted blood flow, causing damage. We currently have him sedated to give his brain a rest and plan to remove the breathing tube in the next few days. Until then, we won’t know the extent of the effects.”

While I appreciated her no-nonsense competence, my head felt too stunned to process what she was saying. Later, I would probably think of a hundred questions, but for now, only one came to mind. “What do you mean, the effects?”

She nodded. “So, we can see on CT imaging that he experienced a profound stroke. Based on where the damage is, we can expect significant weakness or possible paralysis to his right side. He will most likely have difficulty speaking, which we call aphasia, and some level of cognitive impairment. It’s impossible to know the severity until he’s awake, and our speech, occupational, and physical therapists can then evaluate him.

I will say, though, he most likely has a long road of recovery ahead of him.

This is not to scare you, but I do want you to have realistic expectations. ”

Paralysis?

Aphasia?

Cognitive impairment?

Did that mean he wouldn’t be able to walk and talk? What about feeding himself? Or even going to the bathroom on his own?

I wanted to ask, but was too terrified to hear the answer.

“I know this is extremely overwhelming. I’m going to give you guys a chance to process and think of some questions for me. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

She disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared. Maybe she wasn’t the warmest and fuzziest when it came to her bedside manner, but I’d take her straight talk over coddling any day.

In a move that shocked me, my mom shot up from her chair and rushed over to me. She grabbed my arms and gave me a little shake. “The VanBuren merger,” she said, voice panicked.

“What?”

“Your father was in the final stages of a huge merger with VB Corp.”

“Okay, well, clearly, it will have to be put on hold.” Why was she even thinking of business at a time like this?

“No.” She shook me again. “Your father wouldn’t want that. You know how important his work is to him.”

Did I ever. “Screw work. Mom, he’s not even conscious.”

Acrylic nails dug into my skin through my thin sweater as she clutched me tight. “No, please, Ryder, you have to take over for him.”

“What?” My jaw hit the floor, and I took a step back from her, shaking my head.

She pulled me back to her. “Please,” she said, tears falling from her eyes. “You have to do this for him. He needs to know his company is taken care of while he recovers. It’s the only thing he’ll care about when he wakes up.”

I scoffed. Pretty sure he’d want to be able to stand and shit on his own. I managed to keep those words in. She was probably right. All he’d care about was if his money grew while he was lying unconscious in a hospital.

“Please, Ryder. He needs you right now. You need to run the company for him while he is unable to do so. I’m begging you. You’re his only son.”

School would start in a few weeks. I was supposed to begin a new path, one I’d set for myself based on my own goals and desires, not those my parents laid out for me.

We hadn’t had a conversation about my switch to a master’s degree in education, but my father must have told her about our blowup.

My stomach turned over. I couldn’t, didn’t want to say yes.

“Ryder, it’s time to stop playing around.

” Her voice shifted from that of a devastated wife to the socialite who made headlines with her lavish lifestyle.

“We’ve let you be selfish long enough. It’s time to grow up and do what your family needs.

You need to step up and take your father’s place until he is well again. ”

I stared down at her fresh tears. Were they for my father or for the fear of losing her status as the top one percent?

Or was she right?

Would it be selfish of me to step away from my father’s business to pursue my dreams at this time?

Fuck, I wished Alex was with me.