Page 36 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

The hospital waiting room was lit like a crime scene—too white, too stark, humming with fluorescent unease.

The vinyl seats squeaked beneath us every time we moved uneasily in our chairs, and the air stank of disinfectant, the smell that something was wrong, someone was hurt, and hearts were breaking.

Nobody spoke.

Angus was bunched in a ball in a chair in the corner, knees up, fists pressed to his eyes, rocking slightly as he sobbed.

Rashida sat beside him, one hand on his back, silent and still.

Her strength wasn’t loud. It just… was .

Tilly sat cross-legged on the floor near the vending machine, absently spinning a half-empty water bottle between her palms like she could reverse time if she spun it fast enough.

Mrs. Mulroney was motionless in the chair near Tilly, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on nothing.

Her face was pale, her mouth set in a line too stunned for words.

No muttering, no wisecracks—just a woman caught between shock and fear and the heart-shattering realization that Mr. Banks may have had his last adventure.

Cal and I held hands. Neither of us had spoken since the emergency team wheeled Mr. Banks hurriedly away and the doors closed behind him.

And Leilani…

She sat across from me, back straight, hands neatly clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on a smudge on the floor.

“You were incredible today,” I said quietly, leaning forward.

She looked up, startled.

“I mean it. You didn’t hesitate. You were calm. You knew what to do.”

Her lip trembled. “I—I don’t know if I did enough.”

“You did all you could.” I glanced toward the doors. “Whatever happens… you did your best. You gave him a chance.”

She blinked fast. “His lips were blue. I kept thinking— don’t you dare —and then his eyes rolled back and—”

I reached across and took her hand.

“You were brave. And strong. And if I ever have to die, I hope to hell you’re the one yelling at me to come back.”

That got the faintest ghost of a smile from her.

The door burst open.

We all jumped.

Kimo raced in, looked around, and found Angus. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of him. Without a word, he wrapped those big, sun-browned arms around him. Angus collapsed into him with a guttural sob that sounded like it came from the bottom of the sea.

A moment later, Tutu hurried into the room, helped by Nakoa who kept her steady. She was somehow both trembling and composed. Nakoa eased her into the seat next to Leilani who gave her a strong, tight hug.

“Is he…” was all Tutu could manage.

Leilani brushed away a tear. “We don’t know anything yet. We’re still waiting.”

With a slightly quivering hand, Tutu cupped the back of Leilani’s head and gently rested their foreheads together, a prayer passing between them in silence.

Nakoa sank into the seat on the other side of Tutu.

Across the waiting room, Angus sobbed into Kimo’s shoulder. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. We were having a fight and I… I killed him. I killed my best friend.”

Kimo didn’t flinch. He leaned in and kissed the top of Angus’s head, then held him even tighter, anchoring him with steady, unshakable warmth.

“It’s not your fault,” he said gently. “You didn’t do this.”

Angus didn’t answer—he just cried harder, curling deeper into Kimo’s arms like he could disappear there.

Cal was suddenly up, crossing the room to his brother. He took the seat beside him and held his knee. “Angus, Kimo’s right. You didn’t do this. Whatever happens, it’s not your fault. Mr. Banks would never want you to blame yourself for anything. You understand?”

Angus gave a shudder of a nod.

The room fell quiet again, the silence drawn tight as wire.

Then suddenly the doors to the ER opened.

A woman in blue scrubs stepped into the waiting room. She looked tired. Her expression was unreadable.

Quickly we rose to our feet as one—Cal, me, Rashida, Mrs. Mulroney, Tilly, Leilani, Tutu, Nakoa. Even Angus pulled away from Kimo, breath caught in his throat.

The doctor looked at each of us.

Her face was grim.

“I’m afraid your friend had a heart attack,” she said in gentle, steady voice.

A sound escaped Mrs. Mulroney—sharp and involuntary—and she cupped her mouth.

Angus made a low whimper and gripped Kimo’s arm.

Cal moved quickly to my side, his hand like a vise in mine.

“It was serious,” the doctor said carefully. “The blockage was significant—one of the main arteries. We had to perform an emergency angioplasty to restore blood flow. Unfortunately, there were complications.”

Everyone in the room held their breath.

“His heart stopped once en route,” the doctor told us. “Thankfully we were able to restart it and get him through the surgery. We’ve started him on medication to support his heart function, and he’ll need further monitoring over the next forty-eight hours.”

Still, no one breathed.

Then finally—

“But his condition is stable.”

A collective exhale swept through the room like a wave. Shoulders dropped. Eyes closed. Tears of relief flowed. Hands reached for the nearest hand to hold.

“He’s okay?” Mrs. Mulroney asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He’s alive,” the doctor said, looking around at each of us. “And he’s in good hands.”

Tutu let out a soft, broken sob and dropped her head against Leilani’s shoulder. Angus collapsed back into his chair, head in his hands. Mrs. Mulroney sat down too, hard, like her knees had given out. She was shaking.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until Cal pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my temple.

“He’s okay,” my husband whispered gently in my ear. “He’s gonna be okay.”

Over the next two days, the hospital became our second home.

We took turns keeping watch—rotating shifts in the waiting room, bringing in magazines and crossword puzzles to pass the long, endless hours. There were exhausted naps in chairs, murmured updates in the hallway, and enough vending machine snacks to fuel a football team.

None of us wanted to be too far. None of us could breathe properly until we saw him again.

And then, finally, we were allowed in.

Just two at a time. No crowding. No fuss.

Angus and I went first.

The nurse led us down a quiet corridor, her sneakers whispering over the tiles. She paused outside the door.

“He’s awake, but he tires quickly,” she said gently. “Just a few minutes, okay?”

We nodded.

Then she opened the door, let us in, and closed it behind us.

Mr. Banks lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and tubes and soft, steady beeping. His eyes were half-lidded, skin pale and sunken, but he was alive. And awake. And when he saw us, a slow, familiar smile formed across his face.

“Well look who it is,” he rasped. “The overthinker and the overreactor.”

Angus made a sound like a laugh and a sob got tangled in his throat. He stepped forward, then stopped. “Hi.”

Mr. Banks raised a trembling hand. “Don’t just stand there like a ghost. Come here, you beautiful fool.”

Angus rushed to the bedside and grabbed his hand, cradling it like something breakable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears spilling instantly. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. I was just—I was angry and stupid and scared. And then you were just… gone.”

Mr. Banks brushed his thumb across Angus’s knuckles.

“I didn’t go far,” he whispered. “Just a quick detour through the veil. Very dramatic. There were angels. And two men named Adam and Steve which was joyfully enlightening.”

Angus let out a wet laugh, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “Please don’t joke. ”

“Who’s joking? You know I’m always deadly serious.”

“Just so long as you’re not dead, I’m happy,” Angus said. “No more stupid fights. Ever. I love you too much.”

“And I love you,” Mr. Banks whispered. “More than my slippers. More than butterscotch. Possibly even more than a perfectly aged single malt.”

Angus looked down, voice barely audible. “Even now that you’ve found your princess?”

Mr. Banks smiled. “Makani has my heart. But you, Angus… you’re my soul. You always have been.”

Angus collapsed again, resting his forehead against Mr. Banks’s hand.

They stayed like that for a long moment, silent and still, the air thick with everything they weren’t saying. And everything they finally were.

Eventually Angus sat up, cheeks soaked, and tried to regain some composure.

“Just to be clear,” he said, sniffling. “You’re never allowed to nearly die again. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Mr. Banks said softly. Before adding, “Unlike that marble statue of Neptune I stole from a Roman bathhouse in 1956. Slipped straight off the back of the boat. Right into the Adriatic. Never saw it again. Damn shame.”

Angus groaned. “Oh my God.”

“Beautiful craftsmanship too,” Mr. Banks sighed, settling back into the pillow. “Tragic loss. But you? No. You’re stuck with me.”

Mr. Banks had to stay in the hospital longer than expected—some post-op hiccups, a touch of fluid in the lungs, and one dramatic allergic reaction to the pudding, which may or may not have been faked in protest over the hospital food.

Eventually, he turned a corner. His strength came back, his sass returned, and he started flirting with the night nurse, which we all took as a very good sign.

When we got the call that he had been cleared to come home, the mood in the house shifted instantly.

The crisis was behind us, and everyone felt buoyant and bright and grateful for the smallest things—a breeze through the open windows, the sound of Tilly laughing in the kitchen, and the thought of more outrageous tales of adventure from Mr. Banks.

And Leilani—

Leilani was glowing. And huge. And according to her, “Exactly one sneeze away from launching this baby into the stratosphere.”

The baby had dropped. The due date loomed. Every time she so much as winced, Cal reached for his phone, ready to speed-dial an ambulance.

Tutu had taken to packing and repacking the hospital bag like it was a military operation. Even Rashida had installed a whiteboard in the kitchen and was crossing off the days like she was planning an escape from Alcatraz.

We were all holding our breath. But this time, it wasn’t fear.

It was anticipation.

On the afternoon Mr. Banks was due home, Cal and Angus went to the hospital to pick him up. An hour later, they were wheeling him through the door in a wheelchair, a wide grin slapped across his face while we all cheered his homecoming.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” he said, as we all gathered at the front door to greet him. “I thought they were going to keep me until I qualified for assisted living.”

Tilly had blown up balloons. Rashida had baked a pie. And Mrs. Mulroney had set out a tray of shortbread cookies, a bottle of brandy, and the “good” teacups.

Mr. Banks looked around at all of us, eyes shining. “So, it takes a near-death experience for you lot to crack out the good china, I see. ”

“Just don’t break it,” Mrs. Mulroney said, handing him a cup of tea. “It’s older than you and twice as valuable.”

He took a sip. “Ah, Earl Grey. My favorite.”

“It’s Irish Breakfast, thank you very much. We didn’t bring you back from the dead just to drink bad tea.”

Before another argument could break out, Leilani stepped forward and gently tucked a fresh hibiscus flower behind his ear.

He turned to her, his voice soft. “I hear I have you to thank for saving my life.”

Leilani gave a shy smile. “I just did what anyone would’ve done.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, taking her hand. “I once started choking in a café and the woman next to me offered me a mint. Some people react very strangely in an emergency, but you kept your head, and I now have the honor of thanking you.”

He kissed the back of her hand, and she fought back happy tears. “Oh God, please don’t make me cry. My hormones are already clinging to the edge right now.”

Cal wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned in close. “It’s good to have him back.”

“It’s good to have all of us back,” I said.

And for a brief, perfect moment, the world felt settled.

Outside, the wind rustled the palm fronds. Inside, Mr. Banks reclined in his chair like he’d never left it, sipping tea and regaling Tilly with a story about the time he’d accidentally joined a French pirate crew in 1972.

The house was full again.

Full of noise. Full of light. Full of life.

And soon—very, very soon—it would be full of something else too.

Someone else.

We just had to wait.