“That is not the criteria for figuring out who is on our side,” Kylie says. “Puppy petting doesn’t cut it.”
“It was a really cute puppy,” Ben interjects.
“He’s one of the good ones,” I insist, this time more seriously. “Trust me. Ben has some skills you’ll be interested in.”
“I highly doubt that,” Kylie says dismissively.
“Ouch,” Ben said, but he was flushed as if he found her exciting rather than insulting.
“What do you do?” Kylie asks, moving right into a job interview.
“Programming mostly. Hacking as a hobby,” Ben answers vaguely. “The kind that can get you access to things you need and hide things you don’t want seen.”
“And you have no problem with a woman living in this building?” Kylie challenges, pushing her hair off her shoulders. “That’s not going to disrupt your little special man things?”
“My man thing prefers having women around.” Ben chuckles. “I think this is way overdue. Penny here held down the fort for you, and now I’m looking forward to how you make these living arrangements more permanent. What’s the plan?”
“Blackmail, extortion, trickery of all kinds,” Kylie says, smirking behind her drink. “No rules. Just winning.”
“I like it,” Ben says, arching a brow at me, and suddenly I feel like the third wheel. “I can be of some help.”
“We’ll see,” Kylie says, staying aloof. “Do you have a card?”
Ben reaches in his pocket and hands Kylie a business card, lingering in the exchange a little longer than necessary.
“Want to stay for a drink, Ben?” I ask, wondering what might smolder between these two if alcohol was added.
“Night, Ben,” Kylie says, offering him everywhere but here.
“Night,” he says, but leaves smiling.
“Well that was rude,” I gasp, eyeing her intensely.
“I’m not into nice guys.” Kylie grimaces.
She says the last word with undue venom. “What is wrong with nice?”
“Don’t you know? They always finish last.”
I roll my eyes then wonder if that’s how Dalton sees me. I haven’t seen him since our talk. He sounded willing to fight for me. But maybe he decided love wasn’t worth it.
“Call him,” Kylie suggests as if she can read my mind. “I never wait around or play games. If I want to know where I stand, I ask.”
“How does that work out for you?”
“It weeds out the weak, that’s for sure.”
“From the looks of it, it weeds out everyone.”
Kylie raises her glass and clinks it against mine as though she wholeheartedly agrees with my assessment. “Well once I’m done bringing down the patriarchy in this testosterone-laden men’s club”—Kylie raises her voice hoping someone at a neighboring table will hear—“maybe after that I’ll look for Mr. Right.”
“You really do have a plan, right?” I ask, thinking of my father and the threats that have been made against him. I don’t want to doubt Kylie. She’s always proven to be a capable fighter, usually seeking out a battle. But she’s never had quite so much collateral damage on the line.
“These guys have spent their lives screwing around, breaking laws, and shitting on other people. I don’t have to dig deep to the get dirt on any of them. You know who doesn’t have any dirt? Me. I’m squeaky clean.”
“But Dad isn’t,” I remind her sheepishly. I know I’m driving a point she’d prefer I’d let go.
“Dad isn’t a criminal,” Kylie says as she gestures at the bartender to bring us a couple more drinks. “He’s disorganized. I bet if we clean up his paperwork, we clear him.”
We? She wants me to help her? My euphoria is short-lived. “I don’t like that anyone is after him,” I say. “We’re putting a target on his back all because you want to fight these idiots? You can live anywhere. But you want to live here because they told you, you couldn’t.” A sharp pain forms in my stomach.
“I want to live here because I should be able to live wherever the hell I want,” Kylie snaps. “My money is as green as theirs. I’ve worked twice as hard to earn it. I told you I’d take care of Dad, and I will. Have some faith in me.”
I love Kylie, but trust is hard. It’s not as cut and dried as I made it sound to Dalton.
“Do you regret saying yes to helping me out?” Kylie asks, pushing my glass closer and encouraging me to indulge.
“Not for a second.” I put a hand over hers and take a moment to enjoy the fact that my sister and I are actually working together on something. Dalton might be teaching me about love as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Penny
“The guy is an idiot,” one man in a suit barked to another as I try to reach the elevator and avoid the drama in the lobby. “Dalton is throwing his career away, first for some chick, and now he’s on his deathbed trying to be a Good Samaritan.”
At the sound of his name my feet freeze, my tennis shoes squeaking on the shiny marble floor. Deathbed? What the hell does that mean? It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Dalton, and I convinced myself pushing him away had worked. He wasn’t out trying to sort out the deep dimensions of love. He was on a bender drinking his problems away and successfully avoiding me. Or so I thought.
“What happened to Dalton?” I ask breathlessly as I bump into the two men who look thoroughly put out now. “You said he was on his deathbed?”
“You’re his girl, aren’t you?” the scrawnier of the two men laugh and nudges the other with his elbow. “Shouldn’t you know where your boy toy is?”
“What happened?” I shout, sending every pair of eyes in the lobby flying my way. I don’t care who stares. I want answers.
“Chill out. He’s in the hospital. I don’t know the details. I just know he missed a board meeting, and people are questioning his ability as a leader. That’s always step one in ousting someone. The guy made his own shit storm. He doesn’t get to be pissed; he’s caught out in it now. He should have toed the line like the rest of us instead of getting in bed with the enemy.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, staring hard at him so I can commit his face to memory.
“Pierce Savions.” He smirks. “Why, are you looking for a new warm bed to crawl into?”
“I want to make sure I give my sister your name for her list.” I keep my glare steady as his face contorts in confusion.
“What list?”
“The list of people she’s going to destroy,” I reply coolly and turn on my heel to head upstairs. His little laugh turns into a nervous chuckle as I hit the button to get me to the fourteenth floor.
“What’s the rush?” Ben asks, as I leave the elevator and blow by him in the hallway.
“Did you know Dalton is in the hospital?” I ask, winded from the adrenaline-fueled speed. “Do you know what happened?”
“No,” Ben says, worry creasing his brow. “Was he in an accident or something?”
“No clue,” I choke out as tears well in my eyes. “I’ve got to find him. I need to make sure he’s all right.”
“I’ll make some calls,” Ben tells me, and a moment later Kylie is in the hallway, trying to assess the situation.
“Are you all right?” she asks, clutching my shoulder tightly. “What happened?”
“A few guys in the lobby,” I choke out, trying to explain but Kylie’s eyes fill with rage and her back tenses up.
“Who, what did they do to you? Tell me their names.”
“No,” I say, a brief moment of calm filling me as I watch my sister transform into a wild animal ready to tear my enemies to pieces. “It’s Dalton. I heard some guys in the lobby saying he’s in the hospital on his deathbed. I don’t know what happened.”
“I’m calling around,” Ben explains, putting his hand over his phone for a second. “I think I’ve found him.”
“I’ll have a car service out front in a second,” Kylie promises as she pulls out her own cell and gets t
o work. I’m left standing in the hallway feeling the world spinning too fast around me. I’m useless and terrified as I walk to Dalton’s door and place my palm on the cool wood.
“You better not die,” I whisper as both Ben and Kylie spring into action, tugging me toward the elevator.
“Did they say what happened?” Kylie presses, but Ben just shakes his head.
“I only know what hospital he’s at, not his condition. We can be there in fifteen minutes. You already called for a car?”
“I was ready to head out,” Kylie explains. “The car’s out front now. Are we all going?”
I look at Ben and Kylie, and they wait for me to decide as though they’ll bend to whatever I ask. “Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, we all should go. I don’t know how bad it is, but he should know people are there with him.”
“Does he have family?” Kylie asks, probably running through a checklist in her head of what to do in these situations.
“His dad,” I gulp out, remembering the frail old man who shared a pot of tea with me and looked desperate to make amends with his son. Would he ever get the chance? Would he lose Dalton before they could work through their complicated relationship? Would I lose him before we could work out ours?
“I’ll find a way to get in touch with his dad if he doesn’t already know,” Ben says, clicking away at his phone screen. “It shouldn’t be too hard to track him down.”
“Thank you, guys,” I whisper as the elevator doors close and the world suddenly feels small and quiet again for a minute.
Neither Ben or Kylie reply, but I can see them exchanging some look I can’t quite pin down. I’d imagine it’s worry. Worry about how many pieces I’ll fall into if Dalton doesn’t make it. They’re wondering if those little shards could ever be put back together. The answer is no, and judging by their silence, I think they already know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“I’m sorry,” the tiny nurse, her dainty fingers folded together, summoned to the front desk says. “Only family is allowed to see someone in the ICU.”
“The ICU?” I gasp, my heart racing in my chest like a runaway horse. “What happened?”
“Again,” the nurse says, “I can’t share information with people outside of his family.”
“Conny,” Kylie barks, pursing her lips together and leaning over the nurse dominantly. “I can appreciate the rules. I love rules. They are meant to protect us all. HIPAA is a beautiful policy. Privacy is great. But this man does not have family besides a father we can’t seem to get in touch with. This,” she says, shoving me forward, “is the woman Dalton Croft loves. Do we have a piece of paper saying she’s his wife? No. Should that really matter?”
“It matters,” Conny says, at least looking pained on my behalf. “The ICU is a very serious place. Patients are often times not conscious. They are in different stages of care, and sometimes that may mean they are unrecognizable. We cannot let people who are not family walk in and be with a patient if we do not know that is their request. Or that the immediate family of the patient has given instructions to allow it.”
“He’s not conscious?” I cry, feeling my words catch in my throat. “Is he going to live?”
Conny looks around to see if anyone is listening and then leans in close. “He is not conscious at the moment. He’s listed in critical condition. I can also tell you that the reason you can’t get in touch with his father is because he is also here.”
“He’s here? So he knows what happened?” Ben asks, looking ready to track him down.
“He’s in room 341,” Conny explains. “He’s a patient as well. I’d start there. Perhaps he could make a request to get you access to see Dalton or at least for the doctors to give you an update on his status. I’m certain that would do the trick.”
“Thank you, Conny,” Kylie says, uncharacteristically soft. “We’ll be back.”
“I don’t understand,” I say as we bolt for the elevators to the third floor. “His father is here too?” I knot my hands in my hair as I try to force my brain to understand.
Kylie pulls my hands down and tugs me the rest of the way until we’re standing at room 341.
“Should we go in?” Ben asks, looking concerned about intruding.
“Damn right we should,” Kylie says, bursting through the door and calling his name. “Mr. Croft, are you here?”
“Yeah,” Dalton’s dad answers, sounding rightfully nervous by the intrusion. “Who’s asking? Oh, Penny. You’re here. I didn’t know how to get in touch with you, or if I should.”
“What happened?” I’m at his bedside, holding tight to the rails so I don’t fall over. “Dalton is in the ICU.”
“I know,” he answers, a look of pain filling his face. “It’s my fault. A week ago he called me out of the blue. I thought he’d completely written me off this time. But something was different. He wanted to talk. He wanted to know what it was I needed. I was reluctant to tell him, because I felt like I was going to hurt him again.”
“You’re sick,” I say, remembering the long conversation we’d had before Dalton had stormed in and gotten angry.
“I am. I needed a kidney transplant. I wasn’t going to ask him straight out. I wanted to see him first. So we met for dinner and something was different about him. He was . . . I don’t know how to explain it. I guess he was trying. Trying harder than usual to be around me. I haven’t made it easy over the years. He was right, all the things he told you about me were true. But when I asked what was going on with him, I was shocked when he blurted out that he was in love with you but didn’t deserve you. In love, my son!”
“He told me, and I sent him away.” I sniffle.
“You were right,” Miles assures me. “He knew it as well. Dalton fought a long time to make sure he kept his priorities in a certain order. In doing so he pushed a lot of people away. We went out to dinner to try to figure out if he might ever be the kind of man you could trust and love. I give him credit; he started with his most dysfunctional relationship first. He was always like that, tackle the hardest thing straight away, and the rest feels like a walk in the park.”
“He went with you to try to make amends?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes.” He nods, wiping a few stray tears from his cheek. “I didn’t deserve it, but he thought maybe it could be a path back to you. That would make it worth it for him. That’s a lot of crow he was willing to eat for you.”
“How did he get to the ICU?” Kylie asks, always one to move straight to the point.
“He was a match for the kidney. He had to be put under anesthesia. He’s never had any surgery before and apparently he had a reaction, a bad one, to the sedative.”
“And now he won’t wake up?”
“The doctors keep telling me it happens. People just need time for their bodies to recover, and then they come to.”
His words were reassuring, but his expression was fraught with fear. The machine he was attached to started beeping more rapidly.
“It’s just that,” he began, stuttering out his words, “I haven’t been worthy of his forgiveness, and yet there he was ready to give it to me. And he put his life on the line to save mine.”
“It’s all right,” I say, patting his hand gently. “I know Dalton would not have done this unless he was absolutely certain it was the right thing. I think even if you hadn’t made up, once he knew your life was on the line he’d be compelled to help. He wouldn’t let you die.”
“You’re right.” He nods and squeezes my hand affectionately.
“Can we get a look at his chart?” Kylie asks, trying her best not to interrupt the moment.
“Why?” he asked, looking to me to explain what exactly was going on.
“This is my sister, Kylie. She came to make sure I was all right. I’d imagine she wants to look at his chart so she can keep the doctors in check. She likes to be in control.”
“I have some specialists on speed dial,” she says. “I’d be happy to get them to consult on his ca
se, if needed. I mean, how serious is this?”
“Mr. Croft,” a doctor interrupts, his stoic expression immediately unsettling me. “I have an update on your son. Can we talk alone please?”
I can’t come up with the words fast enough to beg, but apparently the look on my face is enough. “They can stay,” he says, gesturing at Ben, Kylie, and me. “I want them to hear how he is. They are here for him.”
“All right,” the doctor says tentatively as he introduces himself. “I’m Dr. Greenlaw. I’m the surgeon working on Dalton’s case.” He grabs at the corner of his glasses and pushes them up to his face like it’s a tick rather than a necessity.
“How is he doing?” I ask nervously. “Is he going to wake up soon?”
“We expect he will. This can happen sometimes. He was sedated late afternoon Monday and has not been responding to our attempts to wake him. The good news is he’s breathing on his own. All his vital signs are within normal range. He’s young and fit. All indications say he is one of the very rare cases of anesthesia reaction where the body is not metabolizing the medication as quickly as someone else may. In laymen terms it’s as though the meds have not worn off yet.”
“But you’re not positive?” Ben presses, asking what the rest of us are thinking. “You don’t know for sure that’s the case?”
“Medicine is not a finite practice,” he explains. “I feel very confident Dalton will be awake by this evening. In the meantime, we are watching his vital signs, keeping him hydrated and comfortable. If you would like to take turns sitting with him we can arrange it.” Dr. Greenlaw pulls a pen from his pocket and jots a few notes in the chart in his hands. “Who would like the first shift? I can escort you up.”
“Kylie and I will grab a coffee in the cafeteria,” Ben says quickly. “Call if you need anything.”
Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, they were halfway out the door. I can’t blame them. This came out of nowhere, and to their credit they rallied around. But when it comes to sitting bedside, it doesn’t seem like their style.
“When he gets up . . .” Dalton’s father says, his voice cracking with emotion. He tries a few more times to speak but falters.