Stay with Me / Page 47

Page 47


“Known Clyde for a couple of years,” Reece said after he sat in the seat next to us. “He’s a strong man. He’ll pull through.”

I took an unsteady breath and Jax ran his hand up my spine. “Thank you.”

Reece didn’t say much, but he sat like he planned on staying for a while, and that left me warm and fuzzy. When the door opened again some ten minutes later, I saw Teresa coming through the door, followed by my friends, and my heart clenched.

I stared at them as they made their way over to where we sat. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We had to come,” Teresa said, sitting on the other side of us. She reached out and squeezed my arm. “We wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Cam and Avery took up the same kind of position across from us, her in his lap and resting her head against his chest. “None of us felt right.”

“We wanted to be here with you,” Jase tossed in, sitting in the seat beside Teresa.

I opened my mouth, blubbered up some kind of thank-you, and then I turned, burying my face in Jax’s throat. His arms tightened around me, and I told myself not to cry, because it was dumb, but I was rocking the overly emotional thing then, and I stayed that way until my eyes felt somewhat dry, and then I thanked them again. I pulled myself together and managed to hold and follow the conversation around me.

Over the next couple of hours, Roxy and Nick showed up at different times, staying until they had to get back to the bar. Roxy had steered clear of Reece, but when she left, he’d mysteriously gotten up and walked out, too. I wondered about that. Everyone who worked at the bar showed at some point, and it did good things for my soul to see so many people care about Clyde.

When I whispered that to Jax, he whispered back, “They also care about you.”

And he was right. As usual. It was getting kind of annoying.

The door opened again shortly after that and my stomach dropped when I saw that it was the doctor. I started to pull myself free, but Jax tightened his hold on me, and all I was able to do was face the doctor.

“How is he?” I asked, my heart thumping fast.

Dressed in blue scrubs and looking absolutely exhausted, the older woman smoothed a small, delicate hand over the top of her salt-and-pepper hair. “You’re family?”

“Yes,” I immediately responded. Blood or not, Clyde was family.

Her hazel eyes swept the waiting room. “All of you are family?”

“Yeah, we’re all family,” Jax responded then, his hand flattening along my stomach. “How is he?”

She walked over to an empty love seat catty-corner to where we sat and clasped her hands between her knees. “He’s made it through surgery.”

“Oh, thank God,” I whispered, slumping back against Jax.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she went on to say, and I knew from my schooling that the next things she said were serious. “He suffered a major heart attack due to several blockages. We put in stents, because we usually . . .”

They usually saw faster recovery in those who had stents versus a bypass. As the doctor continued, two parts of my brain functioned independently of each other—the clinical side and the personal side. But ultimately, Clyde had made it through surgery and although this was a major surgery and I knew things could go horribly wrong from this point, he made it out of surgery and that was huge. Tears of relief built in the back of my eyes.

“He’s asleep now and he’ll be like that probably for the rest of the day, and right now, we really need to let him rest.” The doctor stood, smiling faintly. “If everything pans out tomorrow, at least one of you can visit him if he’s up to it.”

I came to my feet then, and Jax didn’t stop me. “Thank you—thank you so much.”

Her faint smile remained. “Now all of you should go home and get some rest. If anything changes between now and tomorrow, we’ll let you know. Okay?”

As the doctor left, I turned and Teresa was standing there. She wrapped her arms around me, and I hugged her back. “This is good,” she said. “This is really good.”

Blinking back the tears, I nodded. “I know. Clyde’s strong. He’ll pull through.” Sniffling, I edged back and smiled at her. Jax was standing beside me, and he took hold of my hand, threading his fingers through mine. He squeezed. “Thank you,” I said again, totally choked up as I turned to my friends. “Thank you.”

Avery smiled in return, and my eyes dropped to her waist for some reason. I don’t really know why, but I saw that they were being their typical most adorable couple in all of coupledom; her smaller hand was in Cam’s, their palms pressing together and his fingers curled around hers.

Just like Jax’s held mine.

Twenty-eight

It wasn’t until Monday afternoon that Clyde was well enough for a short visit. Jax had to stay out in the waiting area while a young nurse led me into his room.

Seeing him lying on the narrow bed, his once big and bulky frame appearing so frail, and covered with tubes and wires, shook me up.

My knees knocked together as he blinked slowly and then I swallowed the raw emotion building in my throat. I sat in the small chair beside his bed. Reaching out, I placed my fingers over his. “Hey there.”

A weak, tired smile appeared on his lips. His complexion was terribly pale. “Baby girl . . .”

My breath caught. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to . . . run a marathon.”

I laughed and my smile became wobbly. Several seconds passed as we stared at each other, and I had to swallow hard again. “I want you to get better.”

The weak smile fluttered. “On it.”

“I want you to get better so that when school starts back up and I come home on the weekends, you’ll make me tacos,” I told him. “Okay?”

His brows lifted a fraction of an inch and he murmured, “Home?”

Worried that the heart attack had messed with more than his heart, I nodded. “Yeah, when I come home, I want you . . .” I trailed off as the sharp slice of understanding cut through me.

Home.

I’d called here home.

And I hadn’t called here home in years, because it hadn’t felt that way since Mom went downhill and Dad left. My mouth opened wordlessly, but I didn’t know what to say. The strangest thing was I had no inclination to correct what I had said, because here . . . here was home again.

Wow.

I had no idea what to do with all that.

That exhausted smile showed off a toothy grin that faded quickly. “Baby girl, I never . . . thought I’d hear . . . that again.”

“I . . . I never thought I’d say that again.” Damnit. Tears made it to my eyes, and I wondered if this was the summer I went on Prozac. “But it’s . . .”

“It’s true.” He took a deep breath and winced. “It’s good, baby girl. It’s . . . real good.”

I squeezed his fingers gently and leaned forward, whispering, “It is.”

And I wasn’t lying. It really was. My heart kicked around in my chest as I wiped the back of my other hand across my cheek.

“You feel that?” he asked quietly.

“What?” I croaked out.

“The weight lifting a little . . . off you,” he said. “You feel it?”

My lips trembled as I nodded. “Yeah, Uncle Clyde, I feel that.”

Another deep breath passed and it took a lot for him to get his hand turned around. He squeezed my fingers back with the pressure of a toddler, and that was hard to see. “Your momma . . . she loved you, baby girl. She still does. You . . . know that, right?”

Smashing my lips together, I nodded. I did know that. In spite of all the terrible stuff she did, I knew she still loved me. She just needed the high more than she needed my love or me. It was just a sad truth about someone addicted to drugs.

His grip relaxed and he closed his eyes. I sat there for a couple more moments. “You need to rest. I’ll come back later.”

He nodded slowly, but as I started to pull away, his eyes opened and his hand flexed around mine. “That boy . . . he’s cared about you for a . . .” He faded out, and I froze, half sitting, half standing. Then he spoke again. “He’s a good boy, baby girl. Jackson’s always been perfect for you.”

“Always been?” I asked.

But there was no answer. Uncle Clyde was out, and his words left me confused. The way he spoke was like Jax had been in my life for a long time and he hadn’t. Then again, Clyde was on some pretty damn good painkillers. I stayed for a few more minutes, watching his chest rise and fall, reassuring myself that he was very much alive and that he was going to get better. I pressed a kiss to his cheek and then left the room.

I turned down the hall, passed the busy nurse station, and headed toward the waiting room.

Detective Anders was leaning against the wall, waiting for me. I couldn’t stop the tension that crept up over me when I saw him.

“Hey,” I said, slowing my step. I glanced at the windows of the waiting room. It was empty.

“Jax ran down a floor to get a drink out of one of the vending machines,” Detective Anders explained. “He should be back in a few. I told him I’d wait for you. I’d called your cell and when there was no answer, I called Jax.”

“Oh.” I folded my arms as I stared up at him, thankful I wasn’t thinking about how good-looking he was like last time. Crap. Now I was thinking that. The man could work a suit. Looking away, I wanted to kick myself in the teeth. “I left my phone in his truck.”

“How’s he doing?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath, I refocused. “He was awake for a little while, so I got to talk to him.” I hated what I said next. “He’s really weak, though, and I know he’s in pain, but he’ll . . . he’ll pull through.”

“He’s a tough guy. I’ve got to believe he’ll get through this, too.”

I nodded, folding my arms against the hospital chill. “Detective Anders—”

“Call me Colton.”

Colton? His name was Colton? I’d gone all my life not knowing someone named that, and I thought it fit him, a rugged and sexy name. “Colton, were you just checking on Clyde or . . .”

“A little of that, and I wanted to check in with you and let you know that we’re still working hard on everything.”

“So there’s no bad news?”

A sympathetic look crossed his face. “No, Calla, there’s really no news at this point. We haven’t been able to locate anyone who matches the description you provided us in criminal records and Mack is still lying low, but that’s a good thing. That last part, that is.”

I frowned. “How so?”

He looked around, then motioned to the waiting room with a jerk of his chin. “Let’s take this in there.”

Ruh-roh.

I walked through the door he held open and sat in the first chair. As he unbuttoned his suit jacket, he sat across from me. “We’ve been putting in a lot of visits to Isaiah. We’ve got nothing leading back to him, no surprise there, and even though he keeps his hands clean, we know those hands are all over this shit, you follow me?”

Mysterious Isaiah strikes again. “Okay.”

“He doesn’t like screwups or loose ends. Mack right now is both of those things and he’s bringing the heat down on Isaiah, plus Isaiah can’t be too happy about the drugs going missing,” he explained, eyes fixed on me. “Mack’s got it coming from both ends with Isaiah. He’s in the same boat as . . .”

“As my mother?”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Yes. I hate saying that to you, but yes.”

Running my hands over my jeans, I sighed. There was nothing I could say to that. Nothing at all.

“If you hear from your mom, you need to let us know,” he continued. “I know that’ll be hard, but it’s not safe for her. We are literally the lesser of two evils. You get what I’m saying?”

Unsure if I could do that, turn my mom over to the police, I shifted my gaze away. I knew it would be the right thing to do if Mom happened to pop back up and even though I wanted to say I could, it would be different if that situation arose.

Detective Anders stood, and I figured the conversation was over. He stopped at the door, head tilted. “You have a good thing going here, right?”

Thinking that was an odd thing to say, all I did was nod.

“Then take to heart what I said about your mother, Calla. I know she’s blood. I know you love her. And I know these things are hard, but don’t let her take these good things away from you.”

Detective Anders’s words lingered with me the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. I tried not to think about it when Jax and I left to grab a late lunch at a small diner in town or as we spent the evening chilling in his living room. It was a lot to deal with—everything—and it was exhausting, both mentally and emotionally.


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