She stared out of the window as they zoomed past the landscape. Green hills turned gray in the pounding rain. “I really want to kill someone right now,” she said.
“I’ll help you bury the body,” Harvard said darkly, leading her to think he had some very real experience in that area.
With her hand tucked in his, she kept her eyes on the road in front of them and tried not to think about where their journey would end. Or what she’d have to face when she got there.
Chapter Twenty-One
As they approached the door to her father’s hospital room, Harvard asked, “Do you want me to come in with you or wait out here?”
His question came across as purely pragmatic, without even a hint of pity. Thank Gucci. “I honestly don’t care,” she said. “Do what you want.”
He put a hand on her arm, his touch gentle but firm. “Rachel,” was all he said, but his tone made it clear he expected a different answer.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I want you to come in with me.” She squeezed the words through a throat that was rapidly closing to keep them inside.
“Was that so hard?” He let go of her arm.
“You have no idea,” she muttered.
“Would it make it easier if I promised to tell everyone I forced myself into the room with you?”
She gave that some serious consideration. “Yes. It would.”
“Okay then,” he said, while smothering a smile.
“I don’t want anyone to think I’ve gone soft or become needy.” She glared at him. “Because I haven’t.”
“Understood.” Harvard reached out to brush her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m your backup in case you need it. I’m not a crutch.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes sparkled. “You want to pat me on the head and tell me well done, don’t you?”
Honestly. “You are far more trouble than you’re worth.”
“We both know that isn’t true. You ready?”
“As ready as anyone can be when they’d rather be anywhere else.” Rachel hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “I’m concerned about my father, but I’d rather the focus was on him—where it should be—than on my ancient history.” She frowned up at him. “I have no idea why I’m explaining myself to you.”
“Delayed shock?” he offered.
“Must be,” she said as she opened the door and stepped inside.
As with hospital rooms the world over, this one was decorated in insipid pastel colors and gray machinery. The room was private, which meant there were flowers on the bedside table, a painting on the wall, some floral curtains that she assumed were supposed to be cheerful, and an upholstered armchair for her mother to sit in. The only thing about the room that was in any way delightful was the view out over London. Everything else would just make a patient feel even more ill.
“Rachel,” her mother cried, jumping out of her seat and running straight at her.
The force of her hug almost swept Rachel off her feet. Instead, she felt the steadying hold of Harvard’s strong hands before he took her handbag, freeing her up to return her mother’s embrace.
“My baby,” her mother said through tears, squeezing her tight. “My poor, poor baby.”
“I’m fine.” Rachel patted her back. “Really, let’s concentrate on Father.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, she caught her father’s eye, and it felt like the wind had been knocked right out of her. He stared back at her, his face devoid of color and his eyes filled with tears. Propped up on pillows, with wires coming from his chest and tubes in his arm, he suddenly looked much older than his years. It was a stark and awful reminder that she wouldn’t have them forever. Something she couldn’t even bear thinking about.
“It’s okay,” Rachel reassured him. “Honestly. It’s fine.”
“How can it be fine?” His voice was a rasp. “My daughter was…you were…” He shook his head as though nothing made any sense. “And we weren’t there for you. Why, Rachel, why didn’t you tell us?”