“Is Daddy gonna die?”
“I don’t know, honey,” Olivia says quietly.
I shake my head firmly.
“He’s a human ox. He’ll pull through. Count on it, Micha.”
He looks up at me, his eyes conflicted.
Goddammit, this sucks. Every last rotten bit of it.
I’m not sure what else to say. I don’t deal with kids often.
I meet Olivia’s eyes, hoping she’ll come to the rescue. This is her son, her family, whatever the hell happened between them to cause grudges.
She stares straight ahead for a solid minute before her eyes flick to me.
“Well, we have to get back. Will you call me if he—if anything changes?”
My jaw tightens. I want to rip her a new one so bad.
“That’s it?” I whisper, my voice low. “You’ll let the boy visit one time for half an hour and run home?”
She closes her eyes for a second. When she opens them, she scoffs.
“Burns, would you want to see your father like that? Would it do anything besides give you nightmares for life?”
I roll my eyes, making a frustrated sound.
What the fuck ever. I get it.
She wants to fly back to her fancy new life with another sucker she’ll probably screw over eventually the same way she did Wyatt. That’s cool. But why use the boy as an emotional shield?
“Your choice,” I bite off, crossing to the door and pressing my hand against it.
It’s all I can do to keep my rage in check.
“You’ll call me, right?” she calls after me.
Fuck no, I’m tempted to tell her.
If that’s her attitude, she can find out Wyatt’s fate from the staff.
Of course, I can’t do that to my friend, though.
“Will you care?” I ask, moving back to the room.
“Lincoln, wait!” My name comes out like an expletive.
I don’t stop, pushing the door open. I reenter Wyatt’s room without continuing this pointless conversation.
I return to the hard chair I’ve practically lived in for the last few days and open my laptop again. Let’s try this email one more time.
One of the monitors beeps.
I glance up at my friend, this motionless mass of tubes and paleness. His condition hasn’t changed the whole time I’ve been here.
The lines move up and down the same way, the machines churning with faint hisses.
I exhale. “Get better, man.”
With my eyes back on my screen, I confront a different torture, inhaling sharply.
Okay. Fuck. Let’s try this again.
Dear Dakota,
I’m sorry I was a jackass.
My nose wrinkles. I punch DELETE. It’s true, yeah, but there’s no point in getting her hopes up just to crush her again.
Dear Dakota,
I can’t see you again.
I snort, knowing how stupid that sounds.
My hands push the laptop shut again.
Who am I kidding?
Dakota Poe is the only person I want to see, and I shouldn’t. I don’t deserve her.
Even if I knew full well the sheer torment of watching a comatose Wyatt the past few days would have been easier with her here. And she’d be here if I only asked.
You’d think the hardest part of this past week would be staring at Wyatt, wondering if he’ll ever leave his bed.
The hard part should’ve been tracking down his heartless ex and threatening her with legal destruction so she’d show up with their son, who I have an ugly feeling won’t be back again.
I look at that mess of a man again, hanging my head.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I wish I’d done you better...” When I look up, I’m biting my inner cheek until I taste blood.
Wyatt Emory saved my life.
The hardest part should be watching, waiting, and praying he’ll cheat death one more time.
But it’s not.
It’s only a close second to my other nightmare—trying to decide what to tell Dakota without gouging out my heart with a rusty serving spoon.
I’m not completely stupid.
Yes, I need to apologize, but more importantly, I can’t crush her.
The text she sent calling me a coward speaks volumes.
I’m no fucking coward.
Doesn’t she understand I’m trying to protect her from me?
Somewhere along the line, I forgot that romantic relationships are a sick joke.
Ma and Dad.
Olivia and Wyatt.
Regina and me.
They make me a worse man. A frustrated, explosive beast prone to outbursts that could wreck my life—and Dakota’s by default.
They’re a few years of flirting, sweet words, and guilt-free sex. All followed by a shattered lifetime in a tent because your other half gave up on you, leaving you stalking the world like a hollowed-out phantom.
I don’t want Mother’s fate, and I damn sure don’t need Wyatt’s.
I won’t have that destroying Dakota, either.
I’m still brooding, staring out the small hospital window, when the door clicks. The doctor comes in, a wiry man with greying hair at the temples. He nods at me.
“You’re a loyal visitor, standing watch like this,” he says.
“Not half as loyal as Wyatt Emory.”
He sets down a thick tablet on the bedside table, checks the monitors, and takes out a flashlight and shines it in Wyatt’s eyes.