Tall, Tatted and Tempting (The Reed Brothers 1)

The doors of the hospital slide open and Logan, Pete and Sam run in. I hop out of my chair fall into Logan’s arms, because I know he’ll catch me. He squeezes me to him and rubs my hair for a second. Paul walks over and starts to speak to him. They’re all signing, but I can follow it. He explains.

Can we see him? Logan asks.

Paul shakes his head. “Not yet. They’ll let us know when we can.”

If we can. But no one says that out loud.

Logan drops his arm around me and pulls me into him. His face is in my hair and I can feel the warm caress of his breath against my neck. I lift my head and look up at him. “It’s bad,” I say.

He closes his eyes and lays the tips of his fingers against his temple. He knows.

Now we wait.

They’re all draped over the furniture in the waiting room, taking up a ton of space. But no one else is there, so it hasn’t mattered. Any one of these boys would give their seat up for someone else. Pete took Sam’s socks about an hour ago, and Sam put his shoes back on with none. Pete was barefoot. I somehow knew he wouldn’t go back inside. He went for his brothers instead.

It seems like days later when a doctor comes to talk to the family. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It feels like days.

The doctor sighs heavily and starts to talk. I hear snippets of it over the pulse that’s pounding in my head.

The chemo didn’t work.

He’s worse than he was.

They can call hospice.

“There’s nothing else you can do?” Paul asks.

The doctor sits down with them. “We’ve exhausted every opportunity. There are some trials that he could get into, but the chances are small. And the one that would most benefit him is very expensive.”

He waits. A pregnant silence falls over the room. “How expensive?” Paul asks.

“Hundreds of thousands,” the doctor says. “He doesn’t even have medical insurance.”

So that’s it. They don’t have hundreds of thousands of dollars so their brother dies.

I wipe a tear from my cheek. “This treatment, it could save him?” I ask. “Or would it just prolong the inevitable?”

He looks at me like I’m the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. “They’re having good success with it. There are no guarantees, however.”

“But it would give him a chance?”

“The best he could have.”

I nod. Logan squeezes me to him. I’ll be right back, I sign to him. I know what I have to do. My heart is breaking in two. But I know what my choices are.

Where are you going? he asks.

Restroom. I’ll be right back.

You ok?

I nod. He watches me walk away, his gaze boring into my back. I can feel it all the way down the hall. I don’t stop at the bathroom, though. I keep walking until I find a payphone.

I pick up the handle and a weird sort of peace settles over me. I press the button for the operator. “Collect call to California, please,” I say. I rattle off the number. It’s Saturday afternoon. My dad will be in the office.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Mr. Madison’s office,” a chipper voice says.

“You have a collect call from – caller, state your name?” the operator says.

“I’d like to talk with Mr. Madison, please,” I reply.

“We’ll accept the charges.” There’s a stillness on the other end of the line. “Emily, is that you?” the voice says. There’s hope in her voice. She’s been my dad’s secretary for as long as I can remember.

“Can I talk with him, please?” I ask.

The line goes dead for a moment, and then my dad picks up. “Emily?” he asks. I can almost hear the beat of his heart through the phone in the stillness.

“Dad,” I say.

“Em,” he says on a long sigh, like he’s deflating. There’s a clank and I imagine him taking his glasses off his nose and laying them on the table. “Where are you?”

“I need some help, Dad,” I say. I lay my forehead against the cool tiles on the wall and try not to cry. I want to cry for all that I’m giving up. I want to cry for all that I’m giving them. But mostly, I want to cry for me.

“Anything, Emily,” he says. His breath catches. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. But I’m coming home.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll send the jet.” His voice is urgent.

“Dad, first, I need for you to do something for me.” Please, please, please do this for me.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. “What do you need, Emily?”

“I need for you to take care of something for me, Dad.” I tell him some of the story. “I need for you to get him in the trial. And I want to take care of his treatment. We’ll use my money, Dad.” I have enough to spare. And then some. A lot more than I need.

He chuckles. “We don’t need to touch your trust fund, Em,” he says. “Why does this young man matter to you?” he asks.

“He just does, Dad.”

I hear his pen click. “What’s his name?”

“Matthew Reed.” My voice clogs in my throat. He’s going to do it. He’s going to do it. I tell him the name of the hospital. “I don’t know more information than that. I don’t even know who his doctor is.”

He chuckles. “I can get the information I need.”