“He told you your mom’s in the hospital?” I ask, getting close to her.
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
She chews the inside of her cheek before answering. “He said he thinks she got ahold of Fentanyl pills. When he found her in her bed, she was barely breathing, her lips and nails were blue, and it was obvious she’d overdosed.” She takes a breath as I wrap her in my arms. “He couldn’t get her to wake up, so he called an ambulance. She’s been in the hospital for three days and hasn’t improved. The doctors told him that they don’t think she’ll make it much longer and that everyone needs to know so they can say goodbye.”
My eyes close as I rest my chin on top of her head. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to take you tonight?” I question, leaning back to look at her, but her eyes are pointed at my throat.
“No.” She shakes her head then glances up at me, looking conflicted. “But I know I need to go.”
“Then we’ll go.” I kiss the top of her head then release her. I help her into her coat then lead her to my truck and help her inside. She’s silent on the way to the hospital, but the moment I reach out and take hold of her hand, her fingers close tightly around mine.
I park near the entrance and lead her to the nurses’ station, letting them know who we’re looking for and getting a room number. When we make it to the door to her mom’s room, I stop her outside and turn her toward me. Getting her attention, I slide one hand around her back, the other around the nape of her neck.
“Cobi,” she starts, but I cut her off, tightening my hands where they’re wrapped around her.
“Whatever happens, you are not alone, baby. Remember that when we walk through those doors and back out of them when it’s over.” Her eyes warm and she nods. “I’m here for whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” Her bottom lip trembles, and my stomach muscles constrict at the sight. It kills me to see her in pain.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“Okay,” she agrees softly.
I kiss her then let her go, taking her hand as she reaches for me. When we walk into the room, it’s empty except for the bed where her mother is lying on her back, the covers up to her shoulders. Her hair is almost the color of Hadley’s, with silver mixed in. It’s on top of her head in a bun, and her skin is so pale it looks almost blue. Even from the door, I can hear a rattle in her chest every time she takes a breath—a sound I know means she’s just like the doctors said, probably not going to last much longer.
I let Hadley set the pace and lead me to the bed, her steps slow, and I can feel her hand shaking. When we stop near her mom’s head, I slide my arm around her waist when she lets my hand go to reach out and touch the side of her mom’s face.
“I wish things had been different,” she says quietly, her words filled with pain, longing, sadness, and defeat. “I wish….” Before she can finish, she sobs and turns toward me, burying her face in my chest and wrapping her arms around me, clinging to me like a child who’s lost.
I don’t hesitate for a moment. I pick her up and carry her out of the room and the hospital, ignoring the looks from people as we pass. When we hit my truck, it takes some maneuvering to keep her in my arms and get the door open, but I get her inside and buckled up before I head around the back and get in behind the wheel.
When we’re back at my place, I carry her to bed and get her undressed and changed. Through it all, she silently cries, and then she cries some more as I curl myself around her and hold her until she falls asleep. Once I know she’s resting, I get up, take Maxim out, and make a few calls. A friend of my family, Justin, is my first call, and he gets me the number for her dad.
When the man answers, I can tell he’s drunk, and that pisses me off. I don’t get into that with him; I let him know that when his wife passes, he needs to contact me so I can tell his daughter. He agrees and I hang up. After that, I call Brie then my mom and my cousins, who have all been in constant contact with Hadley the last few days. When her mom does pass, regardless of their relationship, she’s going to need people around her who care.