“Let’s wait for the doctor, Pops.” I try to sound upbeat. I have enough fucking practice doing that.

I did it when Irena was wheeled into this same hospital three years ago on a gurney after she collapsed on a sidewalk.

She had just left my apartment ten minutes before.

Ten fucking minutes.

We had spent the morning at the Met together and then had lunch at her favorite French restaurant before we went back to my apartment for a cup of coffee.

I had hugged her, told her I loved her, and she set off to see my sister.

Some stranger called an ambulance after they watched her fall to the concrete.

She never regained consciousness. She died in this hospital as I sat in the waiting room holding tight to my father’s hand.

It was the same after my mother died.

It was days short of my seventh birthday, but that fact got lost in the grief.

My dad told me endless stories about my mom in the years after she died.

He cried every day.

I tried to soothe him but what can a kid do when his own heart is broken into a million pieces?

“Mr. Jones?”

We both turn at the mention of our names.

My dad pushes himself up from his chair, his knees wobbling. I go to him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

“April is resting.”

“Is she awake?” My father asks in a strained voice that I’ve heard too many times in my life.

“No, sir. She’s still unconscious.” The doctor kneads his hands together. “We’re waiting for the results of the tests. We’ll know more when...”

“When you get those,” I finish for him. “When will that be?”

“I put a rush on them.” He looks to my father and then me. “You can sit with her if you like.”

My dad looks up at me, his brown eyes sullen and cloudy with a grief that’s been there more often than not in my lifetime.

This is the price you pay for love.

The words he said to me when I was eight-years-old echo in my mind.

“Did you call...”

“I called,” I assure him. “Chloe is on her way. Nash is out of town, but Luke will come as soon as his shift is done.”

“I’ll sit with her.” He nods his head slowly. “I’ll sit until she wakes up.”

I pray to god that happens soon.

My phone chimes in the pocket of my jeans. I slide it out.

Dexie: I know it’s late, but is everything all right? You left so quickly.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Calvettis of New York Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net