“No. I’m fine. I’m gonna—”
“You’re gonna go home.” Walker narrows his eyes. “If something happens, someone will call you. But you’re doing no one any good sitting around here feeling like crap. Get some rest. Get some food. And when she wakes up, and we can see her, we’ll let you know.”
Lance looks at the rest of us. “You guys sure?”
“Yeah. Go home,” I say.
Peck nods.
Lance stands, still unsure.
“When you come back, bring us some food, okay?” I ask, figuring it’ll give him something to focus on. “A burger is fine. Whatever.”
“Okay.”
Walker guides Lance toward the door. Before he leaves, he stops. “I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything happens.”
“We will,” Peck says. “Hey, make sure I turned off the parts cleaner. I think I left it on.” He rubs his forehead. “I’m not sure.”
Walker nods and disappears out the door.
I pull out my phone and look at the unsent text to Hadley. My thumb hovers over the green button to send it.
“We probably need to go back to the waiting room,” Peck says.
With a final, lingering look at my phone, I shove it back in my pocket. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Thirty-Five
Machlan
The waiting room on the fifth floor is quiet. An older woman was in here earlier but left a couple of hours ago. Peck sits next to me with his feet straight out and hat over his face.
Walker left around midnight after we promised we’d call for the millionth time. Blaire got stuck in traffic and didn’t get in until Walker got home and went there to get a couple of hours sleep. There was nothing she could do here anyway.
I yawn, but sleep won’t come. When I try, all I get is nightmares of Nana being alone in her chair having a heart attack or Hadley’s voice telling me not to call her again.
I’ve almost lost them both in the matter of a few hours. My grip on reality wavers.
Someone turned the lights down a while ago. I turned the television off when they started jabbering about politics.
Fuck that.
I yawn again, and this time, I close my eyes. It’s Hadley’s voice I hear, but I try to imagine her laughter instead. My lips part into a smile. The stress on my shoulders starts to melt away just a little as I live in a fantasy world.
“Gibson family?” The door to the waiting area cracks a little more. A nurse is standing in the stream of light coming from the hall behind her. “Is the Gibson family here?”
“Yeah.” I nudge Peck as I sit upright. “That’s us.”
“She’s awake. You aren’t really supposed to go in at this hour, as visiting hours were over at eight this evening, but we’ll make an exception for a few minutes if you’d like to peek in and say hello.”
“We would,” Peck says.
We follow her down a long corridor and then through the double doors labeled Intensive Care Unit in bright red letters.
My heart beats so hard I swear Peck can hear it as we walk side by side down the hall. The shuffling of papers and the constant yet inconsistent sound of machines beeping keep the air from feeling as stuffy as it smells.
The nurse sticks her head in the room before motioning for us to go in. I make Peck go first.
“Hey,” he says before I can see her. “How ya feeling, Nana?”
I step around the curtain, and my heart sinks.
She’s so pale with an oxygen tube under her nose and various monitors attached to her chest and arms. Her eyes show the strain she’s under.
I grip the side of her bed. She reaches for my hand but can’t move for all the wires, so I reach out and touch hers instead. She squeezes me for all she’s worth.
Peck takes her other hand.
“Nana,” I say, choking back a sob. “What the fuck?”
She tries to shake my hand in an attempt to quiet me. “Stop that.”
Peck and I look at each other and laugh quietly. He brushes away a tear from under his eye.
“If you wanted Blaire to visit, I’m sure you could’ve called,” Peck says. “This was a little dramatic.”
Nana furrows a brow. “Blaire? Here?”
“She’s at Walker’s,” I tell her. “They won’t let any of us in until morning. Well, they let Peck and me come see you for a few because we’re ridiculously handsome …” I grin as she tries to laugh. “Everyone will be here in the morning. They’ve all been worried sick about you.”
She tries to talk, but her throat is too dry.
“Get her water,” Peck says. “Beside you. On the tray.”
I grab a pink pitcher and pour some water in a cup. There’s a straw on the tray, so I add it. Bringing it to Nana’s lips, I help her take a drink.
“Ah,” she mumbles, relaxing back against the pillows. “That’s better.” Her voice is hoarse. “Did you boys have dinner?”