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“Anything,” she answered.
That single word settled deep in my heart, giving me permission to rest.
“I’m fine. Stop hovering,”an oddly grumpy Bo snapped at his daughter. In all my interactions with the man, he’d never been anything but pleasant. But now that I was seeing this side of him, it was obvious who his kids had inherited their narrowed-eyed glare from.
Two days after his heart attack, Bo had been moved to a regular room, and he was already getting stronger. He’d had a double bypass and was understandably weak, but with some changes to his diet and time for healing, the doctors were hopeful that he’d make a full recovery.
“I was just trying to fix your pillow.” Gianna sat in the seat she’d claimed and shifted uncomfortably.
“My pillow is fine.” He frowned at his daughter, then raised a shaky hand an inch off the bed to point at his son. “And before you suggest it again, I am not moving to Boston.”
“Pop.” Chris sat forward, dropping his elbows to his knees. “It makes sense for you to be where I can help?—”
“You—” He gritted his teeth, and a shot of pain flashed across his features. Closing his eyes, he took a small breath. When he opened them again, he was calmer. “You are going to be in Florida for another three weeks.”
“I’m not going back yet?—”
“You are.” His father nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’m fine. Weak, yeah. I won’t argue that. I can’t really lift my arms, and my chest is on fire, but I will not allow you to sit here spoon feeding me pudding when you should be pitching for the team you’ve been dreaming about being a part of your whole life.” He regarded his daughter warily. “And you’re working on the biggest project of your career. One that you’re afraid to get excited about because you’re worried that it’ll be ripped away from you. Keep your chin up and get it done. You’re talented. You deserve this. I won’t let you sit here putzing around either.”
Both kids opened their mouths, but Bo didn’t give them a chance to argue before he went on.
“We’ll hire a nurse to shovel god-awful pudding into my mouth while you go back to being the stars you are.”
Both Gianna and Chris looked miserably torn. Guilt pressed down on their shoulders, and I could see their minds working on new arguments.
Bo, though still drawn and exhausted, looked resolute.
“I can stay.”
Maybe. There was an issue at work, but I could continue handling it remotely if I was needed here.
Bo turned his steely expression on me, though his tone when he spoke to me was far softer than the one he’d used with his kids. “Avery, dear, you have a lot of responsibilities too. Plus, if you’re here, then who will take care of my grandson?” One side of his lips pulled up in an almost-smirk.
“Fuck’s sake. You can barely sit up, and you’re already giving us shit,” Chris muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want to leave Gi at home alone either.” He side-eyed his sister, keeping his expression neutral. “What about Jake? Where is he?”
I winced, because I’d been wondering the same thing. Gianna had spoken to her boyfriend on the phone multiple times since I’d arrived, but he’d yet to make an appearance.
It broke my heart. She, like her brother, was carrying the weight ofthe world on her shoulders, and she needed someone here to help hold her up.
Gianna looked away. “He’s been busy this week.”
Chris clenched his jaw and tightened his grasp on the arm of the chair, but he kept his comments to himself.
My phone buzzed in my hand, pulling me away from what could still turn into a brawl between the two hotheads on either side of their dad’s hospital bed.
Dean: I know you’re busy, and I hate to say the B word, but Sarge is feeling worse today. We’re going to test for the bird flu. The clicking sound is more pronounced, and his eyes don’t look good.
My heart lurched. Shit. We’d quarantined two peacocks who’d tested positive last week, but we were optimistic that we’d caught it before it spread.
We still weren’t sure whether we were dealing with a low-pathogenic strain or a high one. A low strain, if it did spread, would require a lot of work and quarantining. We’d find ourselves in an all-hands-on-deck situation for the next few weeks. A high strain would decimate our avian population.
The difference in treatability was drastic. Both peacocks seemed to be responding to antibiotics, which was a good sign, but if it turned out that Sarge, or any other bird, was also sick, we would need to test all 407 of the birds in residence and lock down any that were positive to keep our animals safe.
Me: Call everyone in and get all the birds tested in the next twelve hours. And call the lab. Tell them to rush the pathogenic testing. Let me know as soon as you can.
It hurt that I wasn’t there to help my team. They could use the extra hands, and the guilt of not being there to oversee the situation was eating at me. Not to mention that, because I was gone, my team wasconstantly calling or texting me to check in, wasting valuable time and making the already challenging job that much harder.
A large palm covered my thigh, sending a wave of warmth through me.
