Vic forced a small smile.“Beats sitting here feeling sorry for myself.Plus, it’s good money.”
She nodded, accepting it.“Saturday is the local firefighters’ fundraising breakfast.They do the big pancake feed every year.I was hoping you’d come with me.”
“I’ll be there,” Vic promised, crossing the room to kiss her on the cheek.“With bells on.Wouldn’t miss it.”
Grams patted his arm, her touch lingering.“Good.Now go get some rest.You still look half dead.”
***
The week started strong.
By the fourth day, Vic was deep in a long tracking session with a roots-rock band when his phone buzzed in his pocket.He ignored it at first, focused on the groove they were building.But it buzzed again.And again.
He stepped out during a break and checked the screen.
Grams.
He called her back immediately.“Hey, everything okay?”
Her voice was steady, but he heard the strain underneath.“Victor...you need to come to the hospital.It’s your dad.”
Vic froze.The noise of the studio faded into a dull roar in his ears.
“I’m on my way.”
He didn’t even wait for her to say more.He turned and walked straight back into the tracking room, already grabbing his bag.
Meg was at the console.She took one look at his face and stood up.
“Vic?”
“It’s my dad,” he said, voice tight.“I’m sorry, Meg.I’ve got to go.”
Meg didn’t hesitate.She waved a hand, already stepping in to cover.“Don’t worry about the session, honey.Go see what’s going on with Rosie.We’ll handle it here.”
He gave her a grateful nod, throat too tight to speak, and headed for the door at a run.
The drive to the hospital blurred past in a haze of fear.All he could think about was Grams’ voice on the phone.
“It’s your dad.”
And how, no matter how many times Rosie had let him down, Vic still wasn’t ready for this to be the end.
