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Lyric took them from him, went up on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much. They’re perfect.”
She’d needed some underwear to go under the too-loose boxers, and he’d taken care of it. Just like he’d been taking care of her ever since she plopped down next to him on that plane.
The knowledge moved something inside of her, but before she could think about just what it was she was feeling, something thunked her in the back of the head hard enough to have her forehead knocking against Heath’s cheek. His arm came around her to support her weight.
“What in the holy hell is going on?” Harmony’s voice was an exaggerated stage whisper.
Lyric jumped but didn’t get very far as Heath’s arm kept her firmly by his side. “Heath bought me a present.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Harmony nodded at Heath. “Panties? Original … and very mature. His generosity knows no bounds.”
“I am a giver.” Heath stuck out his free hand to Harmony. “Good to see you, Harm.”
Harmony glared at his hand, and Lyric could all but see her sister analyzing the bones and which ones to break. Owing to her twin sister’s badass attitude and the fact that she was a level-six Krav Maga, she could do it.
Lyric stepped between Harmony and Heath. “He’s been nothing but kind.” She turned to look back at him as it really sunk in. He had been nothing but kind.
Harmony watched both of them like she’d just seen E.T. and Jesus come down from heaven holding hands.
Lyric brandished the panties at her sister. “You see, I don’t have on any—”
“I don’t want to know.” Harmony’s eyes narrowed at Heath as she put her fingers up to her eyes before pointing them at Heath. “I’ve got my eye on you.”
Then she turned to Lyric and pulled her into a hug. “Good to see you, big sis. Dad’s holding his own. Before they put him under, he asked about you.”
“Oh. That’s … good. That’s good, right?” Lyric needed extra reassurance.
“It’s good,” Harmony confirmed. “Why don’t you go in and see him for a minute? Let him know you’re here. It’ll put your mind at ease.”
Lyric nodded. Everything inside of her wanted to be excited about seeing her father, but fear was a powerful thing. She nodded to herself and picked up where she’d left off on the prime numbers. 139, 143, 149, 151, 157 … “Okay, I’m ready.”
Heath’s arm slid from around her waist as his hand slipped into hers. He laced his fingers through hers. “Yes, we’re ready.”
Harmony’s eyes lingered on the clasped hands, and then she shook her head and mumbled something that sounded like fucking hormones.
167, 173, 179, 181. Lyric rolled her neck and walked toward the swinging doors to the ICU unit. 191, 193, 197—
“Why are you whispering numbers?” Heath’s voice was right next to her ear.
“They’re prime numbers. They make me feel better. I understand them—they understand me.” Only the world of math made sense.
To his credit, Heath just nodded. Then, while keeping his fingers tangled with hers, he used his other hand to pull out his iPhone and thumb type something. “What number did you leave off on?”
“197. Why?”
He glanced down at the screen. “199, 211, 223, 227, 229, 233, 239.” He stroked her knuckle. “Feel better or do you need me to go on?” The sincerity in his eyes punched her directly in the heart. No joking around, no devil-may-care smile, just honest concern … after the day they’d had, it shouldn’t have caught her off guard, but it did. Enough so that when he nudged the swinging door open with his foot, she stepped forward instead of back.
As she did, she braced herself for the blinding, sterile white of Hollywood’s version of ICU. But except for the black metal of the handrails on the hospital beds lined up like cars parked at an angle, everything was pale green and pink. And she meant everything—it gave the walls a horrific Easter egg effect.
Her father lay in the fourth and last bed on the left, and if he hadn’t been the only one in ICU, she might not have recognized him. His thick, gray hair was limp against the pink pillow, and his tanned skin seemed two sizes too big tucked under the green blanket. A heart monitor and respirator hummed and beeped in the background, and she hated them even as she was grateful that they were keeping her daddy alive.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, her hand squeezing Heath’s so tightly that she was cutting off the circulation in her own fingers.
Long enough for her to take in every detail of the room, every detail of her father.
Long enough to realize that time and illness had snuck up on her father when she wasn’t looking, robbing him of strength and vitality and the health she’d always taken for granted.
More than long enough to wish she was anywhere but here.
