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“I told you—”
“Enough, Father. We are here. She broke three bones in her foot, has a concussion and needed a couple of stitches near her eyebrows.” I hear a hiss, but no words from my father so I continue on. “She agreed to surgery for her foot, but the doctors are running tests to see if she is fit enough to undergo anesthesia.”
“Tell them to send her to Seoul National University Hospital. I’ll cover all expenses.” Then he hangs up without a goodbye.
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a beat. Why am I surprised at his abruptness? There has been no love lost between us, and there must be love to start off with in order to lose it.
I walk back inside and tell the nurse what my father said. She looks at me like I have three heads, but she doesn’t question me. Once she writes down the details, she calls the doctor who’s handling Halmeoni’s case.
Five minutes later, her doctor comes into her room with papers in his hand, apparently not happy to know she’s being moved. He is also unhappy, I learn, that my father sent paperwork to the clinic’s head administrator asking for the doctor to be removed as Halmeoni’s physician.
After he has gone over this with me, he reluctantly signs his name and hands me a copy of the document. Not twenty minutes later, an orderly arrives and moves my grandmother, bed and all, downstairs where an ambulance is waiting. Thank goodness the medication has her sleeping so soundly that none of the jostling rouses her. Because she would not be happy.
They let me sit next to her in the back of the ambulance. The five-hour drive is tedious, but I get through it. I focus on Halmeoni’s sleeping form, while, in the back of my mind, I see Rafe’s ashen face. It was a billboard of grief. For a moment, I wish I were there with him, giving Rafe the support he’s been giving me.
“We’re almost there,” driver announces, pulling me out of my thoughts.
By the time the nursing staff settles Halmeoni in a hospital room, she wakes up and it is as I expected, she isn’t happy.
And neither am I, as my father walks into the room with a binder in his hand, a deep scowl on his face and a finger pointing at me.
Chapter Nineteen
Rafe
The flight from Gimhae International Airport to LAX was daunting. But it got worse when I had to hop on board another plane to O’Hare. I was on a knife’s edge the entire time. Fig and I barely spoke, and I assumed he was as lost in his thoughts of Ron as I was in mine.
When we landed, I was relieved to see Bobby waiting for us at baggage claim. No words needed to be said about the issue between us. We have a bigger situation to focus on. Ron.
“Is he really dying, Bobby?” I ask, looking at his profile as he drives us away from the airport.
“That’s what Dean said yesterday,” he says calmly, but I see a tear sliding down his cheek.
What I want to ask Bobby is why didn’t Ron tell us that the treatments weren’t working? Why go through the ruse of chemo treatments when, I had since learned, he stopped doing them months ago? But I remain silent and stuff those words down until they are drowned out by the road noise.
I turn my attention to the windshield so I won’t end up tears. I’m trying to be strong, but my insides are being shredded by dread for the heavy loss we’re about to feel.
The moment Bobby pulls up to a house in one of the suburbs of Chicago, Danny, Connor and Callum rush out—their faces are a mirror of what I’m feeling. Devastation.
Dante steps out of the room, their eyes are bloodshot and filled with more tears. I’ve only seen Dante composed, and to see them so upset since they are losing a family member, my heart breaks even more.
“He’s waiting for you,” Danny says, his words filled with sorrow.
“We said our goodbyes already,” Connor adds, equally distraught.
Callum touches my shoulder and squeezes. “He doesn’t have much energy left.”
“Okay.” I head inside the house, Fig right behind me. What I don’t expect are several more bodyguards inside the living room. Some who have guarded us in the past, and some I never met before.
Danny’s and Connor’s boyfriends approach me. Tobias gives me a nod and John points to a door, which I assume means Ron’s in that room, then they walk out of the house.
“I’ll wait my turn,” Fig says from behind me.
I don’t turn around, my eyes focusing on the closed door. With one hesitant step after another, I reach the door and open it.
Dean Harper is positioned in a chair near the bed Ron’s laying in. A woman, who I assume is a nurse, stands on the opposite side of the bed. She is removing tubes from Ron’s nose and an IV from his arm.
“Catherine, thank you. Can we have a minute, please,” Dean says to the nurse.
