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“I’m glad.” I pressed a quick kiss to cheek before kissing the other. I could never resist planting kisses on his sweet face, especially knowing that one day he’d make me stop.
He yawned, covering his mouth with his fist before asking, “Is the man from the hospital okay?”
“I think so,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t even asked Grant how he was feeling or what the doctors had said about his condition. Even if I had asked him, he probably would have lied or exaggerated the truth, not wanting me to be concerned or worried.
“Do you have to see him anymore,” Matson asked, his forehead creased with as much concern as an eight-year-old could muster.
“I’ll go see him tomorrow during my lunch.”
He blinked, and I stared at his long, dark lashes, loving the way they accented his kind eyes. “You’ll pick me up before dinner this time?”
My heart ached with the knowledge that any change to our normal routine tended to make Matson uneasy. I’d never pinpointed the reason for his fear, it seemed unnatural to me, but I didn’t want to add to it. The last thing I wanted to bring to my child was unease. It was my job to protect him, to make him feel safe and comforted. It was a job I took extremely seriously.
“I’ll pick you up before dinner. Sorry I’ve been late the last couple of nights.”
“It’s okay, Mama. That man needed you and I let him borrow you for a little while, but now I need you back,” he said, his tone so matter-of-fact that I had to stop myself from giggling.
“Things will go back to normal tomorrow. Promise.” I stuck out my pinky finger, and Matson wrapped his smaller pinky around mine and squeezed before shaking our hands up and down twice.
“Good night, Mama,” he said through another yawn.
I kissed him again, on the forehead this time. “Good night, baby. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
• • •
Knowing that I had a promise to keep to my son, I hustled during my lunch break toward the hospital. It wasn’t far in terms of miles, but there was no quick route that avoided the everyday traffic and numerous red lights. I threw my car into park in a visitor’s spot and practically jogged into the hospital.
Opting for the stairs instead of the slow elevator, I was anxious as I made my way up, two stairs at a time, toward Grant’s floor. I had no idea why I was feeling so apprehensive for no reason until I rounded the corner and stepped into his room.
His empty room.
Grant wasn’t there. A vase of flowers sat undisturbed on the windowsill. The handful of get-well-soon cards he’d received were still propped up, marching in a neat row on the nightstand next to the bed.
I spun on my heel to exit the room at the same moment a nurse I didn’t recognize from my previous visits walked in.
“Where is he?” I demanded, waving toward the empty bed.
“He’s gone,” she said matter-of-factly as she gathered the cards.
I almost fell apart right then.
Swallowing hard, I sucked in a breath and barreled back down the stairs. As I ran for my car, I noted the time, knowing I’d be cutting it close, but I had to hear it from Ryan directly. I had to know what happened.
Grant had seemed fine yesterday. What had gone so wrong since then?
When I arrived at Sam’s, I tugged open the heavy bar door and walked in, pushing my sunglasses on top of my head. As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, I searched for Ryan behind the bar, but he wasn’t there.
“Angel?”
I turned around to see him bent over a notebook at a table, his head cocked to one side as he eyed me.
“Ryan, what happened? How’d he die?” My voice cracked on my questions as I hurried toward him. “I thought he was fine.”
He pushed out of the chair and stood up, meeting me halfway. “Who died? What are you talking about?”
“Who died?” I practically shouted. “Grant! What happened to him?”
