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Nick shot him a look. “Come to a game next fall. See for yours
elf.”
“Okay,” Graham agreed.
Nick glanced around the room. “That Diana?”
Graham nodded.
“She okay?”
Graham shrugged. “She’s having a rough night.” Considering what Nick was facing, his daughter’s hysterics and drama over not getting her way were embarrassing. She was upset over a concert. Nick was upset over the possible death of his father.
Nick’s laugh was hard, forced, and angry. “Seems to be going around.”
“She’s going to be at Pecan Valley High School this fall.” She’d been kicked out of St. Thomas Catholic school for smoking in the bathroom. Pot. Because smoking cigarettes wasn’t edgy enough.
“Freshman?”
“Sophomore,” he murmured, staring at his daughter.
“I always thought she was way younger than me,” Nick said. “Maybe I will get a soda.”
Graham fed some change into the soda machine.
“She’s into the whole goth-grunge thing, huh?” Nick asked. “That’s new.”
Graham didn’t argue. It was new for Nick. But Diana had been wearing smudged eyeshadow, poking holes in her lip, and listening to music that sounded like animals being disemboweled for almost two years now. “I’m hoping it’s a phase.”
Nick took the soda. “Thanks.”
Graham smiled. “I should get this coffee to your mom. You don’t have to come—”
“I do,” Nick argued. “She’s acting all strong, but I know she’s not. Dad’s made a career out of pulverizing her heart into mush for a while now.”
Personally, Graham agreed 100 percent. But Matt Buchanan was fighting for his life right now, so it didn’t seem like the right time to say as much. “Here.” He handed the extra cup of coffee to the boy.
Nick peered into the cup. “She likes cream.”
Graham glanced around the stark, institutional cafeteria. The serving line was closed, no sign of cream or sugar packets to be found. “Well, that sucks.”
“She’ll probably drink it,” Nick said.
Graham glanced at Diana again, but she stayed as she was, facing away from him, so he followed Nick from the cafeteria and back to the ER to be informed that Jack had been moved to the ICU.
“He’s stabilized,” Graham explained, pressing the third-floor button on the elevator. “That’s good.”
“Why is he in a coma?” Nick stared at the cup of coffee.
“They were going at least sixty miles an hour. Then they weren’t. The human brain isn’t meant to withstand that sort of impact. Sometimes it shuts down the body so it can heal.” Graham knew it was a piss-poor clinical explanation, but Nick seemed to accept what he said.
“Will he wake up?” Nick’s voice was tight, thick.
“I don’t know.” He wished he had answers. He wished he could erase this whole nightmare for Nick and Honor. He knew what losing a parent could do to a kid—he saw it regularly. The only difference was neither Nick nor Honor could blame Felicity for Matt’s death. Unlike his own daughter.
The elevator doors opened, and he asked for directions to Jack’s room. The closer they got, the more Nick’s posture stiffened like he was preparing for battle.
Honor was sitting in a chair, staring blindly at the muted television set.
