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“It’s Shaw, actually,” I said as I took off the cap and sunglasses. “Everett Shaw.”
Dr. Fields recovered quickly from the initial shock as she recognized first my face, then my name. She was still holding my hand so she shook it again and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“I’d prefer it that as few people as possible know,” I cut in. “I want the focus to be on my son.”
The woman instantly switched back to being a consummate professional. “Of course, Mr. President. Let me give you a quick update on Reese’s condition and then we’ll get you in there to see him.”
I listened with fake patience as the woman explained that Reese had been shot twice and that while they’d managed to remove both bullets, one had been lodged near his spine and there was the potential for paralysis.
“I’m not going to lie to you, sir,” Dr. Fields said. “While we’re hopeful that any paralysis he experiences is temporary, it could very well be permanent. There’s just no way to know. If he wakes up without any feeling, it could take weeks to determine if the condition is permanent or not. If it isn’t, he’s potentially looking at intensive physical therapy for the foreseeable future. Additionally, we need to deal with the third-degree burns he’s sustained on his arms and chest. I’ve asked someone from the burn unit to consult to see if he’ll need skin grafts or not. Whatever the prognosis is, he’s looking at a long, painful recovery.”
With every word she spoke, I could feel tears threatening to overtake me. When she asked me if I had any questions, I wanted to tell her I had a million of them, but they were ones she couldn’t answer.
“Everett,” Ronan said as he stepped between me and the doctor and grabbed my arms. “He’s strong. When you walk in there, you remember that, okay? And remember that no matter what he says, he needs you.”
I managed a nod, but nothing more.
Then Nash was opening the door for me.
And I wanted to throw up.
When I finally found the courage to step through it, all I wanted to do was die.
There was no describing what I felt in that moment when I took in the sight of my son lying in that bed. When he’d been hospitalized in Germany after his unit had been attacked more than thirteen years earlier, he hadn’t actually had any bandages, aside from the one on his leg, and the only machine he’d been hooked up to hadn’t even been a machine, just an IV stand giving him fluids.
But now…
God, now I didn’t recognize him.
He was covered in snow-white bandaging from his waist up to his neck and his arms were braced in some kind of splints so that he almost looked splayed out. His skin was nearly as pale as the bandages and there were several machines surrounding him. I could see the standard IV sticking out of the top of his hand, but there was a second port on his other hand. His face was turned away from us, but when he slowly turned it, I held my breath.
He seemed groggy as he took us all in. His eyes were shrouded in pain and that was what finally got my body moving.
“Reese,” I whispered as I reached him and carefully took his fingers in mine.
“Dad?” he muttered, his voice heavy with confusion. He’d either just woken up or he was weighed down with pain meds. Probably a little bit of both.
“I’m here, son,” I said as I reached out to push his hair back. It was one of the few places on him I could touch.
And I needed to touch him.
I needed to feel that his skin was warm. I needed to know that he was really still here and that I wasn’t caught in some cruel dream that would have me waking up to find out his cold, stiff body was actually in that morgue I’d imagined.
My relief at seeing my son was short-lived, because only a few seconds had passed before his fingers went lax around mine and he tried to pull his hand away. It was a move made impossible by the padding that had been placed around his body to keep him from moving his arms.
“No,” Reese muttered and then he tried to jerk his head away from my touch. I drew my hand back so he wouldn’t hurt himself. “No,” he repeated, his voice clearing as he worked past the fog of pain.
“Reese—” I began.
“Get out,” he barked. “Get the fuck out. I,” – he paused to suck in a deep breath and closed his eyes, presumably to deal with whatever wave of pain was going through him – “I don’t want to see you.”
I felt something inside of me tear open. I’d expected the reaction, had tried to prepare myself, even, but I’d been a fool to think there actually was any preparing for it.
