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Reese’s eyes shifted to everyone else in the room and finally landed on Dr. Fields. “I don’t want him here!” he practically yelled, then he jerked his arm, as if trying to get it as far away from me as he could. His upper body began thrashing on the bed as he tried to sit up. The port on his hand caught on something and got ripped from his hand, causing blood to pour from the torn skin. But Reese didn’t even seem to notice.
“Get out!” he shouted.
Dr. Fields and Ronan both pushed past me to get to Reese. Ronan held him down as Dr. Fields called for a nurse.
I was frozen in place, even though I knew I needed to move. The need to help my son warred with the need to escape his wrath. Nash made the decision for me when he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the room. I wasn’t aware of anything as he led me down the hall. It could have been minutes or hours until he ushered me into a small conference room.
“Everett, I need you to slow your breathing,” he said, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. I felt light-headed as the room began to spin.
“Everett, look at me right now.”
Firm fingers grabbed my chin and forced it up. My eyes settled on stormy gray ones.
“Now take in a deep breath and hold it.”
I wanted to ask him how the hell I was supposed to do that when I couldn’t fucking breathe in the first place. But I couldn’t talk, either. There wasn’t enough oxygen in my starved lungs for that.
“Everett, please,” Nash said softly, then his fingers gentled on my chin before sliding down to my throat and settling there. I focused on the warmth of his palm on my skin and finally did what he said.
Or tried to, anyway.
“Good, now let it out.”
I should have been bothered by the fact that his praise did something to me, but I didn’t have the energy to think on it too much. So I did what he said instead.
It went on for several minutes before I felt my head clear.
And with it came the memory of my son.
My bitter, angry, hate-filled son.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“He didn’t mean what he said, Everett—”
“Yes, he did,” was all I said.
I heard the door open behind me, and it wasn’t until Nash jerked his hand away and stepped back from me that I even realized he’d been holding onto me at all. Besides the hand he’d had resting on my throat, he’d had the other at my waist.
How had I missed that?
“Everett?” Ronan said as he stepped into the room. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said as I turned away from Nash to face him. “Is Reese all right?”
Ronan’s face was grim as he nodded. “He had to be sedated, but he’s okay now. I’m sorry, Everett. I didn’t know he’d be like that. For what it’s worth, a lot of it is probably the pain talking.”
I didn’t bother to tell Ronan that the pain probably had had very little to do with it.
“What happens next?” I asked. “When will they be able to tell about any possible paralysis?”
“Later tonight, once they’re sure all the anesthesia has worn off. Even then, they’ll be reluctant to make a diagnosis, since any swelling around the spine could potentially take days to go down. You should try to get some rest. I’ve reserved a few rooms at a hotel nearby.”
I began shaking my head before he’d even finished. “I’m not leaving him. He might… he might hate me, but… I’m not leaving him.”
“Mr. President,” Nash began, but I cut him off with a wave of my arm.
“No! It’s non-negotiable.”
Ronan settled his hand on my arm. “Okay, Everett, but you need to get some rest. I’ll check with the hospital to see if they can let us have this room while you’re here and try to bring in a cot—”
“No, I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Let them bring it in, Mr. President. It doesn’t mean you have to use it,” Nash said from behind me. I could feel the heat of his body, so I knew he’d stepped closer to me. It was strangely comforting.
I nodded.
“Good,” Ronan said. “I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and drink and then we can talk some more about what’s going to happen over the next few days, okay?”
I managed another nod, but nothing else. I could feel exhaustion settling into my limbs as my adrenaline spike began to wear off. After Ronan left the room, Nash guided me to a chair, but he didn’t say anything and neither did I.
After all, there wasn’t much that could be said that would change anything.
But at least my son was alive. He could hate me as much as he wanted… just as long as he was doing it from this side of the grave.
