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Thomas opens his mouth to say more when his phone rings. The ring tone isIt’s A Fightby Three 6 Mafia. Thomas gives me a sheepish grin. “That’s Royce calling. I haven’t gotten around to changing the ringtone just yet.” In the next breath he says, “Royce. What can I do for —“
His face drains of color and his mouth fixes into a thin line as he retreats to a corner to whisper into the phone. Meanwhile, my heart takes an express elevator to my toes. I fix my gaze on Thomas’s broad back, hoping to discern a clue of what has gone wrong.
It can’t be good.
Thomas runs a hand through his hair and then slumps against the wall as if his long legs can no longer hold him up.
He ends the call and turns. When we make eye contact, he shifts his gaze to the phone in his hand as he walks toward me, slow and labored, as if he is trying to make his way out of quicksand. He even shrinks before my eyes.
Thomas stops a foot away, clutching the back of a chair so hard, his knuckles turn white.
Before I can ask a question, he answers it. “Royce called to say that Gramps is in the hospital.”
A Man's Wealth is His Health
Royce
Allthemoneyinthe world can’t save you if your body gives out.
One of Gramps’s many life lessons.
It comes to mind as I look down at his resting form. The hospital gown, a pale sort of mint green, is surely something he will complain about when he wakes up. I’ve never seen Gramps in anything but a suit.
I look around the room, noting the sterile white walls and the near silent machines the staff hooked Gramps up to.
The IV in his arm is the worst.
At thirteen, I screamed when the nurse tried to insert that long needle in my vein. Two other nurses, both male, had to hold me down. Later, I was told my injuries should have kept me immobile, but I was so hopped up on adrenaline, I had the strength of ten men.
I have no such strength now. I’m drained and weak. Worried that I may lose Gramps before I can make things right.
Whatever that may be.
If only IknewI’d get another chance. The doctor has come and gone, saying he’s waiting on the test results before he can update me. I’m hopeful as Gramps still has a healthy color in his cheeks, and from what he’d told me before the sedative kicked in, the pain in his chest had subsided considerably.
“Don’t you leave me,” I whisper to his sleeping form, gripping the metal railing of his bed so hard, my knuckles turn white. “I don’t like when people leave.”
A sense of hopelessness enters my chest, carrying me to the darkness that is never far from the surface.
If anything happens to him, it will be my fault.
It’s agonizing waiting for the doctor. I alternate between pacing the floor, peeking my head out to scan the hallway, and sitting on the chair next to the bed, watching Gramps even breathing.
After an hour and a half of this, the doctor comes in. He’s reed thin with wire-rimmed glasses and fluffy white hair that graces his head like a halo. He looks to be younger than Gramps, but not by much.
“Mr. Grayson had an acute episode of acid reflux. From what I gather, he was at a party and had too much fatty food.” He chuckles. “Men of our years can’t digest it as well as the young ones can.”
Relief relaxes the tightness in my chest. “So, is his heart okay?”
“For a man of his age, his heart is in excellent condition, so long as he doesn’t constantly eat the kinds of food that landed him here tonight.”
“I’ll see that he won’t.”
Am I making a hollow promise? Even though Tiffany backed me up when I said we didn’t want to marry each other, Gramps was still insistent. Maybe I should—
I break off that thought when a realization hits.
I was supposed to call Sin hours ago.
