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“Thanks,” I say, clearing my throat.
Sam looks over at the sound of my voice, his brow furrowing. “Conrad?”
I step inside his hospital room and lift my hand awkwardly. "Hi."
The doctor smiles. "You're looking at the reason you’re alive,” he tells Sam. “Now, as I was saying: everything is going well. Your vitals are stable. We’ll keep you in for a little longer for observation, but you seem to be recovering well.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Sam says, his gaze never wavering from mine.
“I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“I’ll be here.”
I step aside for him to leave, but he stops in front of me. “How are you doing, son?”
“I’m fine.”
“Healing well?”
“Yep.”
He glances between me and Sam with a frown, seeming to pick up on the tension in the room. He clears his throat. “Alright, well, if neither of you need anything…?” We both shake our heads, and he nods. “Well, take care. I’ll leave you to it.”
The door closes behind him, and Sam breaks the silence. “What does he mean by you being the reason I’m alive?” His voice is quiet, reflective.
I guess we’re doing this. I take my baseball cap off and run my hand through my hair. “Turns out you have another child. Surprise, it’s a boy.”
He sighs. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Guess so.”
“You’re the son that donated their kidney?”
“Along with a few pints of blood.”
“Thank you.”
I clear my voice, blinking rapidly. “Whatever. I did it for Tom and Harley.”
Sam’s shoulders slump. “Right. Of course.” He glances over at the door. “They’re not here.”
I flinch. Of course he prefers they were here over me. “I couldn’t get hold of them. They aren’t answering theirphones. I can go, if you want. I’ll see if I can find them. They should be here instead of–”
“Don’t go.” The conviction in Sam’s voice surprises the both of us. He shifts in the bed, wincing.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to get a nurse or a doctor or something?”
“No, I’ll be fine. But why don’t you stop hovering over there by the door and come have a seat. I’m sure you have questions.”
I move over to the chair next to the bed that I’ve been frequenting the last few days and drop into it. “Why?” I ask, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Why’d you ignore my existence?”
“We’re diving right in,” he says with a chuckle.
I shrug. “What’s the point of beating around the bush?”
“What has your mum told you?”
“I want to know what your side of the story is.”
