Page 122 of Delicate Storm

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Easton

The ER is crowded when we arrive, and we’re asked to sit in the waiting room until they’ve seen Mom.

A couple of hours pass without so much as a wave and I’m getting anxious. There’s only so much pacing a man can do. “What the hell is taking them so long? I’m going to ask.”

Keeley grabs my arm to stop me. “You’ve already asked three times. We were told to wait.”

“How are you so calm?” I frown, crossing my arms over my chest, huffing when Keeley rolls her eyes.

“I’m calm because we don’t know anything and I refuse to jump to the worst conclusion—like you clearly have.”

“I haven’t. I just want some goddamn answers.”

Her phone buzzes in her hand, and when she sees who it is, she hides it.

“Who’s that?” I snap, not in the mood for bullshit if she’s holding something back.

“No one.”

“No one? Why’d you hide it?”

“Why do you care?”

Her words hit me and I shake my head.Jesus. “I don’t. Whatever. I just want to know what the hell is going on.”

Blowing out a breath, I pace as I try to ignore the stares directed my way from around the room. In my rush, I forgot my damn hat and I’m regretting it. Short of putting a sign on my chest to tell them to stay away, I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not to be approached right now, but I still hate people knowing my business. I’ve barely shared any of my life with Paige and I should have. I really fucking should have.

It’s another thirty minutes before a nurse finally calls for Keeley since she’s Mom’s emergency contact, and when she does, I’m the first to head over, not even pretending to be nice.

“About time.”

“Your mom has been taken to a room.” The nurse ignores me. “She’s okay, but we had to stitch up her leg, and she received a nasty bump on her head that we’d like to monitor for a few days.”

Shit. “Can we see her?”

“She’s resting at the moment. We’ll call you when she wakes up, but you can head to the waiting room closer to her ward if you’d like. I think it will be more comfortable. And private.” Her gaze subtly shifts to mine when she says the word private and I internally grimace. Why can’t I play football and not be recognized everywhere I go?

Keeley’s phone rings as we’re walking, and she lowers her voice as she answers. “We still don’t know much but she’s okay,” she says, walking ahead. Or at least trying to, while I walk faster to keep up. “I’ll call you later, maybe when I get home.”

Her short conversation pisses me off and I don’t hold back. “That better not have been who I think it was.”

Keeley’s eyes widen as she winces. “Who?”

“Dad.” Her shoulders drop and she curses under her breath.

“It was.”

“Keeley.”

“What? I called him to ask if he knew her blood type in case we needed it.”

“Jesus. Did he remember?”

“No.”

I huff out a laugh. “Typical. And now he’s calling to pretend he cares.”

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