Page 102 of Body Shot

“This is the best hospital in Boston,” Mother answers. “Dr. Chow is the best heart specialist.”

“Only the best for a Whitcomb,” I say dryly.

Mother frowns. “Why wouldn’t we want the best care for him?”

Eh, I’m an asshole. “Of course he should have the best care.” I’m not sure why that bugs me. What makes Paul Whitcomb more important than any Joe off the street? Just the fact that he has money. But the reality is, theydohave money andcanafford the best care, so why not? “It’s a nice room,” I add.

“It’s a fucking hospital,” Dad says, surprising a smile out of me.

“You won’t be here long,” I assure him. Not that I know much about angioplasty, but I did some googling while waiting at the airport and it should be straightforward and a quick recovery. The harder part might be the lifestyle changes Dad will have to make after. Dad’s not obese by any stretch, but has thickened around the middle. He probably drinks too much, doesn’t exercise, and he most definitely works too much.

Damn, that’s not guilt making my chest tighten, is it?

“How was your flight?” Mother asks.

“Long.” Now I grab the other chair, a stylish beige leather one, and pull it closer to Mother’s. “And boring.”

“How long can you stay?” Dad asks.

“A few days.”

“That’s all?” Mom asks.

“Do you really want me here any longer than that?”

“Don’t start this, Beck.”

I swallow a sigh. “I meant the question honestly, not in a snotty way. I’ll stay as long as I need to, but Dad should be okay in a few days, right?”

Her lips thin. “He’ll be okay, but he’s not going to be back to normal right away. He’ll need to take some time off work.”

“No, I won’t.” Dad speaks up, frowning.

“Yes, you will. The doctor already said you can’t keep working the kind of long hours you have been. Paul, you should be thinking about retiring. Or at least cutting way back and letting someone else take over.” She gives me a pointed look.

“Why would you even think I’m capable of taking over?” I ask. “I got a business degree, but I spent nine years in the Navy, not running a multi-national conglomerate. I know next to nothing about Whitcomb Industries.”

“Your father can teach you. It’s the perfect time for you to step in and for things to be transitioned over to you.”

I start to say,Not gonna happen,but then snap my mouth shut. I rub my forehead. “I have obligations in San Diego,” I finally say. “A business to run there. I can’t let down Cade and Marco.”

But the truth is, they could run Conquistadors themselves. They don’t need me. They’d want to repay the money I provided to help us get started and that would be tough, but I wouldn’t let them. And the idea of going back to San Diego and never seeing Hayden again makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.

Maybe Ishouldstay here. Maybe it’s the right thing to do.

Maybe I’m not really needed in San Diego. By anyone.

I don’t say that to my parents though, knowing that even a hint that I’m considering it would shove that door wide open in their minds.

“This is your legacy,” Mother says quietly. “Your father and grandfather swore that the business would always be a private company and family-owned. There are thousands of people who rely on Whitcomb Industries for their livelihood. It seems selfish for you to stay in San Diego, running your little bar, which employs, what, ten people? While you race go-karts and surf in the ocean?”

I stare at my mother. I’ve heard this before. They seem to completely disregard the fact that for nine years I put my life on the line to serve my country. That I was a member of the most elite unit of the U.S. military, who all shared a willingness to sacrifice our time and our lives for a greater good.

AmI being selfish?

My brain is so fucked-up just then, I can’t think straight. “Let’s talk about this later.”

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