Page 126 of The Beast's Heart

I return to the hospital and the blessed air conditioning. The cafeteria is open, but with socially distanced seating, which suits me fine. I order a bottomless coffee and pull up the link to the auction stream.

It only takes a few minutes for me to tear up again, which is utterly ridiculous. It’s just… seeing the children makes me ache like my heart is breaking. I already miss them so much.

Geoff has the charm turned on, in his tux and bow tie. He makes jokes and calls out specific members of the virtual audience who he recognizes as they join. I can see why Adam might have liked him once, if this was what he saw. It’s difficult to take it seriously once you know the real Geoff.

The ticker with the grand total climbs at a staggering rate.This idea actually worked.Thanks to Lloyd and his amazing collection, the foundation will live on to do more good in the world.

When we reach the clip of Mal playing piano, I have to pause to gather myself. I message Adam on the number I got from Zane.

Hey, it’s Jonathan. Dad’s gone in for surgery. I’m watching the stream from the auction. It’s pretty great.

Have you seen the clip of Mal on the piano? He’s so good.

I love Alisha’s interview with Ben.

Who captured that clip of Enrique and the chocolate fountain? It’s adorable.

I wait for his response, but none comes.

I guess he must be busy. I stop the blow-by-blow account and go back to watching. I message Adam again half an hour later when we hit our fundraising goal, and again in an hour when wedoubleit.

Still no response.

At the end of the stream, Geoff auctions off the wrestling paraphernalia and I lose interest and close it.

The hours crawl past. The waiting is agony. Any moment I could get a call to say Dad died on the table or there was nothing they could do. I feel tense and fragile. The only person I want to speak to is Adam. But he’s clearly busy. It stings, but it’s not like we agreed we’d see each other today.

It’s not like we agreed to see each other again at all. My contract with the foundation is up end of this month anyway. Not that it would be legally blinding, given that I’m not my father.

Maybe Adam decided to make a clean break.

My heart twists at that thought. He was so different last night. Was he… was he saying goodbye?

All at once it seems obvious. The way that he touched me, the way he wouldn’t stop kissing me. The way he left before I woke. He was ending things.

But then, why come all the way to New York to do it?

He could have just let me fly off and left things there. Instead, he arranged all this for Dad. He chartered a plane for me. He came to see me. It’s confusing, and painful, and I wish he’d just respond to my texts.

I return to the waiting room with an hour to spare, just in case the surgery finished early. When the six-hour mark passes and the surgeon doesn’t come see me and no nurses come to reassure me, I feel like I might throw up. I watch each minute pass, my stomach a nest of snakes.

At 16:43 precisely, the surgeon enters the room. In his PPE, there’s no reading his expression. What if something’s gone wrong? What if my Dad is lying dead and this is the last moment in which I don’t know, in which my world isn’t shattered?

“Mister Belle?” I stand and he approaches. There’s a buzzing in my ears. I can’t breathe. “The operation went well,” he informs me.

52

JONATHAN

Dad’s private room has soft, butter-yellow walls and large windows letting in streams of afternoon light. There’s state-of-the-art equipment surrounding the bed, including a flat screen TV on a boom.

The nurse is talking to Dad, but she moves aside when I enter and silently leaves us alone.

Dad stares at me blearily from where his head is nestled on a mountain of pillows. “Jonathan?”

I adjust my face mask so it doesn’t mist my glasses so badly as I take a seat beside his bed. “Yes, Dad. I’m here.”

“What… what’s going on? I’m in… New York?” His voice is paper-thin, but it’s so good to hear after so long.

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