Page 57 of You & I, Rewritten

“Hi.” My voice is swallowed whole by the cacophony of background noise and instead of displaying any sort of adult competence, I stand there like a child waiting for an adult to handle all of my problems.

“Can I help you with something, hun?” a tiny and friendly looking nurse asks, clearly aware of how lost I am. She’s looking at me with pity in her eyes, like she’s trying to figure out if I need medical attention or if I’m utterly useless.Maybe both?I glance at her name badge: Heather.

“Hi,” I repeat. “I received a call about Scott Russell?”

“And you’re family?”

“He’s my father.” I hate calling him that, the disdain drips from my lips. Sure, we share some genes, but this man isnotmy family.

“Okay, let me see where he is.” Heather turns toward the computer and begins typing when another nurse comes around the corner.

“You said you’re here to see Scott Russell?” she asks, stepping around the desk that separates me from them. “I’m assuming you’re Will Cowen? We spoke earlier. I’m Anne.” She extends her hand, which I take, noticing the softness of her skin. “Let’s chat over here.” Her deep, brown eyes offer a kindness I can only assume comes with years in this field—cheering alongside patients during happy and healing moments and grieving with them during the hard ones. I follow her to a quiet seating area, away from the hustle and bustle of the main entrance, sitting only because she does, my body on autopilot.

“Mr. Cowen, what I wastryingto tell you earlier on the phone was that your father’s condition is very serious,” she speaks so softly, but the severity of her tone reminds me of a disappointed parent dealing with a difficult child. “He came in last night after noticing traces of blood when coughing, which is always concerning, but coupled with the treatment he was receiving at the VA to try to combat his liver failure, we weren’t presented with many options.”

Perhaps seeing the confusion on my face or remembering my comment about not having a relationship with the man, Anne puts her hand on my arm. “Your father drank heavily for many years, which I take it you know.” That’s an understatement. “Well,” she says, patting my knee as she continues, “that level of drinking has caused severe damage to both his liver and his esophagus.”

“Okay, so can you point me in the direction of his room? I’d like to speak with his doctor.” I have a basic understanding of the human body thanks to many Grey’s Anatomy marathons, so I know how serious liver damage can be, but it would be great to hear all of this directly from his medical team.

“Will, your father isn’t here. He’s…”

“What do you mean he isn’t here?” I shout at her and immediately feel like an asshole. “This is whereyoutold me to come!”

“Like I mentioned on the phone, as his next of kin, there were medical decisions that only you could have made.” Anne stands, crossing her arms, clearly irritated by my demeanor. “With that being said, as your father’s condition worsened—very rapidly I might add—he required emergency surgery, and at that time, without you here to tell us otherwise, his doctors concluded there wasn’t any more they could do for him here.”

I jump up, causing my chair to screech against the linoleum floor. “So, if he’s not here, where the hell is he?”

“He was airlifted to the University of New York University Medical Center about thirty minutes before you got here.”Shit.That’s about an hour away with traffic.

I take off running toward the door, not able to make out what Anne shouts after me. Sprinting across the lobby and through the main entrance, I race into the parking lot, my eyes scanning for a sign of Graham’s black SUV with each stride.

There.Spotting his car, I weave through the packed parking lot, making my way down the aisle. Ripping open the passenger door, I jump in, my return surprising Graham who was typing away on his phone.

“Hey! I’m sorry…I was just finishing an emai…” His voice trails off when he meets my gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to go to NYU Medical Center. He isn’t here.” Graham reaches over and tries to take my hand. “Graham, we have to go. RIGHT NOW.”

He throws me his phone. “Plug in the address,” he directs, throwing his car in drive and peeling out of the parking lot, seemingly understanding the urgency in my voice.

* * *

“Can we go any faster?” I’ve asked this every couple of minutes and I’m sure I’m driving Graham insane. Beyond that, we’ve ridden in silence.

“I’m going as fast as I can go, babe…but we’re almost there. Just a couple more miles.”

My leg is tapping uncontrollably and if we don’t get to the hospital soon, I think I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.I fucked up.

I feel sick to my stomach. Why didn’t I take this seriously? Am I reallythatproud that I scoffed at the thought of my father being in the hospital? I know the man he is—well, was—and nothing has changed, but deep down, I know I feel some semblance of love for him. I was desperate for his love and attention for years. Even after I cut him out of my life, he was central to every decision I made as an adult in my attempt tonotbe like him. I do love him almost as much as I want him to love me.

I repeat Anne’s words in my head.He was airlifted about thirty minutes before you got here.Thirty minutes. Would being there thirty minutes earlier change anything? Who knows? He would have at least known I was there, but would he have even cared?Of course he would.

“We’re just around the corner,” Graham’s voice snaps me back to reality. Looking out the window, I can see the hospital entrance. He pulls into the driveway, but I can’t wait any longer. I force open the door, not even caring that Graham is still driving, and shoot out.

“Will, oh my God!” he yells after me, but I’m already gone, sprinting as hard and fast as I can toward the hospital entrance. I underestimated how far away we still were, the burn in my lungs threatening to slow me down.Come on, Will…MOVE!

My body is moving on pure adrenaline alone.And fear.Because I need to see him. After all of these wasted years, time that I could have tried harder to fix things or to be better or to get him the help he needed, especially as I got older. Ichoseto not have him in my life, and right now, I’m willing to give just about anything to see him.Almost there.

I crash through the hospital entrance, my breathing ragged and a sheen of sweat covering every inch of my exposed skin. “I’m here…I’m here to see… Sco…my father, Scott Russell.” I can barely get the words out. My abdomen muscles cramp, doubling me over the front desk, alarming the poor nurse. “What room? Please,pleasejust tell me what room he’s in?” I beg with tears streaming down my face.

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