Page 56 of Speeding Hearts

As I parked my truck, I realized leaving Oak Bend also meant I’d have to give up the garage. A gut punch hit me at that. The garage had been the only thing that seemed to be going right. I’d cleaned up the office and sorted out all the backlogs with billing. I’d gotten business back up again fast. In fact, we were booming. I’d been talking to Stu about hiring another couple of employees.

I thought about asking Stu to take over, but I already knew he’d say no. Stu loved keeping his hands dirty in the engines—it was why he stuck around even when Dad was at his worst. I’d probably have to sell. That thought made my already battered chest hurt even more.

I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to text Dad to tell him I was going to be there in a few. I’d have to talk to him about leaving today. And Mom. She was due back later this afternoon from her convention. I’d turned my phone off last night when I headed to the bar. I hadn’t wanted to be tempted into texting Stella.

That was almost laughable now, if I were in a laughing mood.

When it came to life, my phone started buzzing with reams of alerts. Several missed messages and calls. But at the top was Dad’s doctor.

My stomach dropped.

“Mr. Hughes,” the receptionist said. “The doctor’s been trying to reach you since last night. Your father had a fall.”

* * *

Cass Harbor General Hospitalwas a mid-sized facility. Its gleaming vinyl floors were lined with big signage in clear type and long painted lines along the walls to help with wayfinding. Somehow, I still got lost.

Not somehow—my head was in shambles. The doctor had called me on the way over, saying Dad was alert now, but confused. He’d had some kind of sciatic episode and had to be sedated to reduce the strain on his new heart valve.

“He’s falling apart,” I said, feeling helpless.

“His heart is recovering well, but his back must have been bothering him for quite some time to get this bad without treatment. Had he complained at all?”

“Not about that,” I said. In fact, he hadn’t been complaining as much recently, just providing commentary on me and my life. I wondered if maybe he’d been so focused on the pain, he hadn’t been able to muster the effort.

Or maybe he’d been trying to protect me—hiding his pain so as not to add more stress to my life.

When I finally found the floor he was on, his room was easy enough to locate.

I pushed open the door, afraid of what I was going to see.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but what I found was a frail, silver-haired man sleeping so deeply his mouth was ajar.

He was okay. I hadn’t killed him—not yet. Still, a thick, permeating sense of shame ran through me.

I’d planned on leaving him.

No more than two hours ago when I’d slipped away from Stella after our second magical night together, I’d planned on running from my life once more to avoid having to deal with my goddamned feelings.

A nurse appeared at my shoulder.

“Are you Mr. Hughes’ son?”

I turned to see an older South Asian woman who barely reached my elbow. She had a motherly aura about her.

“Yes. Dean.”

She handed me a stack of papers to fill out. “These are for you. Your father has been asleep since this morning. He was in quite a bit of pain, so we gave him some relief from that and he’s resting now. He’s not likely to wake up for a little bit yet.”

I watched as she bustled around him, checking on the machines circling the head of the bed. I recognized them from my own stay in the hospital all those years ago. There was some kind of IV. A blood oxygen monitor. Oxygen via a tube below his nose.

I’d had them all at one time or another.

At the door the nurse peered over her glasses at me. “I’d imagine he might come around in an hour or two.” She hesitated. “He called out for you, you know. You and someone called Candace.”

Mom.

My heart twisted. Dad had very few people in his life who still cared about him. Would that be me too? Would I push everyone away until only people bound to me by obligation would be there if I fell, an old man with a life full of regrets?

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