Page 78 of Ly to Me
“He’s a smart man.”
I nodded, rolling my lips in and darting my attention to the halls. “Walker?” I questioned again, mentally bringing myself back to what I was here for.
“Right. Room 212. Take the second wing there on the left, it’ll be on the right, right after the slight bend.”
“Awesome,” I murmured, accepting my ID back from the girl and dropping it in my purse. “Has he woken at all since arriving?”
She shrugged. “Most of my patients are on the right wing, the more coherent ones.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, I got it. I prefer him in that state, anyhow.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you need an escort?”
I stepped away, already heading for the wing she’d directed me to. “Think I got it handled. Thanks, though.”
She looked unnerved at my response, but not nearly as unnerved as I grew with each passing door.
“He’s unconscious. He can’t hurt you. He’s almost dead, Ly. Chill the hell out,” I whispered to myself.
My nails dug into my palms as I came up to 212, and when I peered inside, a cold chill swept over my back. My breathing picked up, and as a few nurses in scrubs became visible at the end of the hall, I darted inside the room, panting against the wall.
The machine’s beeping blared in my ears, the heavy blinds drawn enough to bring light in, but still dark enough to allow peace to a man who didn’t deserve an ounce. My fingers splayed over my chest as I forced myself to calm down, and when Car’s smell washed over me from his shirt, the panic started to subside. I covered my nose with it, lifting the collar and smothering my face with it until all I could see was the black fabric, and all I could smell was him.
This would be over soon enough.
Soon enough. Soon enough. Soon enough.
“Hi, you must be Ms. Thomas.” A woman in scrubs stood in front of me, holding her palm out for what must’ve been a full minute before I snapped out of my waking nightmare. “Do you need some water? I know seeing a loved one like this can be hard.”
I nodded, trying my hardest not to look at Chet and instead focusing on the plants beyond the window. “Thank you.”
“Is he your dad?” the nurse asked as she handed me a small bottle of water.
“No.”
“Oh. My apologies.”
I accepted the bottle and sipped on it while she shuffled through papers on a clipboard, glancing at me here and there with a slight crease between her brows.
Here we go.
“You’re listed as his only living relative. Are you his niece?”
I shuddered. “Nope.”
“Are you his—”
“Does it matter the relation?” I snapped, and her lips thinned.
“I guess not, since you’re the only one listed.”
“Great. So, how much longer until he…ya know.”
Her nails tapped on the clipboard as she examined me. “He’s not doing well. The cancer is spreading faster since we last tried calling you”—she slid her finger over a line on the papers—“about a week ago.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” I replied, trying to glimpse at the papers, hoping words likedays left until expected deathwere written somewhere in big, bold letters.
“Right. Well, with all due respect, miss, he’s got maybe a few weeks at best and he needs his family.”
