Page 23 of Fighting His Fate
Hope was sudden and bright. “Are they going to be okay?” asked Brett.
“I’m not sure. There’s got to be something else at play here, and I don’t know what it is. Damon’s Disorder is a mutation, not a hereditary disease. Brothers are no more likely to get it than total strangers, but given the exceptional rarity of this disorder, the math alone says something must have caused it. Whatever that something is may be in the past or it may be an ongoing issue.”
“Is it possible it’s just a coincidence?” asked Grace.
Razorback walked to Theo’s bedside. “It’s possible like a monkey sitting down at a typewriter and happening to pound out Shakespeare. Theoretically possible, but in practicality, so unlikely as to be impossible. This is no coincidence. Something caused these boys to get Damon’s Disorder. Something other than the standard genetic mutation. I’ll have to review the research before I can tell you more.”
Brett and Grace exchanged a look. “Joni was a researcher, a scientist,” Brett said. “If she knew the boys were sick, she would have researched the hell out of this disorder. Maybe even figured out what made them ill.”
“How likely is it she knew they had this?” asked Grace.
Razorback shrugged. “She must have known. Every infant formula on the grocery store shelf would cause a reaction in these boys, even breast milk. You said they didn’t have purple urine when you first took custody of them, so it’s safe to say she was aware and was feeding them special formula.”
The boy closer to the window whimpered, and Brett went to his side, gently stroking the baby’s head. If these had been his sons, he would have gone to the far reaches of the world to learn what had made them sick. Joni must have done the same, and another wave of grief crested over him as he longed so desperately to speak to her.
He turned to Razorback. “Will they get better?”
“If no permanent damage has been done, they should improve. But they’re not out of the woods yet, Champ. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
13
Grace enteredthe hotel suite and dropped her purse on the dresser, her shoulders sagging. Exhaustion had long ago changed into pure anxiety, her vigil at the hospital next door fueling a fire within her that she feared would prevent sleep entirely. She’d slept in fits and spurts in the NICU, but an hour-long rest in an actual bed was days overdue.
The doctors were quick to act after Razorback’s amazing diagnosis, confirming the problem and starting the twins on dialysis to clean the toxins from their blood. Within an hour, their vitals began to improve and Grace and Brett had breathed a shared sigh of relief.
Moto had booked two rooms for them at the historic hotel next door. Any other time, she would have marveled at the high ceilings and intricate woodwork, but tonight she was barely aware of anything beyond the minibar and the bed. She slipped off her shoes and selected a small bottle of whiskey, then poured it into a glass and settled against the headboard, pulling out her phone.
Three missed calls from John.
She frowned, knowing she should call him back or at least text to tell him what was going on, but she had no energy or desire to do either one and tossed her phone onto the bed. The liquor went down with a pleasant burning sensation, landing in her empty stomach with a tingle.
She looked at her phone and sighed, guilt making her pick it back up. She texted John. SUPER TIRED. TALK TOMORROW. She threw it back on the bed, and her eyes went to the door connecting Brett’s room to hers.
When she’d touched him at the hospital, she’d been consoling him, commiserating with his pain, for she felt it just as strongly as he did. But what she found when his corded arm had held her firmly against him far exceeded what she’d originally intended. Just as it had in the truck, desire had seared her body, hot and bright, like she’d never felt in the arms of another man before him—certainly not John’s.
There had been a connection humming between her and Brett, a current of electricity like an electrical plug that had finally found an outlet. It was a living, breathing thing, a desire so strong she’d had no choice but to act on it, for turning her back on him and that feeling would be like a freezing person turning their back on the warmth of the sun.
But he’d pulled away from her, shirking from her touch. It was a physical sting, a psychological stab. She sipped her whiskey, eying the bottom of the glass. Brett Champion slept with all manner of women, but he’d rejected her, just as John had.
You should be happy he did.
If the accident had never happened, she would probably be engaged right now, showing off a diamond ring and planning their future. She stared at her empty ring finger and squeezed her eyes shut. John should be what she wanted, that path paved with bricks and ready to be walked.
But he wasn’t.
She thought of Brett driving across the empty field, no regard for roads or pavement whatsoever, and grinned. It was no wonder the women flocked to him like bees to clover, paths be damned.
God, what would it be like to be one of his women, to have him come to her, looking for sex? To be the focal point of all that intense energy? She swallowed, the taste of whiskey spicy on her tongue.
Her attraction to Brett was highlighting all the holes in her bond with her boyfriend, holes a wedding ring and a family would never be able to fill. She would never make a good preacher’s wife, never be able to modify her personality and vocabulary enough to blend in, to become the perfect support to his ministry, a partner in his life.
It was clear to her now. She’d been trying so hard, pretending he was what she wanted, pretending this was who she wanted to become. But her true self refused to be quelled, awkward personality and inappropriate words spilling out of the seams in the costume she’d so carefully sewn.
She had to break up with him. Set him free to find a woman who could be all the things he wanted in a wife, instead of someone playing a part like an actor in a play. A mixture of relief and sadness filled her.
Her parents would be upset, for sure. But they would get over it eventually and learn to accept her decision. Maybe they would even be supportive if they understood he wasn’t right for her. John was sure to be embarrassed in front of his congregation, and for that she was terribly sorry.
Damn, she was drained. Drained and wired and mentally fried. There was a knock at the door and she sat up abruptly.
