“I can’t get ahold of Damien.” He sounds lost, and Jackson never sounds lost. Like Damien, he’s a man who is always in control. My fear ratchets up a notch as I realize that he’s afraid of losing the baby. Or, god forbid, of losing Sylvia.
“I’ll tell him. Just go be with her. I’m on my way.”
I hear a nurse approach, letting him know that Sylvia was calling for him, and then the click of the phone as he hangs up, obviously overwhelmed. I get that. I feel overwhelmed, too.
I bend over and take a deep breath to ward off rising fear, then hit the speed-dial for Damien. It rolls to voicemail, which means he must be somewhere without a signal, because I’m damn sure he’d take my calls today, even if he was negotiating a billion dollar contract.
I leave a message, then follow up with a text. I call Rachel, too, but she tells me that she’s already spoken to Jackson and is trying to reach Damien, as well.
Since I can’t do more on that front, I grab my purse and hurry down to the garage. I’d left Coop at Wyatt’s studio and driven home with Damien, and I don’t want to waste time calling Edward. I need to get to the hospital as fast as I can, and since the Bugatti has some serious speed, that’s the car I choose from Damien’s vehicular menagerie.
I’m in it and heading through the exit tunnel in less than three minutes. It opens on the road just past the driveway gate, and soon I’m racing toward the Pacific Coast Highway, a litany of faster, faster running through my head.
When the car suddenly shimmies and bounces and starts pulling to the right, I’m so focused on just getting to the hospital that it takes me a moment to realize that a tire has blown out and that I have no choice but to pull over.
Damn, shit, fuck.
I get out, stare at the tire, and then kick the damn thing out of pique. Theoretically, I know how to change a tire. In practice, though, it would take me the rest of the day.
I open my phone and pull up my Uber app, figuring I’ll get a ride and then text Gregory and ask him to deal with the car, and then I’ll try to get through to Damien again.
But just as I’m about to enter my request, a familiar blue Buick pulls up behind me. Familiar, because I was just looking at it on my security camera. The door opens, and Frank steps out.
“Need help changing the tire?”
I shake my head, then take the plunge. “No,” I say. “But I need a ride to the hospital.”
Frank doesn’t ask questions and he drives fast. As far as I’m concerned, those are more points in his favor.
“My sister-in-law,” I explain once I’m certain that he understands the urgency and is driving accordingly. “And my friend.” I tell him what Jackson told me, and he nods grimly.
“Try not to worry. She’s at a hospital in good hands.” But I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel as he accelerates through traffic.
When we reach a red light, he drums his fingers on the wheel impatiently, and I’m so moved by his effort to get me there as fast as possible that I hear myself apologizing.
“I’m sorry about everything. I know you want to talk—to convince me that you didn’t do anything. But I hope you understand that I need space.”
“I do,” he says as we finally start moving again. “But the truth is I wasn’t going to try to convince you. Damien and Dallas and that other young man are going to do that part for me.” He takes his eye off the road long enough to look at me. “Those photos aren’t mine, which means that if your husband and the people who work for him are as thorough as his reputation suggests, he’ll eventually realize that.”
I bite my lower lip. “Then what did you want to talk about?”
“I wanted you to know I understand. I know you have to be careful. I know you’re in a position now to attract a lot of fortune hunters. And I know that even outside of your life with Damien, you have reason to doubt the sincerity of parental motives. Neither your mother nor I left you in a very good position there, I’m afraid. So I get that. And when you know the truth and want to see me, well, my door will always be open.”
“Oh.” I can’t deny that his words move me. More than that, I can’t deny that I believe him. “Thank you,” I say as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.
He puts the car in park and smiles at me. “You’re welcome,” he says, and I think he understands that I’m not just talking about giving me a lift.
I hesitate as I open the passenger side door, but only for an instant. Then I ask, “Will you come in with me?”
I see the hope flare in his blue eyes so like my own. “Of course I will.”
We go in together, and just entering the hospital makes me a wreck all over again. Thankfully, Frank takes over, leading us to the maternity ward and then finding a nurse who can get us a status update.
Before she can pull up Syl’s chart, however, I see Jackson bounding down the hallway, his face alight with relief and pleasure. I race toward him and he pulls me into a tight hug. “She’s fine,” he says. “It was close there for a bit, but they’re both fine. Sylvia, and our son,” he adds with an extra note of pride.
A laugh bubbles out of me and I reach out, automatically squeezing Frank’s hand.
“Where’s Ronnie?” I ask, thinking that she must be thrilled. Syl and Jackson had decided to wait to learn the baby’s sex, but I know that Ronnie was hoping for a baby brother.
“Cass and Siobhan took her to the cafeteria. Sylvia’s probably going to be out for a few hours—they gave her some sedatives. And they took the baby to be checked out and then to the nursery. He’s doing great. Had a scary couple of minutes, but everything is fine now.”