“Cameron, you there?” Quinn, his oldest brother, came on the line, his voice likewise rough but steadier than Bobby’s.
“Q,” Cam said, making his fingers work again and clutching the phone tighter. “Please tell me what’s going on.” In his periphery, Nic, with his free hand, reached out and drew his phone off the dual charger, texting someone.
“Ma had a heart attack.”
Off balance again, Cam gave more of his weight to Nic. “Is she okay?” he asked, voice a choked whisper.
“She’s in ICU.”
“What happened?”
“She woke up early feeling off,” Quinn explained. “Told Dad she felt a bit nauseous. Maybe a bad cannoli.” Cam wanted to laugh, it was totally something his mother would say, but all he felt was sick. “She went into the bathroom, and Dad heard a crash a minute later.”
“Did she break anything?”
“Mercifully, no, but given her age and the severity of the attack, they’re gonna have to do a bypass. Maybe multiple. The docs are worried about her throwing a clot and having a stroke.”
Which could happen at any minute. Like had happened to their aunt Linda two years ago when she’d passed. His mother could be gone at any minute, and he was stuck out here in California, clear across the country.
A five-hour plane flight away.
Fuck!
The arms around him grew tighter, as if sensing the spiral, and Cam realized Quinn was calling his name again. “Cameron, did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, hear what?”
“We’re at Tufts Medical. You need to get here as soon as you can.”
“I’m on my way.” He lowered the phone from his ear, trying to hit End but his hand was shaking too badly to manage it. Same as his knees again. Fucking hell, he was an FBI agent. He’d seen worse.
Get it together!
But this was his mother.
Nic’s hand closed over his, ending the call and trying to slip the phone free.
“No!” Cam snapped, fighting for the phone. “I need to book a flight.” Never mind that his motor functions weren’t a hundred percent right then.
Ignoring him, Nic tugged the phone free and tossed it onto the desk next to his, which was lighting up with texts. “You need to breathe, Boston.” Both arms sliding around him, Nic held him closer and leaned them back against the doorframe. “I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”
He hadn’t even realized he’d been on the cusp of hyperventilating until he forced himself to inhale and exhale with Nic, at a much slower, deliberate rate. Doing so, the adrenaline-ready tension ran out of him and the shaking knees would have taken him down if not for Nic’s sure hold. “My mom . . .”
“The rest of the family is there with her,” Nic said. “And you will be too.”
But would it be soon enough?
Four
Nic swung into the same airport parking lot he’d left seven hours ago, barely getting his truck parked before Cam’s hand went for the door handle. He put a hand on Cam’s knee, urging him to wait. It was understandably the last thing Cam wanted. Cam would have been on the first flight out to Boston this morning if there’d been any seats left. Nic had been checking while Cam had talked to his brothers, and when all the flights had come up booked, he’d phoned a friend instead—Cam’s best one, who’d want to know what was going on and who’d recently married a man with access to his family’s company jet.
Seven-thirty was as soon as the Talley Enterprises jet could secure a takeoff, and it had been just enough time for them to shower and pack. And to repack. When it had become clear that Cam was throwing any and everything into his bag, including Bird, Nic had shooed him out of the bedroom with the cat and rearranged things in an orderly fashion.
It was the least Nic could do with Cam wavering between locked down and a mess. He’d go from barely speaking, holding the words that scared him in check, to rapid-fire verbal vomit on the mundane and work-related. The security codes for the house, Bird’s feeding routine, his open Bureau cases.
The twenty-minute drive to SFO had been worse, Cam muttering under his breath repeatedly, “Should’ve never left.”
Cam reached for the door handle again, and Nic squeezed his knee. “Just wait. Aidan and Jamie aren’t even here yet.” He hoped it sounded more like an observation than the plea it was. He didn’t want to make Cam feel guilty for leaving. He might have only been six at the time, but Nic remembered the pain of losing his mother. He could only imagine what the threat of losing one who’d been with Cam for thirty-six years was doing to him. But Nic selfishly wanted another minute or two alone with him. A seven-hour reunion, half that time lost to a fire, and now they were going to be separated again. “Are you sure I can’t go with you? I’m not due back in the office until Monday, and I can?—”
