“No, you need to keep your fans happy and keep going with the world tour. I’ll call you when I know what’s happening, okay?” I start toward the door, not giving him any option.
“Dee, you’re more important than the fucking band, the fans, or some stupid world tour. Let me come with you.” His voice is raw, pleading, but my head is a mess. Guilt claws at me, overwhelming and suffocating, and all I can think about is getting away.
From here, fromhim.
“No,” I snap, the words sharp, cutting. “I need to be with my family, and that doesn’t include you right now.”
The moment it leaves my lips, regret slams into me like a freight train.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t turn back.
I keep moving, striding out the door and down the hall, leaving him behind.
“Dee? Don’t you walk away from me.Dee!Okay, fine, I’ll get the band’s jet ready for you. Take the Hummer and Dee?” I stop at the elevator and look at him. “I need you. You’re going to come back,right?”he asks, standing in the hallway staring at me, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy.
The sight makes me want to run to him, but Daddy’s welfare is all I can think about right now, and the overwhelming feeling of having to be by his side. I turn, walk into an open elevator, and watch him as the doors close without saying a word.
A fresh wave of tears engulfs me.
I’m so mixed up.
I love Colt.
But if I caused Daddy’s heart attack…
Oh, God! I willneverforgive myself.
***
The next few hours are a blur.
Somehow, I made it from Paris to London’s Wellington Hospital, and I have no idea how long or how I even got here. All I know is that I’m now dragging my luggage and running through to the emergency department. I race to the triage nurse’s counter, and she looks at me like I’m nothing.
“Rutherford Norman… h-heart attack… d-daughter,” I stutter, pointing to myself as I puff out of breath. She nods and checks her computer screen. I stand straight, trying to get some much-needed air into my lungs while holding on to my side because I have a stitch from all the running.
“Bay seven, but you’ll have to leave your luggage here. You can’t take that into emergency with you. I’m sorry,” she says, looking at me like I’m trash.
I look down. I’m wearing a black bra and a white tank top with my distressed jeans.
Wow! I do look particularly trashy.
I shift my luggage aside and leave it with her as she opens the emergency department’s sliding door, ushering me inside. My pulse pounds as I rush through the sterile hallways, frantically scanning for the right bay.
Then, I find it.
The curtain is drawn, a thin barrier between me and whatever awaits on the other side. My stomach tightens, fear clawing its way up my chest.
I’m too late.
He’s gone.
I suck in a shaky breath and slowly pull back the curtain, bracing myself for the worst.
And then—there he is.
Sitting up in the hospital bed, casually eating jelly like he doesn’t have a care in the damn world. A hospital gown drapes over him, wires undoubtedly stuck to his chest, but otherwise…
