“What about the bacon?” Her laughter caused his heart to stutter.
“Let it burn.” He nipped her earlobe, and she laughed, but his phone rang again.
He muttered a rather unfavorable curse and set Juliette down, then he snatched his phone from off the counter. “Hello?”
“Brockton Gallagher?” The feminine voice on the other end of the line sounded distant and concerned.
“Speaking.”
“This is Beth Matthews calling from Mystic Cove Hospital. Since you’re listed as the first point of contact, I need to tell you that your grandmother, Maureen Gallagher, was just admitted.”
His heart stopped. He felt it, the steady beating simply stilled, and in its place dark and familiar emotions took hold. Gripping him. Seizing him.
Panic. Fear.
“Is she okay? What happened?”
“I think it’s best if you can get here as soon as possible.” The nurse on the other end of the line kept her voice measured.
Juliette, on the other hand, was right by his side. Her brows knit together in a tight line of worry, and she’d taken hold of his hand.
“Of course.” Brock swallowed hard. His throat was unusually dry, as though somehow a piece of sandpaper had been shoved into his mouth. “I’m on my way.”
When he got off the phone, his mind went into full panic mode. What if it was bad? Had it been a car accident? No, it’s too early in the morning. A health issue then. But what? Was it unexpected? Yaya was completely normal the last time he saw her. Healthy, even. No, the last time he saw her, his father was tucking her into bed in the morning and reading her a story.That was far from normal. What if it was detrimental? Or life-threatening?
“Come on, Brock. Let’s go.” Juliette bundled herself into her coat and handed his to him. She took his phone from the counter and shoved it into her purse, then grabbed his truck keys. “Yaya needs you, so you’ve got to focus, okay? Let’s get to the hospital.”
Right.
He wasn’t sure if he could do this, but at least for now, he had Juliette. Her hand captured his own and she led him outside into the January cold. She drove to the hospital and all the while, she reassured him. Kept him calm and cool. Even though he couldn’t speak. Could barely think. His mind was a tempest of agony, but she was his anchor. She kept him grounded. Steady.
Juliette was his safe haven.
At the hospital, she sat in the waiting room, but Brock couldn’t keep still. Thought after unanswered thought pummeled into his head. He paced the white tiled floor and hated the way everyone spoke in hushed whispers. Every so often he’d get a whiff of the overpowering scent of antiseptic, or a voice would come over the intercom announcing some sort of code. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to let the familiar scene of determined footfalls, beeping, and other strange noises no one liked to hear take him back to another time.
To a time when a makeshift hospital tent was his only saving grace. When the stench of smoke and the metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air like a dense cloud of humidity. When shredded uniforms were used as bandages and screams of agony caused his ears to ring worse than a mortar round.
Those had been worse days, he told himself. Those kinds of days were burned in his memory. He’d never forget the way blood mixed with sandy soil, or how tears were easily mistaken for sweat.
No, today would not be one of those days.
Quickening footsteps came sounding down the hall, and Brock looked up to see his father running toward him.
A rush of emotion he couldn’t quite understand crashed over him. Anger. Fear. Resentment. Hope. And something resembling relief.
“What are you doing here?” Brock asked, though the question was obvious.
Aidan twisted his winter hat in his hands. “I heard about Ma.”
Another set of footsteps echoed down the sterile hall. This time, a doctor with blue scrubs and wire-framed glasses approached them. Brock looked to his father. “The hospital called you, too?”
Aidan shook his head. “No.”
Juliette stood up and rolled her shoulders back. “I texted him.”
The initial rush of anger was brief, but it dissipated as quickly as it came. Because Brock was grateful. So damn grateful. Juliette was looking out for him. For his family. Shecared. And that was enough for him.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and she squeezed his hand tightly. Together, they turned to face the advancing doctor.
