Now, as she pulled into the parking lot of Bellamy Memorial in under five hours, her hands finally began to shake. She threw the car into park, turned to look at him with glassy eyes, and said, “Go. I’ll catch up.”
He didn’t wait for more. Didn’t grab his bag. Didn’t fix his hair or check his phone. He just ran.
The ER doors slid open with a hiss, the scent of antiseptic hitting him like a punch—cold, clinical, and all too familiar.
He hated hospitals.
Especially this one.
He shut his thoughts down fast. He couldn’t let the ghosts creep in. This wasn’t about the past.
This was about his dad. Now.
“Dylan McKenzie,” he told the nurse behind the desk. “My dad. Talmadge McKenzie. He was brought in—”
She nodded. “Family’s in Room 13. Straight back, last on the left.”
He didn’t thank her. Didn’t breathe. Just walked—fast, then faster—until he reached the door. It was cracked open, the fluorescent light bleeding out into the hall.
He pushed it open and froze.
His mom was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, her face pale, but composed and she was holding Talmadge’s hand. His father looked smaller in the hospital bed—oxygen hooked to his nose, monitors blinking quietly. Daisy sat in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, tear tracks staining her cheeks.
The second she saw him, she was up.
“Dyllie.” She flung her arms around his neck, sobbing again.
He held her tightly, his throat closing. “What happened?”
“They think it was a blockage,” she whispered, wiping her face. “He collapsed outside the bank. A guy in the parking lot did CPR until EMS got there.”
His mom stood then. “They’ve stabilized him,” she said, her voice calm but raw. “But he’s not out of the woods yet.”
Dylan crossed to the bed and took his father’s free hand. “Hey, Dad,” he said softly, voice cracking. “You picked a hell of a way to get everyone back in town.”
His phone buzzed softly in his pocket.
He almost didn’t check it—couldn’t bear the thought of more updates or condolences or anyone trying to make this feel normal. But when he saw her name, his heart squeezed.
Ali:
Hey baby, they won’t let me in because I’m not family. I’ll be in the waiting room when you need me.
He stared at the screen for a long second, thumb hovering.
Not family.
God, that stung more than it should have. Not because it wasn’t technically true—but because the idea of her out there, alone, just a few doors away, felt wrong. It felt backwards.
She’d just driven four and a half hours with laser focus, a full tank of adrenaline, and her heart in her throat. For him. For all of them.
And now she was being kept behind glass like she didn’t belong.
He looked over at Daisy, and then to his mom, still clutching his dad’s hand.
Then he stepped into the hallway and typed out a reply.
You’re my family. I’ll be there in 2 minutes.
