He climbed out of his truck and grabbed his laptop and the printed quote from the passenger seat. He always offered his clients both a digital and printed version.
The second he stepped inside the building, that familiar burning flared in his gut. Some people described the smell of a hospital as a mix of antiseptic and bodily fluids. To him, it was a sterile, metallic scent that, no matter what part of the hospital he entered, he couldn’t escape. It was a clinical smell. And he fucking hated it.
He strode down the hall, following the directions to the cafeteria.
A man in a white coat rounded a corner, almost walking into him. “Holden!”
He frowned. “Malcolm.”
“Yeah. Hey. Everything okay?”
“Just meeting Briar in the cafeteria.”
His brows rose. “Briar. Okay.”
Why the hell did he say it that way? Was he surprised?
Malcolm cleared his throat. “You need help—”
A loud, piercing beep suddenly rang out from one of the rooms beside them.
Malcolm cursed and ran into the room, others following him, while Holden just stood there like a fucking statue, thrown back to when he was sixteen years old and that same beeping had pierced the air—all coming from the machines attached to his mother.
Panic crawled up his throat. The same panic he’d felt that day, knowing without anyone saying the words that his mother was gone. That he’d just lost the last person in the world who was family. The only person who loved him.
A hand suddenly touched his arm, making him flinch. He turned to see Clara and Pam standing in front of him, concern on their faces.
Some people didn’t likehospitals. A lot of people who’d gone through chemo actually hated them.
Not Clara. To her, the hospital was the place she’d faced the biggest obstacle of her life and won. The place that had saved her.
Twelve weeks she’d spent in this hospital, receiving chemotherapy. Originally, she’d been told she’d need four months, but she’d responded well to the drugs. Even that had been a victory.
It wasafterchemo that things had gotten hard. That’s when she’d lost her hair and her hormones had been all over the place. During chemo, she’d had a plan. Something to work toward—kicking cancer’s butt. But after, she’d kind of felt lost, like she didn’t fit into the world she’d created in New York anymore, but she also wasn’t sure if she fit anywhere else.
“Are you okay, darling?”
Clara glanced at her mother. Pam Hayes sat in a hospital chair, a Band-Aid on the inside of her elbow. “You’re finished.”
“Blood’s all taken, just need to wait for the results.”
Her mother got routine blood tests, and today Clara had offered to take her.
“The nurse was telling me about this doctor who’s basically famous for his new sepsis protocol,” her mom continued.
“Malcolm. We actually went to high school together.”
“Really? Is he cute?”
She laughed. “I suppose some women would find him attractive. But he’s not really my type.”
“I see.”
Why did her mother say it like that? Like she knew some big secret Clara was keeping. “Should we go?”
“Sure.” Her mother tilted her head. “Are you okay being here?”
“Of course. I told you, Mom. I don’t mind the hospital.”
