I glance at the screen.
Dad.
My stomach drops.
It’s almost ten p.m. My father never calls this late unless?—
Unless something’s wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Chloe. “I have to?—”
I answer. “Dad?”
But it’s not my father’s voice.
It’s a woman. Professional. Calm. “Is this Brody Kane?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Hennepin County Medical Center. Your father, Robert Kane, was brought in about an hour ago. You’re listed as his emergency contact. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
The world tilts.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He was in a car accident. You should come. Soon.”
The line goes dead.
I’m staring at my phone. My hand is shaking.
“Brody?” Chloe’s voice is gentle. Worried. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my dad. He’s in the hospital. I have to—” I’m already standing. Throwing cash on the table. Too much, but I don’t care. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Okay.” She’s grabbing her coat. Her purse. “Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m going with you.”
“Chloe—”
“Brody.” She takes my hand again. Firm. Grounding. “I’m going with you. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
I should argue. Should tell her this isn’t her problem. Should maintain the careful distance between professional arrangement and whatever this is becoming.
But I can’t.
Because my father is in the hospital.
And I don’t want to face it alone.
“Okay,” I manage.
We leave the restaurant together, the Barcelona magic dissipating into the cold February night and the smell of car exhaust and the sound of my heart pounding too fast in my chest.
The perfect evening is over.
