Seconds later, I heard the rush of water from the shower. I cracked my eyes open just long enough to take in the room—the bedside table, the doors I knew led out to the terrace.
He’d left me in his bed.
I smiled to myself, nuzzling into the pillow again. “Sneaky fucker.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ASH
The doctor met us just outside the ICU doors, a chart tucked under his arm and a paper coffee cup in his other hand. It was the kind you got from the hospital—the really bad kind. Maybe he was used to it by now.
“Your father had a good night,” he said. “He’s off the ventilator now—breathing on his own. His vitals have been stable since late last night.”
The pressure in my chest loosened. Not relief exactly. More like a slow release from impending doom. I’d arrived hours ago, and we still hadn’t been given a full report. Oliver had been going back and forth about leaving, restless and eager for this conversation so he could finally relax. I couldn’t blame him. Even with Ethan close beside me, I’d woken up with my heart in my throat, needing to be here in case anything changed.
“He still needs to be in the ICU?” Oliver shifted in place, anxious.
“For now,” the doctor replied. “That’s expected after a bypass. But he’s past the most critical window.”
Henry let out a breath, rubbing at his jaw. His stubble had grown in, making him look rougher than usual. “So he’s out of immediate danger.”
“Yes,” the doctor said without hesitation.
The word settled between us, and the fear lost its hold.
“Is he awake?” I asked.
“On and off. We’re keeping him lightly sedated so he can rest, but he’s been responsive. Oriented. A little irritable—which I’ll take as a good sign.”
Oliver huffed out a laugh.
“Can we see him?” Henry asked.
“In a bit.” The doctor tucked the chart more securely under his arm. “It’ll be a short visit. He may not remember much, but hearing familiar voices still helps.”
“And recovery?” I asked because that part I understood. Structure and timelines.
The doctor didn’t rush the answer. “He’ll be here another day, then moved to step-down. Cardiac rehab will be important. It’ll be weeks before he’s steady. Months before he feels like himself again.”
I nodded once.
“But,” he added, meeting my eyes directly, “the surgery went well. His heart function looks good. We expect a full recovery.”
Silence followed—not the suffocating kind this time. The kind that came after something fragile was finally said out loud and held.
“We’ll let you know when you can go in.”
When he walked away, Henry scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. “So,” he said. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Fuck,” Oliver breathed, his face scrunching before easing as the tension finally broke.
I grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a hug, feeling the relief pass through both of us. “He’s going to be okay.”
“He’s a stubborn fucker, that’s for sure.” Henry’s voice wavered just enough to give him away.
Oliver pulled out of my arms and went straight to Henry, hugging him tight. Henry tipped his head, but I caught a glimpse of his too-bright eyes, and my heart thudded.
Keep them safe?—
