“So can Ulysses see him?”
I had no idea what that request might be costing her. Surely she’d want to see Finn as well.
Quinton eyed me. “His mom’s away on a cruise. Finn’s insisting we not call her.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. “Ms. O’Sullivan isnotgoing to like that.”
“Nope.” The nurse grinned. “Fierce Mama Bear alert. She’s almost as bad as my mom. Nurses, eh?”
I remembered having heard Quinton’s mother used to be a nurse. She’d retired about the time Quinton married the surgeon Leo with his two kids. “I wouldn’t know about nurses. Fortunately, I haven’t spent much time around medical professionals.”
“Oh, you’re a lucky one. Yeah, nurses are fierce protectors of their patients.” He eyed me. “Even if we’re not mamas.”
“No, but you’re a—” I floundered for the word.
“Technically a stepfather.” He cocked his head. “But I only use thesteppart because the kids have two dads. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no daylight.”
“They’re lucky to have you.”And I wish we could stop this fucking chitchat so I can see Finn.
“All right, let’s get you in to see Finn. I need to check his vitals first, though. Give me a minute?”
“Take as long as you need.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Within reason? It’s killing me—being out here when he’s in there.” I gestured toward the room.
“All good.” Quinton turned and headed into the room.
“How are you holding up?” I wanted to pat Miriam’s arm. Something. Anything. Some kind of grounding—to assure me she was okay. To affirm Finn was going to survive.
“I’m okay. We did what we had to do. A few minutes more, and—" She shuddered.
“Okay, you can go in.” Quinton made his way over to us. I wanted to demand of Miriam what she meant—but getting to Finn was more important.
“Thank you.”
“Fifteen minutes. Don’t wear him out.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I hustled in—hoping Quinton could take care of Miriam.
The room was dimly lit with the blinds shut tight. Night would fall soon. Darkness to shroud the world.
Finn’s vivid red hair stood out against the stark white of the sheet. As well as his sallow pallor.
I expected an oxygen mask, but he only had a canula to deliver that crucial pure life-sustaining gas.
His eyes fluttered open—the vivid blue almost completely eclipsed by the black pupils. He reached out.
Within a step, I was by his side. I grasped that hand—clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. “I was so worried.”
He swallowed. “I need water.”
“Are you allowed?” Even as I asked, I spotted a jug of water and a cup on the nightstand. Reluctantly, I released his hand so I could pour some water. “There’s a straw.”
“Thanks.” His voice rasped.
I held the straw for him, and he sucked greedily. “Maybe not too much?” I had no idea.
