I push past him, uncaring of what anyone says. No one is going to stop me from seeing her with my own eyes. I have to tell her all the things I didn’t say, the promises I’ll make if she’ll just be okay.
“Tristan!” Jimmy yells, but I’m already heading toward the desk.
I don’t get ten steps before a hand is around my arm. “What the hell are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough?”
I turn to face Deacon Gatlin, who has rage etched in his features. I know that look. I’ve felt it, in this very hospital, as the doctors delivered the news that would knock my world off its axis.
Putting aside the years of bullshit, I soften my face. “I’m here for Lark. How is she?”
His eyes narrow. “Leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
I see Ryan come up behind him, hatred burning in his eyes. “You have some nerve coming here.”
This is going just about how I thought it would.
“I’m not here to start anything. I’m just here to see how Lark is.”
“For Lark? Why? She fucking hates you, just like we all do.”
Steeling my emotions, I get to the heart of it. I turn to Deacon first. “She was riding my daughter’s horse. Please, just give me something.”
Please, because I’m dying inside.
I might lose her. I might have lost her already. My heart is being ripped from my chest with every second.
“So it wasn’t enough to try to flood the barn, cut the fence line, almost kill our horses. Now you had to actually hurt mysister? I’ll fucking kill you myself!” Deacon takes a step forward, arm drawn back.
I wait for the blow, welcome it even. I’ll take the physical pain if it will stop the emotional trauma I’m enduring now.
“That’s enough!” a stern female voice says from across the waiting room, outside of the ICU.
All heads turn to see Mrs. Gatlin entering the room. Her hand rests on the back of a chair, her legs shaking.
“Momma,” Ryan says and rushes to her. He turns to glare at me, but his mother’s eyes don’t hold hatred or anger. They hold something else. Something close to understanding.
She watches me, not looking at her sons.
Deacon speaks quickly. “We’re just seeing him out.”
That causes her gaze to move to him. “No, he stays.”
“What?” they both shout in unison.
Her father enters the room, looking around, eyes landing on me before going to his wife.
“Tristan can see her if he wants,” Mrs. Gatlin says softly to the nurse standing at the doorway.
She knows.
Tears fill her soft green eyes, and then one falls. “She’d want to see you,” she says to me.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“No,” Ryan says, and his voice is ice. “Get the fuck out. Lark wouldn’t want that. She doesn’t need to see anyone. The people she loves are here, that doesn’t include you.”
Mrs. Gatlin speaks, and there is no question who’s in charge. “You will sit down, Ryan. If there’s a chance”—she sucks in a breath—“a sliver of a hope that she’ll come back, it’ll be because of him.” She gets to her feet and comes to me, raising her hand to my cheek. “Bring her back to us.”
