Page 49 of If Cain Were Able

My son-in-law did me a favor with just a punch to the face. I deserved a lot worse.

I feel slightly better simply by being in the hospital. Like, somehow, maybe Cain can tell I’m here and can draw from my strength. I’d bleed it directly into his veins if I could.

Liam checks in about an hour into my waiting, asking if I need anything or if I want him and Damon to come to the hospital. I appreciate them coming to Boston with me, but until I know Cain is going to pull through, I just need to wait this one out on my own.

Most shockingly, I also get a text from Damon and Taylor’s parents. They were once Emilia’s and my best friends. Then the truth came out, and they—rightfully—refused to speak to me. When Damon and Liam got together, we began working to repair the damage I’d caused, and I appreciate them reaching out now, even if I don’t have much to offer in return.

But the most unexpected call rolls in around ten-thirty, as Cain enters his eighth hour on the operating room table and hope seeps from my pores like garlic fumes, making me sick with every breath.

I’m not sure why I answer the unknown number, but if this is to be part of the penance I pay, then I want to pay it all to ensure Cain doesn’t die for my sins.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Patrick.” He clears his throat, clearly as uncomfortable as I am.

“Knox?” I ask into the receiver, making sure I’m not hallucinating and that Taylor’s husband really is calling me.

“Yeah. Um, Taylor told me about your…friend. He also told me about the flight, and I just want you to know that I wouldn’t wish this misery on anyone, even you. I know what it’s like to feel helpless as you stand by, wondering if they’re going to take their last breath tonight.” I wince at his blunt words, but appreciate that he’s not using kid gloves and is talking through the reality of it.

“I’m scared to death that he’s not going to wake up,” I hear myself admit. Maybe I should be telling this to my son, or literally anyone else, but somehow confessing to the man whose life I almost ruined feels apropos. “I feel guilty as hell that my actions put you and Taylor in this exact situation once. And I feel rage, all-consuming, fire-driven rage that Cain and I finally found our way back to each other, only for a man in mourning to take the love of my life from me the way he thinks Cain took his.” Tears are now running down my cheeks, unchecked. “I’ve never even said the words outright to his face because I’m a coward. I know he can’t say it back, and that hurts so fucking much, but letting him go on thinking that I’m not in love with him…that I haven’t been in love with him for almost twenty-six years now, is going to kill me. Although let’s be honest, it’s probably what I deserve,” I finish with full conviction.

“Hey, none of that. You fucked up—badly—and you hurt a lot of good people with your selfishness, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to die or to never find a moment of happiness again,” Knox says.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because we both happen to know a ray of sunshine who makes us want to be better men. Tay made a valid point when he said it might be easier for you to talk to me, not only because of our history, but because we know each other peripherally, so we’re not complete strangers, but we also aren’t friends. I’m not going to ask a bunch of follow-up questions. I’m just going to let you vent.”

And vent I do.

I’m still purging my conscience when a very tired, blood-soaked surgeon pushes through the doors of the waiting room.

“Fuck. I have to go.”

I don’t wait for Knox to answer before I hang up, the phone slipping from my hand as the surgeon takes a seat next to me before I can stand up.

“Patrick Miller?”

I nod. Afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll vomit on this man’s shoes.

“I’m Dr. Porter.” He removes his surgical cap, and I lean forward, crying shamelessly into my hands, already assuming the worst. “Cain’s alive. Barely. The next seventy-two hours will be touch and go for him, but if anyone is a fighter, it’s Cain Rosemont.”

“Where was he…” I can’t bring myself to say the word shot because it’s too surreal.

“His chest, arm, and torso. He required a blood transfusion, and one of the bullets exited on its own; however, I never found the one that grazed his heart, and I fear the one that pierced his stomach is lodged too close to his spine for safe retrieval. Our biggest concerns now are infection and the potential for a pulmonary embolism.”

I hardly register anything other than Cain’s alive.

“Can I see him?” I ask.

“If it were anyone else, I’d say no. He doesn’t look good. He’s intubated, still out cold, and he’s the color of death, but you must be damn special for him to list you as his contact, so, yes, you can see him. Please don’t touch anything more than his hand.”

Dr. Porter stands, and I follow on shaking legs.

“He’ll be in the ICU for a while,” Dr. Porter says. “And, Patrick, even if he pulls through physically, he may never be the same mentally. Getting shot in cold blood leaves a traumatic mark that’s impossible to erase.”

“Understood.”

Chapter 28