The group of them strolled slowly into the building, Drew and Steven in front, Alex between Sandra and Caleb, with Nico bringing up the rear as he waved and smiled to his adoring fans.
I watched her go, made sure she was safely inside and the door was shut, before turning my attention back to her cousin, ready to administer any and all nature of threats to ensure he backed the fuck off, including but not limited to raining down an ungodly firestorm of—
“Dan.” Quinn stepped into my line of sight, his arms crossed, his voice low. “You need to go.”
“I need to cut his tongue out and shove it up his ass.”
“Yeah, maybe later.” He shrugged. “But right now, you need to take the plane and go to Boston with Kat.”
That pulled me out of my violent reflections, my eyes refocusing on Quinn. “What?”
“Take Kat.” His expression was patient, but concerned. “Take her home to Boston. Her dad’s in the ICU. She needs to see him. You can get there tonight, three hours from now she could be sitting at his side.”
I was nodding before he was finished. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Take the plane.” He gave me a pat on my shoulder. “I’ll call ahead. Everything will be ready. Just take her and go.”
I started around him, but then stopped. “Wait, what about Wally?”
Quinn blinked at me once, giving me a look like, come on man. “Alex,” was all he said.
Right. Alex. Wally loves Alex.
My friend lifted his chin toward the building. “Go. And don’t worry about this dipshit.” Quinn’s eyes turned cold as we both glanced at Caleb, now several feet away and ranting to someone on his cell phone while intermittently screaming at his security detail that they were all fired.
“He won’t be bothering you for a few days.” Quinn’s mouth curved into a subtle smile. “Maybe even longer.”
Part II
What Happens in Boston, Becomes Headlines All Around the World
Chapter Seventeen
Medical Power of Attorney: “A legal instrument that allows you to select the person that you want to make healthcare decisions for you if and when you become unable to make them for yourself.”
—Wex Legal Dictionary
**Kat**
I messaged my professors and informed them my father was in the hospital and I didn’t know when or if I’d be returning to class. I also promised to keep them in the loop as much as possible. Then I sent an email to my boss and Ms. Opal communicating a similar message.
I then sent a text to Steven, letting him know I’d be out of town. Dan messaged Quinn and asked Janie to spread the word.
I didn’t feel like talking during the flight. Mostly, this was because I didn’t know what I was feeling apart from angry with Eugene and stunned by the news about my father.
Dan, apparently sensing this, didn’t try to speak to me. But he did hold me the entire time we were in the air. He held my hand as we walked through Logan Airport, in the car on the drive to the hospital, and once we arrived.
He held my hand as I approached the reception desk, when the hospital administrator—who’d been expecting us because Ashley had called ahead—guided us to the ICU. As we boarded the elevator and as we walked the halls, I noticed he seemed to be looking around, perhaps expecting another ambush from Caleb, or for someone to stop us.
No one did.
When we finally arrived at my father’s room, Dan pulled me close, bringing me against his chest and holding me there.
We didn’t go inside. Instead, we stood outside the glass room and looked in. I could barely see him. He was hooked up to some kind of breathing apparatus that covered the bottom half of his face. Plastic tubing traveled from him to various machines, which beeped or buzzed, but held no significance to me.
Dan was the first to speak. “What can I do?” He punctuated this with a kiss on my temple.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I expected to feel something different than what I’m feeling.”
“What are you feeling?”
“Ms. Caravel-Tyson?”
Dan and I both turned toward the sound of my name, finding a doctor hovering some feet away. Next to her was the hospital administrator who’d led us through the labyrinth of elevators and hallways to the ICU.
“I’m Dr. Merkel, your father’s attending.”
Shaking myself, I extended a hand. “Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you. This is my husband, Daniel O’Malley.”
She took my hand, then Dan’s, giving us both a perfunctory smile; I was grateful for her professionalism. “I understand that you haven’t been informed about the full extent of your father’s condition?”