“We’ve been best friends since I came down here almost ten years ago. He didn’t like them much then and pretty much despises them now.”
“So he’s a good guy?”
He flashes me a look. “Amber, Quinn isn’t the kind of guy who wants to be someone’s boyfriend or husband. Don’t go getting any ideas.”
“I’m leaving in a week, Aaron. Believe me, nobody’s getting any ideas.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
I look out the window. “I don’t get hurt.”
He pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store. “I’m calling bullshit. Everyone has something that can hurt them.”
“Not me.”
“Okay, fine, you don’t get hurt. Someday, you’ll have to tell me how you manage that.”
“I promise it’s nothing you want to know.” I open the door and get out, taking my heart of stone with me.
Chapter Thirteen
Quinn
I climb the stairs to the apartments. Her phone rings for the third time since I retrieved it. Tag is trying to call her again. There’s a crash from behind Amber’s door. “Amber!”
“Come in!”
Inside, I find her on the floor next to an overturned chair.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I misjudged the chair.” She throws down her crutches. “I can’t wait to get rid of these things. Andie said she’d bring me a walking boot tomorrow.”
“Let me help you to the couch.” She takes my hand and I pull her up, then sweep her into my arms and cross the room and get her situated. I put a pillow under her leg. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“A bottle of water would be great.”
I pull her phone from my pocket. “Your friend Tag called three times in the last twenty minutes. Must be important.”
She holds up her phone. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. I’ll get your water.”
I walk to the kitchen to give her space, but the apartment is small and I can still hear every word.
“What’s up?” she asks. Her voice becomes strained. “Oh, no.”
I get the bottle of water and keep my distance.
Her voice cracks. “Did they say how long? I don’t want to fly, Tag. But I want to be there.”
Seems like shit just got real. I walk in the room, and her face is wet with tears.
She looks up. “It’s my dad. They tried to call me, but Tag is the other emergency contact. They want me there. They don’t think he has long to live.”
“Damn. I’m sorry to hear it.”
She talks back into the phone. “It’s Quinn.” She says it like he already knows about me. “No, you’re not flying down here to babysit me on a flight home. I know you have a big meeting in the morning. I’ll rent a car. Besides, it’s only a sprain. I’ll load up on Advil.”
I wish I could hear the other end of the conversation, but I can’t.
“They think I need to be there tomorrow? How can it happen so quickly?”
I’m not sure what’s going on. Obviously, her father is critically ill. And although she’s clearly upset, she’s not hysterical. It’s almost like she knew this was coming. Or maybe she isn’t very close to her father.
I sit on the arm of the couch. “I’ll fly with you.”
“What? No. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“Still. It’s too much.” She listens to something Tag says. “I can’t.” More listening. “Because it’s weird.”
“Listen,” I say. “I’m not sure what the hell you’re saying, but since I’m part of the reason you don’t want to fly, it’s only fair I accompany you. It’s really no big deal, Amber. I’m offering. You need to get home. It’s simple.”
She listens to Tag and then rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll do it.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I have to let you bring me.”
I raise my brows. “I didn’t think any man could tell you what to do.”
“Shut up.” She talks to Tag. “I’ll text you with our flight info. And thanks for going to see him tonight. I’m glad you’ll be with him if I can’t get there in time. See you tomorrow.”
She puts the phone down and wipes her face.
“Has he been sick for a while?” I ask.
She taps around on her phone as she speaks. “He has advanced early-onset Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s patients are prone to getting viruses and bacterial infections. He had a bad respiratory virus a few years ago, and his lungs haven’t been the same since. Now they say he’s got pneumonia. He’s on oxygen to help him breathe, but he’s getting worse.”
“Sounds like you need to get there fast.”
She closes her eyes and puts down the phone. “The only tickets left are first class. I can’t afford one ticket, let alone two.”
“Let me deal with the tickets.”
“You have contacts because you’re a pilot?”
I hand her the water and get up to leave. “Something like that. Leave it to me. I’ll text you with the details shortly. Just hang tight and pack your bag.”
“Thank you. I don’t know which I’m more scared of: getting on a plane or not being there when he dies.”
“I’ll get you through it.”
She nods, and I wonder if she thinks I meant get her through the flight or through her father’s death. We’ve only known each other a week; I don’t dare to think I could get her through anything. Why, then, do I have this nagging urge to do exactly that?
As soon as I’m in my own apartment, I get online and buy two first-class tickets. Then I text her to let her know we’re all set.
Then I spend a sleepless night worried about the woman next door. About her dad. About how she’ll handle the flight.
About her leaving and never coming back.
“Two mimosas, please,” I say to the waitress at the airport bar.
Amber sees airplanes out the window. “You don’t think I can do this without alcohol?”
“Do you?”
“Honestly? I’ve never wanted to run away from anything so much in my life. If I was going on vacation, I’d cancel. If this trip were to recruit a new client, I’d postpone it until I could drive. But this is my dad. If I don’t get on this plane, I might hate myself for it.”
Our drinks get put on the bar. I tap my glass to hers. “To your dad.”
She gulps down half her glass. “I wish you could have known him. He’s a good man and an incredible surgeon. Most surgeons don’t even interact with their patients, did you know that? They let the nurses and residents handle the prep work and the patient communication. Not Benjamin Black. Not only did he insist on talking to every patient before and after surgery, he would also follow up himself and even keep in touch with them. Doctor B, they’d call him. And though our last name is Black, he insisted the B stood for his first name. He hated formalities.”