Killian tried to smile, but it wasn’t easy. Not when so much of him had been injured. “The doctors are politely saying I’m dying. Something about internal bleeding. I’ve never done it before, but I think this is what it feels like. Dying has to be better than listening to those two out there.”
Haleigh and Enzo had started screaming at each other out in the hall, causing Lana to turn and frown.
“Rick? Would you mind?” she asked.
“Gladly.” Rick turned on his heel and strode to the door.
His intervention wasn’t necessary, however much he wanted to grab the two by the scruffs of their necks and toss them both into the elevator. Security had already been called. Rick waited until a protesting Enzo and a crying Haleigh were escorted out of ICU.
When Rick slipped back in, Killian’s eyes were closed. Lana still held his hand tightly in her own.
“He fell back asleep.” Her voice cracked. “I promised him I would stay.”
“Then we’ll stay,” Rick said quietly.
“Last night, everything seemed so perfect. Was it only twenty-four hours ago?”
“Seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?” There wasn’t another chair, but Rick was fine settling down on his heels at her side, holding Lana’s hand as she held Killian’s.
For thirty-six minutes, they listened to him breathe. Then they watched him stop.
* * *
Of all the things Lana had witnessed in her life, watching her cousin have shock paddles pressed to his chest had been among the worst. Even now, she could hear the monitors flatlining.
The skilled doctors and nurses had revived him, but they’d insisted family leave the room. Donors or not, they would have to wait in the waiting room like everyone else.
Lana’s aunt Rebecca was a mess, but for once, Silas was being helpful. He’d let her lean on him, keeping an arm tight around the sobbing woman as they waited for her husband’s transcontinental flight to land.
Attempting to console her aunt was futile, not that Lana blamed Rebecca for being so upset. In the end, all Lana could do was hold Rebecca’s hand. Every so often, a heavy palm rested on her shoulder, squeezing gently, reminding Lana that Rick was there with her. No matter what happened, she wasn’t alone.
Lana appreciated it more than he could possibly know.
They plied Rebecca with enough sedatives that she fell into a state of quiet weeping, then finally sleep. Only then did Lana slip outside the private waiting room they’d been given.
“This could be a while,” she warned him. “You might want to take a rideshare back to a hotel.”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Rick said kindly. “Can I get you a coffee or some tea? Your hands are shaking, sweetheart.”
Before Lana could accept his offer, her phone rang. A brief phone call later, she ended the call and frowned at her cell.
“My mother wants us to come by the house.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
She wavered, watching a well-dressed man stride toward the waiting room. “My uncle is here for my aunt and Killian. I’m not sure what we can do waiting here. At least we could freshen up.”
In the end, Lana erred on the side of taking Rick back to her parents’ house in a suburb of Chicago. Their home looked like every other home on the street. Old but well maintained. Three stories, brick exterior, a nice door, and neatly trimmed evergreens out front. As home bases for the ultrawealthy, it wasn’t what most would expect.
As the car pulled into the drive and through a discrete gated entry, it seemed far less intimidating than what people thought they’d be walking into.
Lana glanced at Rick, staring out the window.
“Not what you expected?”
“I was trying to think of a nice way of saying that,” Rick said ruefully.
“Old money is old for a reason. We save.”
As they got out of the car, Rick held his arm out for Lana. “As much as I enjoy ending up in a pile of gummy bears with you, there’s ice.”
He could make her laugh, even in the hardest of times. Grateful for his presence and his supportive arm, Lana tucked her fingers into his bicep.
Lana’s heels clicked on cobblestone pavers, then on gleaming marble as they entered the home through an unobtrusive back door. The marble mudroom was their warning sign things were about to get a whole lot more expensive, if subtly so. Rare paintings from the 1800s graced the foyer. Antique chairs once used by French royalty sat in the study. The garage outside held a 1930s Rolls-Royce that had set her father back almost $2 million, not that he’d ever be gauche enough to drive it.
Speaking of Langston, he was headed down the hall, having been alerted by the security system of her arrival.
“Lana.”
Her name on her father’s lips was enough to almost break through the composure Lana had fought so hard for since getting the call about Killian’s accident. She hugged him in greeting, holding on just a touch too long before stepping back and saying, “Dad, this is Rick Harding. Rick, this is my father, Langston Montgomery.”
“I’ve heard good things about you from my wife,” Langston said, shaking Rick’s hand. “It was kind of you to come with Lana. This is a trying time for our family. A friendly face is appreciated.”
Meeting the parents wasn’t the easiest on the best of terms, but Rick held any discomfort he might have felt close to the chest.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Rick simply said, then shifted back to let Lana have her father’s full attention. He didn’t often hug her a second time, but this was a double hugging occasion if ever there was one.
Releasing her, Lana’s father sighed. “Your mother should be down in her office by now. I know she wants to talk to you before we leave.”
Only then did it occur to Lana that her father was in his best tuxedo, a fashionable Italian number tailored to fit him perfectly.
“Leave for where?” she asked, frowning.
Langston didn’t answer, merely glancing at Rick before heading toward the library that had served as her mother’s “office” for the last several decades.
One day, Lana wanted to have a library that was used for curling up and reading, not for holding meetings or entertaining important guests. Two stories of gleaming bookcases, a curved massive fireplace, and rustic wood beams drawing the eye up to irreplaceable antique stained glass window artwork. In the middle of it, her mother leaned one hand on a leather cigar chair. Dressed in a cocktail dress Lana had never seen before, Jessica pulled on a pair of heels, balancing her phone between her shoulder and her head. “Yes, thank you, Silas. I know. I’ll tell her.”