“I hope that I would have given him what he wanted, no matter how hard it would have been. But you know what? Up at the house, I helped you. I’m partially responsible for this, and that makes me sicker than anything. I get it, Xander. I do. I don’t want to lose Dad. Doesn’t matter how mean that asshole is or how deep his loathing of me goes, I want every possible second I can get to turn it around.”
“So you agree with me?” Wrinkles appeared in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.
“No. I don’t. I’m saying that emotion can override logic in the moment. I’m saying that you need to take a good long look at the possibility that you’re letting your emotional needs trump Dad’s God-given right to say what happens to his own body. It’s his. Not yours. Not mine.”
“He’s not capable of deciding anymore, and I’m doing the best I can.” His entire face fell, and his mouth twisted.
“I know you are. That’s what makes this so damned hard. Now, let’s go hear what the doc has to say.”
“You’re not going to rip the tube out of his throat?” Xander questioned with a sad tone but sarcastic rise of his eyebrows.
“Sure, right after I unplug the ventilator and strike a victory pose. Of course I’m not. I told him I’d help him keep it from happening; we didn’t exactly talk about what to do once it was already done.”
His hand lifted to my shoulder, but where mine had no doubt left bruises on his skin, his gently grasped mine. “Okay, let’s get in there.”
We stood side by side at the foot of Dad’s bed while Dr. Taylor filled us in. Dad still wasn’t breathing on his own, but they’d had success with hyperbaric chambers, so that was the next course of action.
They’d have a full team with him because of the ventilator, but complications were rare as long as they were careful, and the higher oxygen was his best shot.
He’d already had a chest X-ray and EKG, both of which were promising but not stellar. Blood work was on its way back from the lab, since it had been a few hours, and the pulse oxygen wasn’t as accurate this far out from the incident.
“Was this suicidal?” Dr. Taylor asked, looking between us. “I need to ask.”
“I don’t… No. It can’t be.” Xander shook his head.
“It’s not,” I answered. “I found the garage door dented. My guess is he tried to back out with the door shut and disengaged it. That’s why it wouldn’t open with the button.” I turned to Xander. “You found him by the steps to the house, right?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“And I’m guessing you had to hand lift that garage door?”
“I did,” he confirmed. “That makes sense.”
“Not suicidal, Doc. Just demented.” I gripped the base of Dad’s bed when I saw the soft restraints they’d Velcroed over his forearms, fastening them to the arm rails.
“He’s not going to hurt anyone,” Xander protested.
“They’re more for his personal safety than ours,” Dr. Taylor assured us. “We’ll bring him back soon.”
Xander and I sat in relative silence once they wheeled Dad out. We stared at each other for an awkward minute before he pulled his phone out and muttered that he had things he needed to check on.
I fired off a text message to Willow. It was less than she deserved but more than I’d thought I was capable of.
Cam: Sorry for running out. Dad has carbon monoxide poisoning. He’s in Salida in the ICU. Xander and I are with him.
Partly a lie, since running out was the most self-preservationist thing I could have done, but I’d left her stranded at my house. I tapped the side of my phone, waiting for the three dots to stop on her side and a message to appear.
Willow: I’m so sorry. Just saw Walt and gave him your wallet. I’ll make sure he knows. What else can I do for you? Need lunch?
Leave it to Willow to ask how she could help after I pretty much slaughtered her this morning. I looked at the clock. Holy shit, it was already after noon.
Cam: I’m okay. You saw Walter?
Willow: Pretty sure I just said that.
Had Walt gone up to the house? Not likely, given that the power outage had hit the hotel, too.
Cam: Are you still at the house?
Willow: I’m at my house. I live here and all.
Cam: How?
I’d taken the Cat, and there was no way my Jeep was taking on that snow. On the plains, maybe, but not on the mountain.
Willow: A girl’s gotta save herself. I’m not a helpless damsel 24-7, you know.
Cam: I’m aware, Pika.
Shit. I’d hit send before my brain caught up. Definitely had not meant to call her that, especially now that she knew why I did.
Which was probably what she was thinking about, considering the fact that she left me on read for a good two minutes. Wasn’t I turning out to be a needy little prick?
I knew mine would have been yours.
Maybe she thought I meant if I had been Sullivan, then my last words would have been about her. Not that I’d say them. There was a slight possibility…right?
But what if she knew? What if my lack of self-control let her in on the secret I’d kept as long as I could remember? What if years of keeping my mouth shut had all been for nothing and now she hated me? Or worse, thought I was capable of acting on it? I wasn’t capable, and even if I was, the town wouldn’t accept it. She’d be miserable either way.
“You okay?” Xander asked.
“What?” My head shot up. “Yeah, why?”
“You look…constipated.”
My eyes narrowed a fraction, and he looked away. Then I almost dropped my phone when it alerted me to her text. Total Green Beret material here. Good thing I’d gotten out if I was going to turn into a jittery mess over a woman.
Not just any woman, though.
Willow: Thank you for updating me. I was worried about you.
Willow: And your dad, of course.
Willow: I’ll check on you later.
Willow: Unless you don’t want me to.
Willow: I’m putting my phone away now.
I laughed, which earned me another odd look from Xander. At least I wasn’t the only one struggling. Not that I wanted to fluster her, but at least I wasn’t solo in the WTF department.
Cam: Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Thank you for my omelet.
Willow: You didn’t get to eat it.
Cam: The thought meant more than the food.