Shane nodded in defeat. “Thank you, Dr. Russell. Come get me if he needs anything. I’ll be right here.”
“Do yourself a favor, Mr. Griffin. Go home and get some rest. He’ll be here with us for a while, so you’re going to need it. We’ll be sure to call you if anything comes up.” The doctor shook Shane’s hand one more time before disappearing behind the double doors.
Bellamy stood, unmoving, on the green and gray flecked linoleum, torn between wanting to ask a billion questions and throw her arms around Shane. His usually warm brown eyes fell on her with dull sadness, and she felt the distance stretch out between them.
“Why don’t we go back to the cabin to lie down for a bit? Then we can come back in a few hours to see him,” Bellamy said. She fully expected Shane to protest, and had already made up her mind that she wouldn’t push it if he did. Those chairs in the waiting room weren’t too bad, and anyway, she’d do anything to ease the pain on his face.
“Okay, yeah.”
Jackson jumped to action. “I’ll go pull the truck around. Just hang tight.” He hustled his gigantic frame out the lobby doors and into the frigid night.
Bellamy wrapped the sleeves of her shirt over her hands, curling the edges over her fingers. They’d been in such a hurry that she’d snapped Shane’s flannel from the floor of his room, and she just now noticed that she’d missed a button in her haste to get dressed.
“I’m really sorry, Shane.” Maybe it was lame, but the apology was what she’d been thinking, and apparently her speak-your-mind habit didn’t have a crisis mode. Plus, she had no idea what else to say.
“For what?” Shane asked, but he didn’t look up. His face had aged fifteen years in the last few hours.
“I wish this hadn’t happened to Grady. To you. Why didn’t you tell me he’s your grandfather?”
The question felt so utterly normal as it left Bellamy’s lips that she was unprepared for the reaction it brought.
“Because it’s none of your business. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Bellamy blinked, stung. “But I…”
“Forget it.” He cut her off with a shake of his head. “I just want to go home.”
“O-okay.” Bellamy wrapped her arms around herself to suppress the shudder working through her. Shane was stressed beyond measure, and she knew she should cut him some slack. But now she didn’t know if that meant staying close or leaving him alone. She turned toward the lobby doors, trying to hide her hurt. “I’ll just see if Jackson’s here yet.”
“Bellamy, wait.”
She hovered a few steps between Shane and the doors, not moving toward either. Her disloyal legs refused to move one way or the other, even though she commanded them to just head for the damned door.
“It’s fine,” she managed. “Let’s just get you home.”
Shane exhaled a shaky breath. “Listen, I…”
“Shane.”
The word came from behind them, a deep baritone that held seriousness and quiet power. Bellamy turned toward Shane, who didn’t move except to close his eyes. The man stood in the mouth of the hallway leading from the main hospital, his stance still and imposing. His face was a perfectly sculpted older version of Shane’s, with the exception of the steel-gray eyes coldly fixed on Shane’s back. Bellamy blinked in surprise, too shocked to speak.
Shane squared his shoulders and opened his eyes to give her one last look before he turned on his heel toward the man.
“Dad.”
26
All of the breath and blood in Shane’s body felt as if it had been replaced with permafrost the minute he heard the familiar timbre of his father’s voice behind him. Leave it to Charles Griffin to come up behind Shane and catch him off guard. Even in a crisis, he was all about strategy.
Shane turned to meet his father face to face. Charles Griffin stood with his back to the hallway, looking as polished as if he’d walked out the door for a day in court. The perfectly knotted silk tie seemed so out of place under the circumstances that Shane had to fight the urge to cough up a bitter laugh.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Shane said, measuring his father with careful eyes.
“Is that because of my relationship with him or you?” his father returned coolly.
Damn. He should’ve figured it would go this way right out of the gate. “I’m not the one who’s sick,” Shane volleyed, hoping his father would take the bait. He didn’t want to talk about himself, but hell if he was going to back down, either.
His father nodded, a smooth stroke of his elegantly graying dark head. “Have the doctors told you anything?”
Relief swirled in Shane’s chest at the successful diversion, though he knew it wouldn’t last. “Grady’s headed up to the ICU. They won’t really know the extent of the damage until he’s had an MRI. For now, the doc wants him to rest while they monitor him.”
Shane knew his father would double-check every detail with the medical staff regardless, but he wished there was more to tell. At least that way, they’d be talking about Grady and not him. Not that it probably mattered.
“He’s a tough old man,” his father said, and for a minute Shane wondered if it was meant to be reassuring rather than just a statement of fact.
But his father was a statement-of-fact kind of guy, the cold bastard, and Shane felt the resentment well up within him.
“How would you know? You’ve seen him, what? Four times in twenty years? The last time this happened, you were all set to just let him rehab with strangers and watch the business he loved fall to pieces,” he bit out, each word laced with accusation.
His father was unruffled. “You’re upset.”
Christ, the man was so damned manipulative. Anything he didn’t want to discuss got conveniently swept under the rug without a second thought. Well, screw that. Shane had plenty to say.
“And you’re not upset enough,” he hissed, floodgates he’d locked bursting open as he took an angry step closer. “That’s your father up there, and you could give a rat’s ass. Just like last time.”
His father’s gray eyes flared, his mouth pulling into a thin slash. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t remember where I came from and who raised me. As a matter of fact, you might do well to remember that on your end, son. You and I have unfinished business, don’t we?”
Shit. Shit.
“My business with you is done,” Shane said flatly, knowing his father would never let it go.
His father sneered. “Your business with me never really got started, did it? You’re into me for a lot of money, Shane.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the law school loans you’re two months behind on paying. You see, I had a nice, long conversation with the senior loan officer when she called the firm looking for you the other day. It seems you had two work numbers listed on your account, and she was covering all the bases to try and get you to pay up.”
“I talked to a loan officer last week,” Shane ground out, his heart pounding in his chest. “My debt is to them, not you. Plus, I’m paying it.”