by Lynn Stevens
Dad’s being admitted to the hospital.
The phone slipped from my hand and landed with a thud. I grabbed it off the floor and hit call. Mom she didn’t answer. I called the only other person I knew who might help me.
Dylan answered on the first ring. “Cam?”
“Can you come get me?” I asked, barely keeping myself together. My voice quivered as my lips trembled. “Dad’s in the hospital. I don’t have any other way there.”
“I’m on my way,” he said before ending the call.
Dylan honked twenty minutes later, but it was unnecessary. I was already halfway out the door when I saw him turn the corner. I climbed in. He spun out before I buckled my seatbelt.
“What hospital?” he asked.
“North. It’s—”
“Put it in the GPS,” he ordered.
I did as instructed. Dylan’s jaw was tight and his hands gripped the wheel. His lips were pressed into a fine line. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him. Iris had been texting me all morning, maybe I should’ve called her instead. She might have come.
“You okay?” I picked at the seam in my shorts. “I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”
“No, I just... I don’t handle hospitals well.” He relaxed and reached for my hand. His fingers curl around my clammy skin. “What happened?”
“Dad’s been shaking a lot lately.” I bit my lip as the image of the mug falling from his hand popped into my head. “Mom scheduled an appointment today. After that, I don’t know.”
He wove his fingers between mine and squeezed. “I’m sorry. Your dad’s a good guy.”
“I know,” I whispered. Dad was more than a good guy. He was my everything. I couldn’t image him not being at my first show when I struck out on my own. I couldn’t image him not walking me down the aisle when I was much older. I couldn’t image him not being there for anything.
Dylan squeezed again and glanced at me. “He’s going to be fine.”
I almost laughed. Mom said the same thing after the stroke. Dad wasn’t fine. But I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to prepare myself for the worst. “Why don’t you like hospitals?”
“Does anybody?” Dylan shrugged and tried to pull his hand back, but I wouldn’t let go. He sighed. “Mom tried to kill herself when I was fifteen. And Dad’s been in and out of rehab. Those usually started at a hospital after he overdosed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is your Mom okay?”
“Yeah, she is now.” He smiled and I knew his mom was his everything too. “She’s been in therapy. That’s made a huge difference. That’s why she got back into real estate. I went with her as she scouted properties. It didn’t take a shrink to see how much she loved it. So I did what I could to help.” He shrugged. “Dad was on a world tour. I’d already dropped out of high school and gotten my GED, so I had plenty of time on my hands.”
“You dropped out?” For whatever reason, I didn’t see Dylan quitting anything.
“Yeah.” He glanced at me again. “I didn’t get along with most people and had my own ideas what I needed to learn. I took some online classes with Mom and passed it easily. Then I kept going. I went to college online and got my degree in business when I was nineteen.”
“Pamela said graduating high school was important to your dad,” I mumbled.
“Probably aided in my nefarious plans to drop out,” he said, a smirk lifting his cheeks.
“And now here you are,” I said motioning to the city streets passing us.
“Here I am.”
“Can I ask why? I mean, I know you said he asked and you agreed, but that’s all you said. Not that I’m not glad you’re here, but obviously you have issues with your dad.” I slapped my free hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I thought he was crazy when he asked me. The truth is I hoped spending time with him someplace else might change our relationship.” Dylan glanced over at me then focused back on the road. “And my life wasn’t going great in L.A. The band I started split up after a few months. It wasn’t the first time that had happened either. I love music, but the last band felt like a nail in the coffin. As much as I enjoy working with Mom, it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. So joining Dad was a two-fold search: reconnect with my father and maybe figure out what I want to do.”
“You have arrived,” the GPS said, interrupting our intense conversation. I learned more about Dylan in the short drive than I had in the time we’d spent at his house.
Dylan pulled into line to enter the garage.
“You can just drop me off,” I said.
“No, I can’t.” He took a ticket from the machine and drove through the opened gate. “Do you know what floor he’s on?”
I shook my head and checked my phone. Mom still hadn’t responded.
“He’s going to be okay,” Dylan said again.
My signal disappeared the minute we entered the underground parking garage. My nerves frayed more and more as we looked for a spot. Dylan drove around in circles until someone finally pulled out of a space. I opened the door before he even shut off the engine. I’d distracted myself with Dylan’s life on the way there, but panic set in when the hospital came into view. Dad was in there somewhere. Someone was poking him with a needle or he was inside the MRI tube or he was in a CT scan or one of a million things they could be doing to him.
I ran to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors didn’t open. I pressed it again. And again. And again.
And again.
Dylan’s hand covered mine. I tore my gaze off the button and stared into his eyes. He said something. What I had no idea, because all I could think about was Dad and how much Dad liked Dylan. How much Dad would’ve liked to see Hank play again. How much Dad loved our family. How much Dad smiled even though he was hurting.
“Cam?” Dylan said, sounding as if he was on the opposite end of a tunnel.
I was frozen.
“Cam, you with me?” he said, louder and clearer.
I jumped and the fog lifted from my brain. “I can’t lose him,” I whispered.
He pulled me into a hug and I lost any control I thought I had. I sobbed into his shoulder as he held me until the elevator dinged. I pulled away from him, wiping my eyes as I stepped inside. Dylan pressed the button for the lobby.
“I’m sorry,” I said, staring at the dull metal doors.
“It’s okay.” His hand found mine, entwining our fingers. We rode in silence to the lobby.
When the elevator opened, Dylan led me out. We stopped at the receptionist’s desk.
“Excuse me,” Dylan said to the man. “Could you tell me what room William Harris is in, please?”
“Sure thing,” the man answered. He typed into his computer, frowned, then typed again. His wide eyes skimmed by me and met Dylan’s straight on. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have him registered. Do you have the right hospital?”
Dylan glanced over his shoulder at me. I took a breath and stepped forward. It had been a long time since anyone took charge. It had been a long time since I’d let that happen. Now, though, it was time to be brave.
“Yes, he had an appointment with his neurologist, Dr. Thompson, today. Mom said they admitted him.” I pressed my lips together to stop them from quivering.
The man nodded and typed again. “Oh, here he is. He’s in room 1035. I’m sorry, Miss. They must’ve typed it in wrong. He’s under Harris William instead.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said. He led me toward the elevators.
I stood beside him, terrified of what I would find in room 1035. And terrified of what I wouldn’t.
“I’m here, Cam.” Dylan squeezed my fingers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dad stayed in the hospital for three days undergoing tests. I never missed a show, but I didn’t want to perform either. Hank didn’t say a word to me. Nor did he ask about Dad. It was business as usual for him, but he didn’t snap at me constantly at least.
I spent as much time with Dad as I could, forgoing all my planned lessons with Dylan. Mom took me to the theater and went back to the hospital, only to come back later to pick me up. When Dad came home, he pretended nothing had happened. I wondered how much he’d been faking all these years.
“Dylan picking you up today?” Dad asked from his well-worn recliner.
“No.” I dusted the living room and cleaned off the coffee table.
“Pumpkin, stop,” Dad said gently. The magazines slipped from my hand. “Your life doesn’t stop because of me. You’ll still go on whether I’m here or not. Understand?”
“But you’ll be here,” I whispered. “Right?”
Dad smiled. “I plan on it, but the Good Lord makes his own plans. Now, call that boy and get back to work. You’ve spent enough time moping around me.”
“But—”
“No buts, Cameron.” Dad pointed a shaky finger at me. His gaze focused on it, and he put his hand down. “I’ve watched that video he made so many times I almost wore out your mother’s phone.”
And he’d shown it to every hospital staff he could find. I smiled.
“Make another. Get noticed.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m so proud of you, but don’t use me as an excuse not to live. I’m a damn good example why you should.”
I rushed up to him and hugged him harder than I had in a long time. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.” He patted my back. “Make sure I hear the next song first.”
“I will.”
He waved me away with his hand and stared at the TV. I watched him from the hallway until he waved me off again. When I got to my room, I texted Dylan.
“How’s your dad?” Dylan asked when I climbed into his car twenty minutes later.
I pulled on the damp braid. “He’s trying. That’s all he can do, right?” I turned toward him. “I never did thank you for picking me up that day.”
Dylan shook his head. “No need to thank me.” He pulled out onto the street and made a u-turn. “I’ve got your back.”
“Right back atcha,” I said.
Dylan chuckled. “You seriously didn’t say that.”
“I did, and I stand by it.” I flipped my braid over my shoulder. This was nice. The last few days had been tough. Joking with Dylan felt natural. I touched the pages in my bag. I’d debated about whether to bring the song or not. It wasn’t bad for my first time writing. I wondered what Dylan would think of it.
“What did you want to do today?” he asked with one hand on the steering wheel and the other under his chin.
I pushed the song out of my mind. As much as I wanted to sing with him today, I also wanted to do something else. Anything else. I just wanted to live for the moment. “Have you been out on the lake?”
“No,” Dylan answered. “You know someone who has a boat?”
I smiled. “Not a boat, a kayak.”
“I can honestly say I’ve never kayaked before.” He stopped at a red light. “Where to?”
After giving him directions, I regretted not going home for my swimsuit. My shorts and tank would be fine. Dylan was in shorts and a worn concert shirt. We could leave our flipflops in a locker at the rental shop and buy water shoes. I needed a new pair anyway. He turned up the radio and sang under his breath to an old rock song. The more I thought about it, the more I needed to get out on the water. Dylan parked in the mostly empty lot.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Not even a little bit.” He grinned.
I reached out and patted his cheek. “Such a wuss.”
Dylan’s hand covered mine. He pressed my fingers against his cheek. The joking disappeared in a nanosecond. His gaze held mine. The heat steamed the car. I wanted to lean toward him, but I was frozen. He turned his head, his eyes still on me, and kissed my palm. My body turned to jelly. The heated air caused beads of sweat to form at my hairline. I wanted to reach out with my other hand. I wanted so many things in that moment. Then he let go and climbed out of the car.
What the hell just happened? And can it happen again?
Dylan paid for the kayak, and I stowed our stuff in the locker. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. He even bought us water shoes. I stood by like an idiot in a daze.
“You driving?” Jack, the owner of Jack’s Rentals, asked. He was a good ole country boy with silver hair and a leather complexion. Jack spent as much time on the water as he could and the sun had leathered his skin. He slow chewed his gum and eyed Dylan.
“Yeah, why?” I pulled myself out of mental stupor and took the paddles off the counter.
“Not sure he could is all.” Jack glanced at me with a smile. “Stay away from Barker’s point. Heard someone was shooting at the birds.”
“Sure thing.” I handed Dylan a paddle. “Anything else, Jack? Or do you enjoy scaring my friend?”
Jack laughed. “I enjoy scaring your friend, but I’m serious about Barker’s Point. Your daddy would kick my ass if I didn’t warn you.”
My stomach rolled. Jack knew Dad couldn’t kick anyone’s ass. I took the small cooler we bought and filled with water and sandwiches off the counter with shaky hands.
“Thank you, sir,” Dylan said, offering Jack a hand.
Jack glanced at Dylan’s hand before taking it in a firm, overly aggressive shake.
Rolling my eyes, I walked out the door. The kayaks were lined up along the building. Jack’s son Brady smiled when he saw me. He was a younger version of his father, only his skin was sun-kissed instead of sun-destroyed.
“Hey, Cami,” Brady said. “You want the usual? It’s kind of slow. I could go out with you.”
“Not today.” I glanced over my shoulder just as Dylan came around the building. “Need a two-person sit on top.”
“Oh, sure,” Brady said. He unlocked the kayak. “Need help carrying it down?”
I handed Dylan my paddle. “Sure.”
Brady and I hauled the green plastic kayak down to the dock. We eased it into the water. I set the cooler into the center of the open kayak and stepped in, settling into the back. Normally I hated sit-on-tops, but it seemed like the smarter choice with Dylan’s inexperience. If we tipped, he wouldn’t have to pull his legs free. Not that I intended to tip us over.
Dylan handed me a paddle then got into the kayak. He almost tipped us then.
“Why are you in the back?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Because she can steer and she knows the water,” Brady said. He smiled at me. “Have fun, Cami.”
“Thanks. We will.”
I shoved off the dock, guiding us out into the lake. Dylan sat still with his paddle on his lap. The water lapped against the side of the kayak in a gentle lullaby. I loved the water. Motorboats and jet skis were fun, but kayaking was my favorite. The peace, the quiet, the time to think. We stayed near the shore, but far enough away to not bottom out.
“Cam?” Dylan said.
“Yeah?” I steered us out to avoid a downed tree ahead.
“What do I do with this?” He lifted the paddle.
I almost laughed, but something in the tone of his voice told me that would be unwelcome. Maybe he was embarrassed. I instructed him how to paddle. It didn’t take long before we found a rhythm and cruised the lake faster than I could’ve done on my own. Dylan laughed as we passed a family of ducks. I steered us into a small cove that was normally a favorite of fishermen in the early morning.
“This good?” I asked, mainly so he wouldn’t think I was crazy when we hit the bank.
Dylan nodded and pulled his paddle onto his lap. I grounded the boat and jumped into water up to the top of my thighs. Dylan did the same, but the water only went up to his calves. Sometimes being short means getting more wet. We pulled the kayak onto the shore. Dylan grabbed the cooler. We walked across the small gravel bank to the treeline where a small patch of grass grew in the shade.
“Too bad we didn’t bring a blanket,” he said.
“We didn’t exactly plan this.” I sat on the edge
of the trees. “It’s nice back here anyway.”
“Next time we’ll do better,” he said, sitting beside me.
Next time? As much as I hated it, my heart leapt into my throat. There might be a next time, Cam, but it’ll be as friends. Remember that.
I took out the sandwiches and water bottles, handing Dylan his. Stretching out my legs, I leaned against a small boulder. It didn’t feel great on my back, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable either. Dylan sat cross-legged beside me, his knee brushing against my thigh.
“You do this a lot?” Dylan asked in between bites of his ham and cheese.
“Not as often as I’d like, to be honest. Jack’s fair, but it still costs money.” I opened my water bottle. “Hiking’s free.”
“I’m sure Brady would let you kayak for free if you played your cards right,” Dylan said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.
I stopped before the water bottle hit my lips. “What’re you talking about?”
“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice?” He stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. I shrugged my shoulders. “Jesus, Cam, if he flirted with you anymore, he would’ve been down on one knee.”
I scrunched my nose. “You’re delusional.”
“I did not imagine him checking out your ass.” Dylan rolled his eyes, but it didn’t hide his irritation. “Or your legs or your chest, or any other part of your body.”
I dropped my empty water bottle back into the cooler and stood. “I call bullshit. Brady’s never once asked me out.” I stretched my arms high above my head, enjoying the way my muscles ached in relief. “I’m not his type. I’m not most people’s type.”
“Now I call bullshit,” Dylan said.
I turned around and stepped toward the lake. He’d stood and was inches behind me. I raised an eyebrow, but I didn’t face him.
