by Angel Payne
“No, sir. Nothing since the last email you were sent. I know they are anxious for your arrival.”
We were speeding on the highway toward the hospital within ten minutes of landing. I had no idea how Killian had dealt with customs and wasn’t about to ask. Killian stared straight ahead and gripped my hand so tightly, I felt my knuckles protesting.
“Hey.”
He grunted and replied distractedly, “Hmm?”
“It’s going to be all right.” I rubbed his back but the gesture was useless. The muscles beneath my fingers tensed harder by the minute. I kept massaging, anyway. Maybe it would soothe one of us.
Alfred knew exactly where to go when we pulled onto the hospital property. When the car stopped, Britta was waiting under the private entrance awning. Killian flung the door open without waiting for Alfred to come around, something I’d only seen him do once before, on a night when we’d been to dinner and he couldn’t wait to get me up to the condo to finish what we’d started in the car. This was a very different occasion, as illustrated by the bone-crushing hug he swept Britta into as soon as he reached her.
“He’s been asking for you,” Britta murmured.
Killian snapped into brisk CEO mode, lowering a curt nod. “Okay. Let’s get in there, then.”
Britta hooked a hand into the crook of his elbow. “Killian.” She ignored his impatient glare. “You—” Her lips pursed. “Well, I need to prepare you. He’s in really bad shape.”
“Shit,” I sputtered.
“Okay.” His walls were still up. Way up. I wasn’t sure whether to count that as good or bad.
I glanced to Britta. “This is bizarre. None of the emails to our team stated anything about Josiah being badly—”
“Let’s go,” Killian interjected. “Now.”
Britta led the way down the corridor of the first floor of the burn unit. I was about one pace behind though Killian clutched my hand the whole time. The whole situation still felt strange, though Killian’s tension on the plane now made more sense. Again, I wished he would be more open with me—though that train to nowhereville got shut down real fast. Focusing on the wrong things wasn’t wise or productive at a time like this.
“How long do they think he’ll be in here?”
Killian’s query roped Britta to a full stop in the middle of the hall. Kil and I nearly collided into her like the damn Keystone Cops. She whirled and looked up at Killian with eyes that were shiny and wet. When she raised her hand and flattened it to Killian’s cheek, the tenderness nearly brought me to my knees. He wrapped his hand around hers in return, looking into her face, seeming to finally understand some silent memo of gravity about the situation.
I felt my jaw plummeting. What the hell? Was Josiah in that bad shape?
“You okay?” Britta asked softly. Killian’s nod wasn’t so decisive now. “All right, then. Let’s go see him.”
As we continued walking, I tugged on Killian’s elbow. “Kil? What’s—” I didn’t know what silenced me faster: the shadows in his eyes or the defeat in the shake of his head.
We rounded the corner and came up to a nurse’s station. A kind-faced older woman in celestial themed scrubs smiled when she saw us.
“Hello again, Carol,” Britta said to her.
“Perfect. The gang’s all here.” The nurse smiled warmly at Killian. “You must be his son. You have his strong chin and thick hair.” Thick hair? Wouldn’t have been the term I selected for Josiah’s well-styled comb-over but I wasn’t about to contradict the woman. “He’s been waiting for you. And asking for you. Over and over.” She took Killian’s hand and patted it. “We’ve been making him as comfortable as possible.”
I watched the heavy gulp go down Killian’s throat. As comfortable as possible. Those weren’t words one used for a patient who was feeling great, or going to recover for that matter. “Thank you.” He uttered the words in automaton mode, and I didn’t blame him.
“You need to put this gown and mask on. We don’t want extra bacteria in there, okay?” She started dressing Killian where he stood, seemingly shocked into stillness. “I’m sorry but I can only let one family member in at a time. Since he’s been going on and on about his son, I’m suiting you up first. Now you cannot upset him, dear. Understood?”
“Of course.”
I was even more bewildered now. The words were compliant murmurs on Killian’s lips, instead of the sharp bites I’d expected him to fling back. Something was strange about all this. Not clicking at all…
Carol pulled open the glass door to the room and motioned Killian in. “Just five minutes.” I figured she issued the mandate with the full knowledge that Killian would take ten.
As Killian walked through, Britta and I moved close to the glass, staring like voyeurs. At least that was what I felt like. Britta gave me an awkward smile, clearly agreeing. “Now that you’re here, I think I’ll go freshen up. I’ve been here for a while.”
It was an understatement. The woman looked utterly exhausted. “Of course, Britta,” I assured. “And thank you…for everything you’ve done…I truly can’t say how much…”
“And if you do, I’ll club you.” She attempted a soft laugh while lifting one of my hands between both of hers. “We’re an odd little family, Claire, but family is what we are.” She dipped her head toward Killian’s paper gown-shrouded form. “You’ll thank me by taking care of him.”
After giving a grateful nod, I let Britta go then slumped into a chair beside the glass. The hum of the monitors was strangely soothing to my nerves, allowing me a moment to peer around. The unit was shaped like a wheel with a hub in the middle, each of the “spokes” leading off to its own room. The nurses zipped in and out of the rooms, always coming back to the center to tap in updates on the computers and check on all their patients’ monitors. It was a machine of mesmerizing efficiency.
There was a rustle off to my right. I rose to greet the woman with the apples in her cheeks and sass in her step even when her eyes were filled with such torment.
“Kitty.”
She hurried faster at my hail, yanking me up into a robust hug and exclaiming, “Saints be praised. You two are finally here!”
I smiled, especially when she soundly kissed me on both cheeks. “We came as fast as we could.”
She lowered into the chair next to mine and pulled me down too, giving my knee a sound squeeze. “Thank God, thank God.” She pulled in a breath that wobbled with tears. “I was so bloody worried Kil wouldn’t make it in time.”
“In time? For what?”
She suddenly appeared like a parent just asked by their toddler about why God allowed Satan to exist. “Oh, darn it,” she muttered. “If I knew you were about, I would have brought you some tea, too. Here, have mine, dear. I can get some more.”
“No don’t be silly,” I chastised. “I just got here. I’m fine for now, and besides—”
An alarm, shrill and terrifying, blared from the center of the wheel. Kitty and I watched with wide eyes as a pair of nurses seemed to materialize from nowhere, racing toward Josiah’s room. At the same moment, Killian bounded to the door.
“Nurse!” he bellowed. “Something’s wrong. Dammit, please!”
Carol stepped forward and clutched his shoulders. “You need to wait out here.”
“The hell I will!”
“Wait,” Carol decreed. “Now. Here.”
She pointed at Kitty and me. We lurched to our feet again. Kitty didn’t waste time waiting for Kil’s approach. She rushed up with the determination of a linebacker, sweeping Killian into a big, warm hug. He returned the embrace with fervent force, an event that finally wasn’t so surprising to me.
“Kitty,” he grated. “What am I going to do without him?”
Kitty shoved him back. “Pssshhh. Now boy, I’ll stand for none of that talk!” While her scolding was quiet, it was fierce. “He’s going to pull through just fine. You’ll see.”
But like a heartless taunt from fate, the hospital P
A system called out a Code Blue, asking for a crash cart in room 117B. Out of habit I looked to the door Killian came out of. 117B. Killian registered the connection at the exact same moment.
“Shit,” he spat. “No. God, no!”
“Kil. Baby. Maybe we should go down the—”
He twisted from my hand. “I’m not leaving him, dammit. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay. But we need to stay out of the way.”
I took his hand again, refusing to let go, forcing him against the wall next to me. The gown Carol had tied him into started to loosen and slipped off one of his shoulders. The cloth twisted around his bicep, ripping as he dragged his free hand through his hair. We stood there with Kitty, pressed back and helpless while a legion of doctors, nurses, and technicians flooded into the room, emergency stamped across their faces. They were truly working as hard as they could to clear that damn Code Blue. I kept holding Kil’s hand as tightly as I could, while he stared with horror into the room where his—
Wait.
Something didn’t make sense. A lot of somethings. Why the hell was Kitty here? And where was Willa? The man surrounded by the anxious medical team in the room…why did his general size and bulk suddenly seem grossly different from Josiah’s? And why hadn’t I noticed before now? And if he wasn’t Josiah…
I was really confused. Even worse, I didn’t exactly know why. Britta had met us at the entrance, so I assumed the man in the bed to be Josiah—but here I stood, gaping at an openly terrified Kitty, who’d made it no secret that she had eyes for one man alone in her world. Banyan Klarke.
I whirled, battling to get a clear look into the room, but my view was blocked by a dozen bodies working together in orchestrated chaos. A clear shot to the bed was hopeless. I whipped my stare back to Killian. He was frozen, a statue with agony shimmering in his eyes, disbelief twisting his lips, and frustration coiling both his hands. I tried to form my lips around words to him. A question, just one—who the hell is in there, Killian?—but my larynx was a solid, stunned knot.
As if on cue, everything stopped. The small army inside the room sagged together, some shaking their heads. While we watched in mortified silence, the lead trauma nurse checked her watch then wrote the time down on the chart she was holding.
They pulled the starched white sheet up…up…and over Josiah’s face.
No. Not Josiah. I was so damn certain of it now.
Who?
One by one, the team filed out of the room. During their somber shuffle, they gazed to the floor, their fingernails, their shoelaces—anywhere but our direction. Only Carol the moon and sun-wearing nurse stepped over, a sheen of tears in her eyes, her shaky rasp conveying what we already knew.
The team did everything they could. We are all so sorry for your loss…
“No. No, goddammit!”
Killian’s protest was shattered only by Kitty’s mournful wail. I let Britta comfort her while I approached Kil.
“Baby—”
He crushed the air from my lungs when he turned and slammed into my arms. “I—I can’t do this. Claire—I—”
“Sshhh.” I stroked the back of his head, my heart collapsing for him. His big body trembled like a child’s against me. I held him tighter, as if my life depended on it. As if his did. Because that was quite possibly the truth…
“I need him. I can’t do all this without him. I can’t.”
“It’s going to be okay, baby. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
He abruptly pulled back. Stared sharply at me but then wheeled his head around, his gaze glossing over as it had on the plane back here. “I need to see him. Need to say things to him.”
I reached for his hand. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Yeah,” he replied absently. “Uhhh, yeah.” Then after shaking his head violently, “Yes. Please.”
After getting the nod of approval from Carol, I let him lead the way into the room. I knew I’d always remember the poignant sorrow in Kitty’s sobs as we stepped past her and Britta.
Killian pulled the sheet back down.
It wasn’t Josiah in the bed.
It was Ban.
He was burned so severely, he was barely recognizable. I almost wondered who had taken the modeling clay, striated it enough to look like flesh then reshaped his face into gruesome proportions. His hair was matted and caked with ash. Though I shuddered with grief, the sight of the man didn’t break a thread of Killian’s purpose. I pulled over a chair but he barely seemed to notice. He fished beneath the sheet for one of the man’s hands, dragging out a mottled extremity that shocked me more than Ban’s face. If any part of Ban had ever expressed him in a better way than others, it was his hands. Big, yet gentle, capable, yet graceful…so very much like those of the man who gathered the lifeless fingers close to his desperately pumping chest.
After several long minutes of leaden silence, Kil’s voice finally tremored in the air. “Hey.” He wrapped his other hand around Ban’s. “It’s me. And…I know you already know this…but it needs to be said.” A weak smile wobbled his lips. “I had to wait for the one opportunity when you could do nothing to stop me.”
His voice clutched hard on the last couple of words. His head fell between his hunched, clenched shoulders. I reached for him, fighting through the mist of my renewed tears to get my fingers on his nape. “It’s only me here, baby. Just say it.”
The muscles under my grip coiled with even more tension. Nevertheless, he faltered on, telling the man in the bed, “You—you taught me so much about life, even after everything…changed for us. After you made one of the world’s hugest sacrifices for me.”
I battled not to let bewilderment get the better of me. What sacrifice, let alone on such a massive scale, had Banyan made for Killian? Granted, he’d always been lenient about Killian feeding table scraps to the kitchen cats and never hesitated to give away the last piece of Kitty’s pie to Kil, but wasn’t sure either of those measured as “one of the world’s hugest sacrifices”.
Unless the inevitable, final piece to this puzzle was what my logic finally linked together…
“We’ll rebuild Keystone.” Killian’s voice broke again, nearly surrendering to a sob. “I promise it to you. I promise. And you…will be honored in that home, Nolan Banyan Klarke. Just as you will be honored in my heart…for every minute of every day that I remain alive.”
The force of his grief was so palpable, it was like every air molecule in the room had turned to needles. His muscles convulsed beneath my touch, physical evidence of how hard he fought to control his agony. But sometimes, not even the Enigma of Magnificent Mile was immune to the debilitation of heartache. I shifted forward, worried he’d explode or worse, implode. Yet when I clutched his shoulder tighter, he moved away, leaning over to kiss Ban’s scorched, stilled face. His whispered words of goodbye, teamed with all the forces of shock and awe that fate could muster to throw at me, would be a revelation carved into my memory forever.
“I love you, Dad.”
Chapter Six
Killian
Shell-shocked.
It was how Claire looked, and how I felt.
Officially, I wasn’t able to sign for any arrangements on Dad’s body—odd, to call him that now when he’d been so strict against me using it my whole life—but the hospital, given only Josiah’s name as a responsible party, made an exception to the rule.
Josiah.
Hearing the name of the man who had been my “father” jerked me around for a moment. After scribbling my name on a bunch of papers, I jabbed a hand through my hair and peered at the nurse—what the fuck was her name again?—who’d been the human keel in this surreal storm.
“Carol.” Yes. That was it. Unbelievably, part of my mind still managed to function. “My fath—Mr. Stone—did I hear someone say he’s here, too?”
The nurse pressed my hand between her own. “He’s downstairs. Because of his recent health concerns, they’ve admitted him for overnight ob
servation as a precaution—but his damage from the fire was a few minor cuts and burns, thanks to Mr. Klarke’s fast thinking.”
I blinked, absorbing that information in what was likely slow motion for her. Who the hell was I kidding? It was slow motion to me, the man with the office wallpapered in spread sheets, topped by the bank of monitors with news feeds from across the globe. I was used to evaluating twenty pieces of information every minute of the day. That world seemed so far away now. So meaningless.
I looked around as if the button for normal life would appear again. Where the hell was it? When would I stop feeling as if every circuit in my body had been shorted out and blackened into a numb semblance of itself? If I was lost in a wilderness last night in Paris, I was in a fucking wasteland now. Nothing made sense, especially what Carol had just said.
“I don’t understand.” Claire said it as she stepped forward, one arm still around a quietly sobbing Kitty. “Mr. Klarke? Who’s that?”
“That’s—that’s our Banyan, sweetie,” Kitty supplied between sobs.
“And you’re telling us…he saved Father?” I directed to Carol.
If the nurse was stunned that I’d just referred to a second man as my father, she showed no outward signs of it. Even if she had, I was damn sure I didn’t care. The short circuit on my senses continued, convincing me this was all a freakish dream. Any moment now, I’d wake up back in Paris next to Claire, the city waiting for our exploration, my cluster fuck of a “proposal” just a bad, bitter nightmare.
But when Carol spoke again, the empathetic vibrations of her voice were all too real. “So as I understand it, the fire was caused by a freak explosion in Keystone’s boiler room?”
“Yes,” Kitty rasped. “That’s right.”
“That means half the south wing was taken out, including the main hall,” My childhood playground unfolded like a map in my mind’s eye. “It’s the exit route for damn near all the rooms in that wing.” And Josiah’s office. The man spent nearly all his time in the room when he was at home, damn any medical orders for his recuperation.
