Page 41 of Dirty Ginger

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In the cold, lifeless, yellow-painted hallway of the hospital, Beckett pressed his crossed arms tighter together as the middle-aged doctor across from him spoke words that Beckett had a hard time processing. Her nametag read: Dr. Holloway. He stared into her stern, light blue eyes before glancing at her thin mouth, focusing harder on her voice as she said, “Did you know your father had heart disease?”

“No,” he answered. “He never shared that with me.” But Beckett wasn’t surprised. His father shared nothing. They talked sports, weather, and the news, and not much more than that.

Dr. Holloway’s expression gave away very little. “Your father came in about a month ago with shortness of breath. I offered advice on his care, but he denied any further help. Were you aware he came into the emergency room?”

Beckett shook his head. “No, he never said anything, but he’d never been a fan of hospitals.”

“I see,” Dr. Holloway said, pressing the chart to her chest between her folded arms. “Seeing that he has a history of heart disease, it is unlikely an autopsy will be performed, unless you formally request one. If the request is denied, you can privately have one done, but they are pricey.”

“I don’t want an autopsy done,” Beckett muttered, his stomach rolling. “If you say it was heart disease, I believe you.”

Dr. Holloway inclined her head in agreement. “I suspect that is the case, yes. Are you comfortable sending your father to River Rock’s funeral home?”

“That’s fine,” Beckett agreed, the walls in the hallway moving closer and closer until they felt like they were squeezing him from both sides. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

“Not at this point,” Dr. Holloway explained. “The funeral home will contact you tomorrow to discuss your father’s arrangements and the steps you need to take for his estate.”

Pain hit the back of Beckett’s throat as he stuck out his hand. “All right, thank you for your guidance, Dr. Holloway.”

Dr. Holloway returned the handshake. “Again, Mr. Stone, I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Beckett feared opening his mouth again, not sure what would come out of it. He simply nodded and then watched the doctor walk away. His legs trembled, so he took a seat in the hard, cold plastic chair in the hallway of the hospital wing. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to control the pain ripping through him. Life was cruel. He was finally getting his life back together, and right as that happened, death came back. Again.

“Beckett.”

He shut his eyes tighter against the sweetness in Amelia’s voice. He didn’t want her to see him like this. The years he spent in therapy to gain control of the fury, the despair, the pain to ensure he’d never lose sight of himself again. Because in his mind, he thought if he got strong again, life would finally cut him a damn break.

When gentle hands gripped his arms, he couldn’t stop from opening his eyes. A sweet angel, she was the only damn good thing he’d ever done, and even that he couldn’t get right. Amelia knelt on her knees between his legs, her soft eyes on him. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears in her eyes.

Beckett’s gut twisted. “I had no idea this was coming…”

Her grip tightened like that hold could take away the darkness invading his thoughts. “What happened to him?”

He explained what the doctor told him. “He had ordered groceries yesterday,” Beckett managed through a thick throat. “The guy who delivered them today had instructions to bring them in through the back door. When he got inside, he found my dad on the floor, unconscious.”

“He called the ambulance?”

Beckett nodded. “When I arrived, they had him on a ventilator, but the doctor told me there was no brain waves or signs of life, so I gave them authority to take him off life support.”

Amelia’s fingers dug deeper into his arms. “Oh my God, Beckett, I’m so sorry you had to make that decision.”

Beckett looked to her fingers, seeing the force in which she held him. He should feel that, he realized, feel the pinch of her fingernails digging into his flesh. He felt nothing but a cold void.

When he looked up into her eyes again, a tear streamed down her face. “Your poor dad.”

Like an elastic band snapping, the cold void vanished to hot fury. “No, not my poor dad. He did this to himself by sitting around and not living anymore, not taking care of himself.”

He hated the way her brows lifted. “Maybe that’s true, but no one deserves to die alone. No matter how much he gave up on life, he didn’t deserve that.”

A wave of icy despair hit him right in the chest, and he felt his stomach heave to rid itself from his body. He saw the way his anger shocked her, and he hated himself for it. “This shit never ends.” He pressed his fists against his eyes, fighting against the battle cutting through him. “Why does this shit never fucking end?”

“It’s not fair,” she said, clutching like she was scared he’d fade away if she let go. “It really isn’t fair.”

He dropped his hands, finding her gaze locked on him. Christ, how good she was, all loving, with a soul blindingly bright. His hand shook when he cupped the side of her face. “You of all people know how unfair life can be.” She’d lost her parents, then her beloved Pops. Tears fell from her cheeks, and the sight ripped his heart out. He cursed fate for always throwing sadness into their lives, when all he wanted was to do right by her. To take all the pain away that she’d already endured. To not allow death to touch her life again, or to let her see the darkness simmering inside him, the weakness. “I need to handle the arrangements and get his estate figured out. I’m going to need you to give me a few days to get this sorted out.”

She leaned into his touch, pressing her hand over his, offering him her whole heart in that single embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me do this with you and be there for you.”

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