Page 151 of Vegas Heat

I reach over and squeeze her arm. “It’s okay. You’re just protecting them.”

“But what if he doesn’t make it and we kept them from him in his last moments?” Her voice barely comes out above a whisper.

“We can’t think like that, okay? He’s going to make it. He’s strong. He’s young. He’s got a lot to live for.”

So was my dad. He was strong, and young, and he had a lot to live for. That didn’t keep him here.

I don’t say that, obviously.

She nods and draws in a deep breath. “Okay.” She sniffs. “You’re right. This is all just scary.” She reaches over to grab my hand, and I squeeze hers back.

“Of course it is. I’m scared, too. But we’ll rally around Connor. He’s stubborn, and he’s not giving up without one hell of a fight.”

She nods. “He’ssostubborn. God, he didn’t even want to go to the hospital last night! He was clammy and shaking and could barely breathe and I had to call for the ambulance when I left the room because he wouldn’t let me do it.”

I squeeze her hand, which I’m still holding. “You might’ve saved his life, Marissa.”

She glances at me as she pulls up to a stoplight, pressing her lips together. “I hope so.”

We arrive at the hospital a few minutes later, and we walk toward the Cardiac Care Unit after we’re screened at the front desk. I text my mom to let her know we’re here, and she’s waiting by the elevators when we step off them. She practically leaps into my arms for a hug, and I hold her tightly. “It’s okay, Mom.” I try to soothe her and fight off my own emotions at the same time.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

“I know. Me too.” I squeeze her again, and she pulls back and leads us down the hall to his room.

When she opens the door, I find my brother lying on a bed looking rather pale and weak, a whole bunch of white stickers with wires sticking out of them attached to his chest. A nurse stands by reading a screen, and my brother’s brows rise as he turns his head and sees me walk in.

“Hey, Pooper’s here!” he says a little weakly, using the nickname he gave me when I was two and in diapers and he thought he was a hilarious six-year-old.

“He’s on morphine,” the nurse says as if that explains his nickname for me. It doesn’t. He’d call me that whether or not he was hopped up on drugs.

I force a laugh even though it doesn’t feel like there’s much to laugh at right now. “How are you feeling, Con-man?” I ask cautiously, throwing one of the nicknames I dubbed him with when he started law school back at him.

“I’m fine. These nurses don’t believe me when I say I’m fine.” He shoots a glare at the nurse. “I told them I need to get the hell out of here. I’m losing time on an important case. I’m up for partner, you know.” He says it proudly.

“We know, we know, Mr. Noah. We’re still running tests, and I already told you that every time you talk about making partner, your heart rate picks up speed,” the nurse says.

Connor draws in a deep breath and blows it out slowly as if that’ll slow his numbers.

“Honey, maybe partner isn’t the best thing right now,” Mom starts to say, and the nurse shoots her a dirty look as we all watch the lines on the screen jump. She holds up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”

A doctor steps into the room, and the nurse shoos us out so he can examine my brother. We head out to the hall to get out of the way.

“He looks good,” I lie. I shouldn’t lie. Everyone who knows me knows I can’t lie, but the truth is that while he looked pale and weak, he also lookedokay. He didn’t look like he was banging down death’s door, anyway. But I don’t really know what heart disease looks like on the outside.

Marissa presses her lips together. “Just don’t bring up partner,” she says. “It’s a point of contention between the two of us anyway. He hasn’t been to a single one of Jacob’s swim meets this season, and don’t even get me started on the last time he was at one of Ethan’s baseball games.”

She shakes her head, and I get the feeling it’s not just Ethan and Jacob’s events her husband has been missing out on. In fact, I wonder if she quit her job teaching so the boys would feel like at least one parent was focused on them.

It's a terrible thought to have, but the fast-paced, stressful job could potentially be what led Connor exactly where he is right now. Well, that combined with the fast food, the genetics, and the blocked arteries.

Doctors and nurses are in and out, and I’m confident my brother is getting the best care possible. We head down to lunch,and it’s as we’re finishing that Marissa looks at her watch and promptly breaks down crying.

My mom tosses an arm around her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“The boys get out of school in two hours and I don’t know how I’m going to tell them,” she wails.

“Let me tell them, then,” I say quietly.

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