Page 115 of Take Hold of Me

Wills

Isiton a bench outside the ICU. Mom grabbed ahold of my hand and hasn’t let it go since he was wheeled back in from surgery. That was when? Hours ago.

“One minute he was in the family room, and the next he was on the floor, gasping for breath. I didn’t know what to do. The paramedics came quickly and said I probably saved his life.” Mom repeats her story. I could recite her words by now, but I know she needs reassurance that she did the right thing.

Heart attack. The invincible FPU was laid low by a heart attack. Guess it proves he has one.

I squeeze her hand and rest the back of my head against the wall. The antiseptic smell of the hospital invades my senses, reminding me of my last stay here. I need to keep myself rooted in the present instead of reliving the aftermath of the bullet to my shoulder. And my next visits to a hospital—morgue—after Cole’s crazy stalker rampage.

Doctors rush by wheeling someone on a gurney. Beeps from various machines filter through. We haven’t been able to see my father since he was wheeled in the room after surgery, even though he’s just on the other side of the wall where my head currently leans.

A doctor exits his room and approaches us. “Mrs. Sumner?”

Mom drops my hand and jumps up. “Yes.” She runs her hands down her pants. Even under these circumstances, she’s maintaining appearances. Like he instilled in her every day for decades. She touches my shoulder. “And this is my son, William.”

I stand next to the doctor and we shake. “Mr. Sumner was very lucky. The double bypass was successful. Even though his heart attack was a major event, it could’ve been deadly.”

My stomach clenches.I was right before. FPU’s heart is too ornery to give up so easily.

“Thank you,” Mom replies. “Can I go see him?”

“Yes.” He looks between us. “One at a time, though. I’ll be back when we get his tests back to discuss next steps. Medications, PT, adjustments to his diet and exercise, that sort of thing.”

Mom’s chest rises and falls and she turns away from me to walk into his room. Letting Mom visit with him, I wander into the waiting room. I need a change of scenery. When she’s done, I’ll drive her home.

Ignoring the vending machine with its crappy coffee, I take a seat. The television is on, but not even “Ninja Heroes” can hold my interest, so I click it off. A stack of magazines waits on a side table and I flip through them.Parenting, Health, Sports Illustrated—a “real” issue and not the swimsuit one, thank God—but I’ve read everything in here at least a dozen times since FPU’s heart attack on Sunday. Two days ago.

A worker walks into the room and drops a new pile of magazines on another table. When he’s gone, I check out the top one. It’sPeople, with the British prince and his wife on the cover. As I pick it up, my eye goes to the top-left corner. Emilie and Rinaldo are riding together in a Ferrari.

If my heart was hooked up to a monitor right now, the nurses would be calling a “code blue.”

I collapse into a nearby chair,Peopleon my lap. Of course, I can’t keep my eyes from eating up every square inch of the photo. The way her blonde hair is blowing in the wind. The sleek black sportscar, with Rinaldo at the wheel. Idly, I wonder if she ever completed a course to get her driver’s license.

Sucking in oxygen, I break my own vow and open the magazine. Well, since this isn’t actually a tabloid, I’m not exactly breaking my self-inflicted promise. In the “Seen Around Town” section, there’s another photo of the two of them, this time on a red carpet in Barcelona for the premiere of the movie they shot. That’s where he lives, and obviously where she’s spending her time. The short article indicates the photo was taken last Friday.

In this photo, they’re standing on a street, holding hands. I focus on her smile. Does it look real? Is it her fake one for the cameras? It’s been over a month since I’ve seen her and I can’t tell. I can’t tell the difference in her smiles anymore.

Heat rushes from my chest to my neck.

Closing my eyes, I utter, “She’s better off without the likes of me.” When I reopen my eyes, I toss the magazine to the side. She’ll be happy with Rinaldo. Hell, they even look like the perfect match—her blonde hair and hazel eyes compliment his dark Latin looks. Like a real fucking life Ken and Barbie.

I rub my palm over my jaw, which rasps against my stubble. How much longer do I have to be here? I don’t want to rush Mom, but every second I’m in this hospital pushes me that much closer to losing my shit. Maybe I should call my therapist for an emergency session?Like that would do much good.

Thankfully, Mom opens the door. Seeing I’m alone, she doesn’t join me but says, “Your father wants to talk with you.”

As if this day couldn’t get any worse. I shake my head. “Mom, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go in there. In his condition, he doesn’t need to get worked up.” I went in once on Sunday when I first got here, which only served to agitate him. And me.

Mom crosses the threshold and takes a seat next to me. “Wills, he’s your father. And he wants to speak with you. Go, talk with him.”

The hard look on her face tells me I better go and get it over with. “Fine,” I grumble. “But don’t blame me if he needs a quadruple bypass afterwards.”

Mom leans over and kisses my forehead. She hasn’t done that in years. I guess almost losing her husband—though I’ll never understand their dysfunctional relationship—will do that to a person. I pull away and leave her sitting there. At the door, I look back as she picks up thePeoplemagazine. Great.

Outside FPU’s door, I stop. What do I have to say to this man? I run my hand through my short crew cut. Perhaps my newly-shorn military cut will make him happy. Or, as happy as he ever is.

Knocking, I enter the private room. I walk around the curtain and come to the foot of his bed. The normally larger-than-life man looks small. He’s hooked up to a variety of machines. His ruddy complexion is replaced with a pallor I’ve never seen before.

FPU is human after all.

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