Page 53 of Unearthed Dreams
“Fell in the shower. They’re taking him to McLaren.” I grabbed my keys, my wallet. “You should go home.”
“Let me come with you.”
The offer, so genuine and concerned, made something in my chest crack. “No.”
“Kai...” She stepped toward me, her face etched with worry. For Billy. For me. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
“I’m used to it.” I forced a harshness into my words that I didn’t feel, because maybe that was better. I finally met her eyes, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The combination of hurt and determination threatened to undo me completely.
“This isn’t your problem,” I said roughly. “This is my mess. My life. And it’s not pretty or simple or—” I broke off, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not a romance novel, Charlie.”
“I know that. I never thought?—”
“Go home.” I turned away, unable to watch her face crumple. “Your family will be looking for you soon, and I need to get to the hospital.”
“Kai, please?—”
“No.” The word came out sharp, final. “This week was... it was good. Really good. But it wasn’t real life. Real life is my mentally deteriorating father-in-law bleeding in an ER, asking for his dead daughter. Real life is complicated and messy and not something you need to be part of.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is.” I grabbed my jacket, still not looking at her. “Go home, Charlie.”
The silence was deafening. I could feel her standing there, could practically hear her searching for words that mightchange my mind. But I couldn’t let her. Couldn’t drag her into my mess of a life.
Without another word, I walked out, leaving her standing in my apartment, wearing my t-shirt and all my regrets.
The hour-long driveto McLaren felt like an eternity. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as my mind ping-ponged between Billy bleeding out in an ER and Charlie standing alone in my apartment. Both images twisted like a knife in my gut, but I pressed harder on the gas.
The fluorescent lights of the ER made everything feel harsh and over-exposed. Gladys met me at the nurses’ station, her cheerful demeanor subdued.
“He’s with the doctor now,” she said, touching my arm. “They’re running tests.”
I nodded, and we sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs while various medical personnel rushed past. The clock on the wall ticked endlessly. Finally, a tall woman in a white coat approached.
“Mr. Callaghan?” She extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Reynolds. Let’s talk somewhere private.”
My stomach dropped. Nothing good ever came from that sentence.
She led us to a small consultation room—the kind with boxes of tissues strategically placed and paintings of peaceful landscapes on the walls. The kind where they delivered bad news.
“The fall caused significant bleeding in Billy’s brain,” she began, her voice gentle but direct. “We managed to stop the bleeding, but between this trauma and his advancing dementia...” She paused, letting the words sink in. “The damage is extensive.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that even if we were to attempt aggressive treatment, the quality of life would be... minimal.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Given his advance directives and current condition, I would recommend transitioning to hospice care.”
That single word snatched the air from my lungs.Hospice.
“How long?”
“It’s difficult to say exactly, but...” Dr. Reynolds met my eyes with genuine compassion. “I would be surprised if he made it through the week.”
Gladys sucked in a sharp breath beside me, but all I could focus on was the rushing in my ears. A week. After everything—the drugs, the betrayals, Kelsey’s death, taking over the bar—this was how it would end. In a sterile hospital room with machines beeping the final hours of a life barely lived.
“Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. He’s heavily sedated, but...” She stood. “Take all the time you need.”
