Page 92 of Call Sign: King
Realizing it was actually Khloe Monroe who’d come to visit their son, the Williamson’s shed just a tiny bit of their sadness as they took Khloe’s offered handshake.
Ryder let Khloe take the lead.
“The other night, we’d ordered the best Italian from this restaurant not far from the hotel. I thought the ravioli was to die for, but Tank… I mean Patrick… couldn’t stop raving about how your ravioli was ten times better. And he even told us about how you always make a few dozen jars of your special marinara for him each summer from the tomatoes in your garden, just so he can have a taste of home with him down in Texas.”
“Patrick talked to you about my cooking?”
“Well sure. He talked about a lot more than that. As you know, he’s a pretty talkative guy,” Khloe said with the perfect amount of humor, even in the heaviness of the moment.
For the next ten minutes, Ryder watched in awe as his gorgeous wife brought the tiniest bit of joy to Tank’s family, taking their minds off how serious his injuries were if even for a few minutes. It was so much more than just her fame. She had this way of connecting with people — no matter who they were. It truly was like a superpower, and he knew how lucky he was that he got to spend each and every day under her spell.
Before they left to continue their rounds, Ryder and Khloe stepped over to Tank’s bedside, taking Doc’s place next to the patient.
“He’s so pale,” Khloe said quietly, reaching to hold Tank’s lifeless hand.
Ryder wasn’t prepared for the wave of guilt he felt, looking down at a man a week ago he would have said was invincible.
His BSO special ops members knew the score. Putting their lives at risk for their missions was part of the job description, but this… Tank was lying in this bed because he’d literally taken bullets while protecting the love of Ryder’s life. He hadn’t been hurt on just any random cake order… this was personal.
It was Vladimir’s hatred for Nicolai Romanovski that put Tank in this bed.
“I’m so damn sorry,” Ryder finally said. “It should have been me there instead.”
He had no idea if Patrick could hear them there, but on the off chance he could, Ryder added, “We got the bastard. He won’t be hurting anyone else.”
Leaning forward, Khloe placed a light kiss on Tank’s cheek. “It’s okay if you’ve been tired and needed some rest, but if you can hear me, then you know you need to keep fighting. Ryder and the team need you… I need you.”
“What Khloe said,” Ryder added. “Things aren’t going to be the same until you get your ass up out of this bed and back down to Texas.”
He held his breath, hoping for Patrick to open his eyes and acknowledge they were there, but when that didn’t happen, Ryder had to admit to himself that this might be the last time he saw Tank alive.
The thought nearly knocked him on his ass.
Before they left, Ryder made sure Tank’s family had his business card and knew how to get ahold of him if there was anything at all they needed, reassuring them that BSO would be taking care of absolutely all of their expenses.
They were a much quieter group by the time they left the ICU.
“Wow, that was brutal,” Doc offered. “It’s hard to believe Tank looked so fragile. I’m super worried.”
“You and me both,” Khloe said, wiping at the dampness near her eyes.
“Unfortunately, he isn’t improving. In fact, if anything, I’d say his vitals are on a downslide,” Hawkeye added his grim report.
Glancing at Khloe, Ryder realized his wife was looking pale herself.
“Do you want to cut the rest of our visits short, baby? You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. There is no way I’m leaving without checking in on Ricky and Reaper.”
“The good news is their rooms are almost across the hall from each other and they are both awake and raring to get out of dodge.”
“That is good news,” Khloe agreed.
He heard Gabriel’s voice even before Hawkeye stopped outside a room one floor below the ICU. Even though Ryder’s Spanish skills weren’t as strong as his Russian, he could already tell his team leader was arguing with his mother about where he was going to be convalescing. Apparently, Mrs. Garcia wasn’t going to be taking no for an answer.
Taking the lead as they entered Reaper’s room, Ryder gave him good natured shit. “You should listen to your mother,” he teased. “I’m sure she’ll take better care of you at her house than if you go straight back to that hovel of a cabin of yours at The Ranch. The last time I visited you there, I could tell you hadn’t cleaned in weeks.”
“Mr. King,” Reaper’s mom called to him with the name she always used for her son’s boss. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can knock some sense into my son. He seems to keep forgetting he has been shot.”
