Page 267 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
“Fuck you,” I grit out.
“Take it out on me,” Miles says. “I can handle it. Just don’t take your anger and frustration out on booze. Or on your woman.”
“Do you love her?” Austin asks.
“I’ve always loved her,” I easily admit. “I never stopped. Even now, I’m mad as hell, but I still want to grab her and kiss her. Protect her from everything.”
“You can still do that. For her and your son.” Austin glances at his phone. “I need to give Carly a call. Excuse me. Back in a minute.”
He slides out of the booth and heads toward the bathroom hallway.
“He’s fucking whipped,” Miles says, shaking his head.
“And you’re not?”
Miles ignores my comment. “You know what I’d do.”
“Yeah. You’d march right back to the hospital and take over. That’s not my style.”
“What is your style? To sit back and be a wuss? When we showed up, you were a pain in the ass, ordering us around and being grumpy as fuck. When Avery was there, you were different. Now? You’ve got a fucking child. You don’t abandon things, dude. Especially your child.”
I glare at my brother. “You want to take a walk outside?” I curl my hands into fists. “I’ll show you which one of us is a wuss.”
“Calm down, bro. You’re the size of a tank. You can take on an army for sure. That’s not the point and you know it.”
“You think I should go back.”
“Hell yeah. It’s what I’d do.” He finishes his scotch, clearly stopping at one. “You don’t have to freak the kid out. But you should see him. You should see Avery. Make it clear you’re there for both of them.”
“I love her,” I murmur.
“Does she know that?”
I nod. “Yeah. I told her. She hasn’t said it back.”
“Is that going to stop you from taking what’s yours? Because no matter how much scotch you drink, you’ve got a full-on family now.”
I rise, leaving my second scotch untouched. “Hell, no, it’s not.”
29
AVERY
Mom went home, and I’m lying in the recliner in Grady’s room on the pediatric floor, one of his hands in mine.
The MRI results were negative. No brain bleed. Just a mild concussion, and Grady should recover completely within ten to fourteen days. Until then, no skateboarding or other activity. No screen time. Loud music.
Frankly, I’d love to keep him off the damned skateboard for life, but I promised I’d never be that kind of mother—the kind who doesn’t let her kid fly. Bumps and bruises—and concussions, in this case—are a part of life. I’m thrilled it wasn’t any more serious.
Except we’re getting him a helmet and I’m going to glue it to his head.
Grady is sleeping soundly, but I can’t help checking his pulse every now and then. He’s hooked up to machines that will alert his nurse if anything goes awry, but she’s not his mother. I am.
I’m about ready to drift off myself—what a day—when a knock sounds on the door.
“Yes?” I say.
The nurse doesn’t usually knock.
