Page 68 of Billionaire's Second Chance

“Don’t worry, Mom. He’ll be out of here before you know it,” I comforted her.

“I know he’ll be fine. It’ll take more than a stroke to knock out the man I married.” Her smile widened.

She was stronger than I gave her credit for. She had to be. It took real guts to stay married to Francis Alexander for all those years.

“Dr. Kyle says he’s stable now,” Quinn said, petting our father's weak hand.

“He is.” The doctor confirmed. “He had an ischemic stroke. It might take a little while, but the tPA will help break the clot."

I had never considered losing my father. The thought had crossed my mind, but only in passing. Seeing him sprawled out in a hospital gown scared me. If my father could be taken down so fast, what about the rest of us, mere mortals?

“How long before he’s back on his feet again?” I asked.

“We can’t be certain," Dr. Kyle asserted. He’ll have to be on bed rest for at least the next twenty-four hours while we monitor his condition.”

“He’ll be fine, right?” Quinn pleaded.

The doctor looked at my sister with slight annoyance. She had probably asked him the same question countless times. He opted to ignore her this time, jotted down a few notes on his iPad, checked the machines pumping life into my father, and headed out.

“Thanks, Dr. Kyle,” my mother called out after him and returned to Dad's side. She caressed his hand and watched him sleep. I stood next to her, my hands on her shoulders.

A gentle breeze flooded through the window, bringing fresh air and new hope into the dull hospital room. My sister's sobbing had now deescalated to periodic sniffles. My mother's shoulders had relaxed in the chair. She held on to Dad’s hand and smiled at him. Even on a hospital bed, to her, he was a hero.

“He always mocked death,” Mom reminisced. "As if nothing could take him down."

Of course, he did. Francis Alexander truly believed he'd be eternally young and immortal. He didn’t fear death.

At least, not as much as he feared a scandal.

“He’d say he’d live forever.”

“Sometimes, I suspected that he had found the fountain of youth and stashed it somewhere,” Quinn chuckled.

“If he had, I’d know,” Mom concluded confidently. “He tells me everything.”

She was right about that. Francis was the most reserved, stone-cold grump to the outside world. And most often to his children as well. But like an ice cube thrown into fire, he melted before my mother. He was the ice cube, and she was his flame.

The peace that now reflected on Mom’s face was one I had seen so often on Dad’s. A certain contentment that came from knowing you belong to someone and they belong to you.

“What was he like?” Quinn held our mother's gaze. “What was he like when you first met him?”

“Arrogant.” Mom laughed.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I smirked.

"He thought he was God's gift to women," Mom continued. "Until I shut the door in his face on our first date."

Quinn and I burst into laughter at the thought of Francis Alexander's nose kissing a door instead of a girl.

"Mom!" Quinn gasped. "You were such a badass!"

“Don’t say that, Quinn,” I poked her ribs. “Mom is still a badass.”

She had to have thick skin to manage all his late nights and the countless models mulling over him. Growing up, we'd gather around the TV to watch our father in interviews and movie premiers, surrounded by models and superstars. Mom would sit calmly, sipping her tea, smiling at the TV, trusting him to respect their marital vows. And he did. There was never a cheating scandal. Never as much as a rumor of one.

Trust. The one word I couldn't let into my vocabulary, let alone my heart. I wished I could trust someone that deeply. Maybe I was wrong to accuse Ava of conspiring with Lily. Perhaps if I had trusted her more, we wouldn't be avoiding each other now.

“He had eyes for only me,” Mom's soothing voice seeped into my daydream. “And he never failed to remind me.”

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