Page 24 of Hotshot Mogul

“I wonder if he will return for the meeting on Monday?” I asked.

“The commission often puts off making decisions. That could happen even if Bruce comes back and makes his presentation,” Callie said. “My advice, for what it’s worth, is to plan to speak at the meeting. You may have to wait until the end if they pull it off the agenda. Ruf found something that could help.”

He explained that that part of the forest had at one time been ranked as a wetland. “You could ask that they take another look at the site,” he said. “That would stall things, buy some time before the trees are taken down.”

“Right,” I said, sounding way more confident than I felt. Rufus grinned. “You’re a fighter.”

“Could we go back?” I asked. “I have much to learn.”

CHAPTER NINE

Bruce

It’s your mom. On our way to the hospital. She has chest pains. Call me ASAP.

My father’s text and our subsequent conversation had turned my world upside down in an instant. I drove straight to Detroit Metro Airport, which had the soonest flight to Tampa. From there I drove to Boca.

I had caused this. The pains must have started when I’d virtually hung up on her. My sweet, beautiful mother begged me to come home, and see my father whom she loved more than life. And I’d cut her off.

As for Anneliese, I missed her. It felt like a part of me was gone. Which was crazy. We’d just met.

The humid, summer Florida air in which I’d grown up seeped into my pores presently as I trudged to the hotel entrance. I hadn’t stopped to pack. The blasting A/C indoors chilled my sweaty skin.

I caught sight of myself in the mirrored wall tile and winced. My hair was wild from sweat and running my fingers through it. My eyes looked bloodshot and the bags under them had bags. The phrase “death eating a cracker” came to mind.

“Son? Er, Bruce?”

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Dad stood next to a couch in the lobby. He held out a duffel bag. He was a bit thinner than the last time I saw him. He had more gray in his hair. The receptionist stared from me to him. Judging from her expression, she liked what she saw. Anyone looking at us would know I was his son. Especially now, when he looked as shitty as I did.

“How did you know I would stay here?”

“It’s the closest hotel to the hospital. Your mom insisted I bring this to you.”

I took the duffel bag without saying thanks, a real jerk move. “How is she?”

“They’re running tests. Her heart, her beautiful heart…” Dad’s voice broke.

The fragile hold I had on my shit dissolved. I leaned back against a pillar and forced words past the knot in my throat. “Is she going to make it?”

Dad looked blank. He didn’t know. “I need to get back to her.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He put his hand on my arm, firm and strong as ever. “You look like hell. Clean up first, then come up. She’ll get upset if she sees you like this.” His tone hardened. “The shit between us, it doesn’t happen, not in front of her, understand me?”

I nodded. I could play the loving, or at least not pissed off, son for Mom. Anything to help.

“It’s room 307.”

The receptionist’s curious gaze darted from me to Dad. He nodded, then left.

“Ashley” checked me in. She slid the key across the counter so our fingers touched. “Breakfast starts at eight o’clock on Sundays.” She was young, cute, and interested, and I felt nothing.

I showered and rubbed one out, remembering the way Anneliese looked in her shorts and tank top. I dried off, slung the towel around my waist, and opened the duffel. There was a white dress shirt, still in the wrapper, boxers and T-shirts, also still in the packages, and a pair of jeans in my size, still tagged. I guessed I was Dad’s size, even though I stood an inch taller than he did.

Mom kept us stocked with the basics, and always had extras on hand. There was also a razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste, all still in boxes, and a travel-sized container of shaving cream, probably left over from the days when Dad was an airplane pilot. I scraped the scruff off my face, pulled on underwear, and then the jeans. I’d do.

My stomach rumbled hard. How was that possible when I doubted I could swallow anything past the hard lump in my throat? She would be okay. She had to be.

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