Page 7 of Break My Rules

“Let’s go somewhere and talk about this,” I urge her. “Or, if you still want to be alone tonight, I’ll understand. But please, don’t shut me out forever. I swear, nothing’s changed,” I vow, shaken by the thought of losing her. “I’m still the same man you’ve known. I told you, I’m an open book. I’ll always be completely honest with you, I swear.”

Tessa looks like she’s wavering, but my phone rings again, interrupting what she was about to say.

I stifle a curse, pulling it out to shut the damn thing off this time.

“Who is it?” Tessa asks.

“My mother.” I pause, frowning. What’s she doing calling me at this hour? “But it doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “Nothing matters except you right now.”

As soon as I reject my mother’s call, another comes through. This time, it’s from my brother, Robert.

“Answer it,” Tessa says, seeing me pause.

“No—” I don’t want to lose this chance to get through to her, but Tessa shakes her head, already backing away from me, skittish.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” she says. “You’re right. I need some space, to process everything.”

“But you believe me, don’t you?” Fear shatters in my chest. Fuck, she has to believe me.

Tessa meets my eyes and exhales. Then, reluctantly, she nods.

It’s just the slightest gesture, a brief dip of her chin, but it sends relief crashing through me.

Thank God.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk,” she blurts. “Please, don’t contact me until then.”

Before I can say another word, she turns on her heel and flees for the lights of the gatehouse.

And fuck, it takes every ounce of self-control for me to let her go.

Robert calls again. I answer with an angry growl. “What, dammit? What the hell is so important?”

There’s a pause, then my brother’s voice comes, tight with tension. “You need to come to London. It’s an emergency.”

I’m still staring after Tessa, and it takes me a moment to catch up with what he’s saying. “Emergency?” I repeat.

“Dad is in the hospital. They’re saying it’s a massive heart attack. You need to get here, now.”

I drive straight downfrom Oxford. It’s past midnight by the time I arrive at the hospital and follow Robert’s direction to the VIP section of a new cardio-thoracic wing. The place is almost deserted, but a nurse is just exiting my father’s room. I pause in the open doorway.

My father is dozing on the hospital bed, my mother fussing over his pillows as Robert talks on his mobile phone in the corner, surrounded by the low hum of machines. There’s a tube running into Dad’s nostril, and wires disappearing underneath the neck of his sagging green hospital gown. He looks pale and weak. Like a shell of the hearty, determined man I’ve always known.

I stand there for a moment, stunned at the way his salt-and-pepper hair now seems grey with age, and the shadows under his eyes are sunken and tired. This man has always seemed like an unstoppable force, the constant thorn in my side. Chiding me with expectations, and always so full of disappointment. But the way he looks now, so fragile, shakes me to my core.

“Saint,” my mother notices me standing there, and gets up. “Thank God you came.”

She crosses to me and pulls me into a brittle hug. The show of physical affection is wildly out of character for the great Lillian St. Clair, and just another sign that this is serious.

I release her, and step fully into the room. “What happened?” I ask, approaching the bed. My father, Alexander, is conscious, I see, and he offers a feeble smile.

“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Lot of fuss over nothing.”

“It was a massive heart attack,” Robert corrects him. He’s pacing, giving off a buzz of anxious energy. The youngest of the family, he works closely with Dad at the family business and is usually an even-tempered optimist. But tonight, he almost looks as haggard as our father.

“When?” I ask.

“A few hours ago. He was working late. Again. The doctors say he could have died if his secretary hadn’t found him.”

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