“So anyway, we’re going to spend the last hour doing an interview with a woman who’s making a series of videos . . ..”

I let Susannah’s words just descend into a sort of buzz in the background. Hell, I can’t even pretend to focus on what she’s saying in the pre-show meeting because my head is in the clouds with thoughts of Kat and how well she’s doing.

Hey babe, I read, looking down at my phone, just leaving work now. Wish you were here, but I’ll try and catch your show later. Love you.

I smile, earning a growl from Susannah. “For fuck’s sake Derrick, you said you were done with that.”

“I’m listening. You know I’m always impromptu,” I lamely defend myself. “I got it. Guest coming in, makes videos, blah blah.”

“That blah blah is what’s going to make up the last hour of the show,” she shoots back. “Or do you plan on pissing this one off like you did the last?”

“Hey, I can’t help we didn’t agree,” I reply. Before I can continue, my phone buzzes again. I don’t even have a chance to look down before Susannah erupts.

“Dammit Derrick, it won’t hurt you to turn that thing off for a while! You didn’t even hear what I said about her, did you?

I feel a bit bad, she’s right in that I have no idea what the hell this guest is about, but hoping to salve her temper tantrum, I set my phone aside and focus my full attention on her. “Let’s start over. What’s this guest’s deal?”

Susannah shakes her head, tossing her clipboard aside. Rubbing at her temples, she looks up, taking a big breath before answering. “You’ve been completely off your game for over a month now. After I found out why, I’ve cut you some slack. But things haven’t gotten better, if anything, they’ve gotten worse. You’re distracted during the shows, barely talking to me before or after, and just generally being an asshole. We’ve got a good thing here I think, and you’re ruining it for some chick of the week. You need to ditch the needy bitch.”

I slam my hand down on the table, pissed off. “She’s not a chick of the week and don’t you dare call her a bitch. What the fuck, Susannah? You know I don’t fuck around like that. Kat and I have something serious going on here. I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted during the show, but we’re doing fine other than you trying to dictate my every word and action. You’re not my boss, Susannah. We have a good thing going with the show, but let’s keep it there. Stay out of my personal life.”

“That’s it?” Susannah shoots back. “That’s it, like all we’ve done is do shows about gardening or some lame ass Top 40 countdown. In case you haven’t noticed, I know more about your sex life than even your avid listeners do. Hell, I’ve been able to see when you’re talking book talk, and when you’re talking fantasies, and when you’re talking real life experiences. You’ve seen the same from me.”

“We work together, that’s the nature of the show, of course you know a lot about me. I don’t get what your point is. ”

“I’m just fucking pissed, Derrick. I’ve poured my guts into this show and I thought you were too. It works because we bounce off each other and balance each other’s styles. Now you’re just phoning it in? That’s bullshit and it’s only a matter of time before it costs us.”

Her little speech puts me on my heels, and I look down, wondering if she’s right. I’ve checked our ratings, they’re still holding strong, even if Susannah is freaking out. “Suz, I’ve never been a prepper. The show’s doing okay, and we’re fine on-air. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m not giving you as much focus, but I’m as committed as I’ve always been. You need to chill out.”

Susannah sighs. “I wasn’t going to say anything until we got something harder on the plate, but there’s been a few feelers by a production company. They’re talking national syndication plus maybe TV or Internet video broadcasting our shows too.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. I’ve heard nothing about this. “Why?”

“Well, you would have, but you haven’t stuck around. It’d be a lot like how Stern and some of the other talk radio people have their shows broadcast. They’ll set up a couple of hard cameras in a new studio that they’ll pay for, and then we do our show like normal. But none of that can happen unless these guys see you at the top of your game. I’m doing everything I can to hold this shit together and grow the show, but I can’t do it by myself.”

I blink, stunned. “Okay . . . okay, you’ve got a point. But Suz, and this is serious, if you’re mad at me, leave it work related. It’s not Kat’s fault, so leave her out of it. I think I may have found the one and I’m not going to listen to that.”

I see something glimmer in Susannah’s eyes, but she nods. “Okay then, agreed. Now, about tonight’s show.”

“Yeah,” I say, putting aside the bad feelings. We aired them out, it’s over. Kinda like when I was in football and two guys on the team had beef. We’d hash it out, sometimes a punch or two was thrown, but after that, it was time to play the game and turn that anger against our opponents. “I get the feeling there’s something unique about her. You said videos, what’s the deal?”

Before Susannah can speak, my phone rings again. “For fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” I reply, looking down.

She’s right back pissed again, muttering under her breath. “Of course you’re going to answer it, regardless of what you just said. Her little lap dog, running whenever she calls or texts a damn thing.” She stomps out of the room, venomous contempt dripping from every word.

Knowing we’ll definitely have to revisit that since apparently our truce from mere moments ago didn’t last, I growl and answer the call. “Dad?”

Dad’s breathing is heavy and labored, and inside I immediately start to worry. “Derrick, I’m so sorry.”

“Dad, what’s wrong?” I ask, standing up. “What’s happening?”

“I was outside, moving stuff around in the shed, and . . .” he says, gasping for air and groaning. “My heart. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Dad, I’m calling 9-1-1.” I go to grab a desk phone, but he stops me.

“Already called. They’re on their way. Derrick, I love you, son. I’m damn proud of you.” There’s a tone to his voice, it sounds like he’s trying to say goodbye.

Choking back a sob, I growl at the phone, “I know, Dad. I love you too, but don’t do that. You’re gonna be ok, I’m gonna meet you at the hospital.”

I keep talking, but I’m running out of the office to my car. The show never even crosses my mind as I peel out of the lot and head toward the hospital.

“Dad, I met someone. She’s the one and I’m going to marry her. I want you to meet her, so you gotta fight. Just like you always taught me when football got tough. You gotta keep fighting, okay?”

“Ok, son . . . they’re here.” There’s a jostling sound on the phone and a woman’s voice comes on the line.

“Hello? We’re taking him to City Center Hospital. You can meet us there.”

I think I say okay, but then it’s just dead air. There’s not much traffic, and I’m admittedly driving way too fast, but it still feels like forever and a day to get there.

Rushing inside, I get help from the first nurse I see. “I’m here to see Daniel King, he was just brought in. I’m his son.”

She leads me over, but other than looking in through a glass window to see a man who has my father’s face but I swear looks about twenty years older, there’s nothing I can do. I pace back and forth in the hallway, doing my best not to get in the way as nurses and doctors come in and out. Occasionally, I hear some medical jargon that scares me, but before I can even ask them what the hell ‘hs-CRP’ or ‘Troponins test’ means, they’re gone. I’m left to sit in a chair by the door, staring down at the tile and hoping that the next time a doctor comes out, it’s not to tell me it’s time to say goodbye to my father.

“Mr. King?”

I look up, it’s nearly eight o’clock now but the doctor who’s looking down at me has a relieved look on his face. “Is he . . .?”

“I think we’ve gotten him out of the woods,” the doctor says as he holds out a hand. “Glen Stoker, I’m the on-call cardiologist. When your father was brought in, it was for a suspected myocardial infarction . . . a heart attack. We’ve confirmed that he did in fact have a pretty severe MI. We’ve stabilized him for now, and I think he’s out of the woods. He looks like he’s normally a pretty active guy, so that’s in his favor.”

“He is,” I confirm, standing up to look at Dad. He’s sleeping, but I can see the heart monitor next to his head, and the little wiggly line reassures me. “He’s been on blood pressure and cholesterol meds for a few years, but nothing like this has ever happened.”

“We’ll have to keep him here a few more days, and talk with his primary care doctor. Do you have that information?”

“I think he’s still going to Dr. Jack Reynolds, I don’t have his number though. That’s at home.”

“That’s okay, I know Jack,” Dr. Stoker says. “Listen, it’ll be a few minutes before we can have a room ready for him. For now though, he’d do better if his son was with him. And Mr. King?”

“Yeah?” I ask, not looking at the doctor at all.

“He’s in good hands here. For now, just make sure he stays calm.”

I go inside the exam room, where the beeping of the various machines still reassures me that my father is still alive. Looking down at him, he looks so old, so frail . . . my vision doubles, then blurs, and before I know it tears are running down my face as I reach down, blindly taking his hand.

“I never told you how much you mean to me,” I whisper, afraid to wake him. “But I promise you, you’re going to find out. You think you never understood why I do what I do . . . but I’m just trying to tell the world that love, real love, like what you and Mom had . . . it does exist. And I want to do everything in my power to make sure that type of love doesn’t die. I love you, Dad.”

In the movies, he’d wake up right now, maybe whisper a few words, either sarcastic or loving, depending on the type of movie. But this isn’t a movie, this is real life, and all I can do is sit down in another chair and rest my forehead against the bars on the side of his bed.

I want to call Kat, I need to hear her voice telling me it’ll be okay, but in my haste of rushing into the hospital, I left my phone in the car and I can’t leave right now.

It’ll be all right, for now. She’s out with friends, happy and celebrating. I don’t want to ruin her celebration, I know how hard she worked for this. I’ll let her enjoy the evening and when dad gets transferred up to his room, I’ll slip out and grab my phone.

It’ll be late, but I need to hear her voice.