“I’m sorry,” the tiny nurse, her dainty fingers folded together, summoned to the front desk says. “Only family is allowed to see someone in the ICU.”
“The ICU?” I gasp, my heart racing in my chest like a runaway horse. “What happened?”
“Again,” the nurse says, “I can’t share information with people outside of his family.”
“Conny,” Kylie barks, pursing her lips together and leaning over the nurse dominantly. “I can appreciate the rules. I love rules. They are meant to protect us all. HIPAA is a beautiful policy. Privacy is great. But this man does not have family besides a father we can’t seem to get in touch with. This,” she says, shoving me forward, “is the woman Dalton Croft loves. Do we have a piece of paper saying she’s his wife? No. Should that really matter?”
“It matters,” Conny says, at least looking pained on my behalf. “The ICU is a very serious place. Patients are often times not conscious. They are in different stages of care, and sometimes that may mean they are unrecognizable. We cannot let people who are not family walk in and be with a patient if we do not know that is their request. Or that the immediate family of the patient has given instructions to allow it.”
“He’s not conscious?” I cry, feeling my words catch in my throat. “Is he going to live?”
Conny looks around to see if anyone is listening and then leans in close. “He is not conscious at the moment. He’s listed in critical condition. I can also tell you that the reason you can’t get in touch with his father is because he is also here.”
“He’s here? So he knows what happened?” Ben asks, looking ready to track him down.
“He’s in room 341,” Conny explains. “He’s a patient as well. I’d start there. Perhaps he could make a request to get you access to see Dalton or at least for the doctors to give you an update on his status. I’m certain that would do the trick.”
“Thank you, Conny,” Kylie says, uncharacteristically soft. “We’ll be back.”
“I don’t understand,” I say as we bolt for the elevators to the third floor. “His father is here too?” I knot my hands in my hair as I try to force my brain to understand.
Kylie pulls my hands down and tugs me the rest of the way until we’re standing at room 341.
“Should we go in?” Ben asks, looking concerned about intruding.
“Damn right we should,” Kylie says, bursting through the door and calling his name. “Mr. Croft, are you here?”
“Yeah,” Dalton’s dad answers, sounding rightfully nervous by the intrusion. “Who’s asking? Oh, Penny. You’re here. I didn’t know how to get in touch with you, or if I should.”
“What happened?” I’m at his bedside, holding tight to the rails so I don’t fall over. “Dalton is in the ICU.”
“I know,” he answers, a look of pain filling his face. “It’s my fault. A week ago he called me out of the blue. I thought he’d completely written me off this time. But something was different. He wanted to talk. He wanted to know what it was I needed. I was reluctant to tell him, because I felt like I was going to hurt him again.”
“You’re sick,” I say, remembering the long conversation we’d had before Dalton had stormed in and gotten angry.
“I am. I needed a kidney transplant. I wasn’t going to ask him straight out. I wanted to see him first. So we met for dinner and something was different about him. He was . . . I don’t know how to explain it. I guess he was trying. Trying harder than usual to be around me. I haven’t made it easy over the years. He was right, all the things he told you about me were true. But when I asked what was going on with him, I was shocked when he blurted out that he was in love with you but didn’t deserve you. In love, my son!”
“He told me, and I sent him away.” I sniffle.
“You were right,” Miles assures me. “He knew it as well. Dalton fought a long time to make sure he kept his priorities in a certain order. In doing so he pushed a lot of people away. We went out to dinner to try to figure out if he might ever be the kind of man you could trust and love. I give him credit; he started with his most dysfunctional relationship first. He was always like that, tackle the hardest thing straight away, and the rest feels like a walk in the park.”
“He went with you to try to make amends?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes.” He nods, wiping a few stray tears from his cheek. “I didn’t deserve it, but he thought maybe it could be a path back to you. That would make it worth it for him. That’s a lot of crow he was willing to eat for you.”
“How did he get to the ICU?” Kylie asks, always one to move straight to the point.
“He was a match for the kidney. He had to be put under anesthesia. He’s never had any surgery before and apparently he had a reaction, a bad one, to the sedative.”
“And now he won’t wake up?”
“The doctors keep telling me it happens. People just need time for their bodies to recover, and then they come to.”
His words were reassuring, but his expression was fraught with fear. The machine he was attached to started beeping more rapidly.
“It’s just that,” he began, stuttering out his words, “I haven’t been worthy of his forgiveness, and yet there he was ready to give it to me. And he put his life on the line to save mine.”
“It’s all right,” I say, patting his hand gently. “I know Dalton would not have done this unless he was absolutely certain it was the right thing. I think even if you hadn’t made up, once he knew your life was on the line he’d be compelled to help. He wouldn’t let you die.”
“You’re right.” He nods and squeezes my hand affectionately.
“Can we get a look at his chart?” Kylie asks, trying her best not to interrupt the moment.
“Why?” he asked, looking to me to explain what exactly was going on.
“This is my sister, Kylie. She came to make sure I was all right. I’d imagine she wants to look at his chart so she can keep the doctors in check. She likes to be in control.”
“I have some specialists on speed dial,” she says. “I’d be happy to get them to consult on his case, if needed. I mean, how serious is this?”
“Mr. Croft,” a doctor interrupts, his stoic expression immediately unsettling me. “I have an update on your son. Can we talk alone please?”
I can’t come up with the words fast enough to beg, but apparently the look on my face is enough. “They can stay,” he says, gesturing at Ben, Kylie, and me. “I want them to hear how he is. They are here for him.”
“All right,” the doctor says tentatively as he introduces himself. “I’m Dr. Greenlaw. I’m the surgeon working on Dalton’s case.” He grabs at the corner of his glasses and pushes them up to his face like it’s a tick rather than a necessity.
“How is he doing?” I ask nervously. “Is he going to wake up soon?”
“We expect he will. This can happen sometimes. He was sedated late afternoon Monday and has not been responding to our attempts to wake him. The good news is he’s breathing on his own. All his vital signs are within normal range. He’s young and fit. All indications say he is one of the very rare cases of anesthesia reaction where the body is not metabolizing the medication as quickly as someone else may. In laymen terms it’s as though the meds have not worn off yet.”
“But you’re not positive?” Ben presses, asking what the rest of us are thinking. “You don’t know for sure that’s the case?”
“Medicine is not a finite practice,” he explains. “I feel very confident Dalton will be awake by this evening. In the meantime, we are watching his vital signs, keeping him hydrated and comfortable. If you would like to take turns sitting with him we can arrange it.” Dr. Greenlaw pulls a pen from his pocket and jots a few notes in the chart in his hands. “Who would like the first shift? I can escort you up.”
“Kylie and I will grab a coffee in the cafeteria,” Ben says quickly. “Call if you need anything.”
Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, they were halfway out the door. I can’t blame them. This came out of nowhere, and to their credit they rallied around. But when it comes to sitting bedside, it doesn’t seem like their style.
“When he gets up . . .” Dalton’s father says, his voice cracking with emotion. He tries a few more times to speak but falters.
“I’ll tell him,” I assure him, trying to paint on a bright smile even though I’m scared out of my mind.
Dr. Greenlaw and I walk in silence to the ICU. I’m hoping for some reassurance, but clearly he’s a man of few words. Or he’s smart enough not to get suckered into making a promise he can’t keep.
“You can stay with him as long as you like. There will be frequent interruptions by the staff. Hit that red button there if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I muster as I cross the room and slide a chair close to his bed. Dalton looks relatively normal. His messy hair is pushed back, and a tiny tube of oxygen runs into his nose. But otherwise he looks as huge and handsome as always.
“Dalton,” I whisper as though his eyes might pop open and all this could be over. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. I wish you had called. I would have come. I would have been here with you.”
He doesn’t move. No stirring of any kind. He looks peaceful and still. A man who is always in motion, always working, is now sidelined. He’d hate this.
Glancing around the room, I take in how empty it is. There are no well wishes, no cards. Whoever Dalton has brought into his life over the years, he’s trained them well to keep their distance. I lace our fingers together and rest my head on his chest. “Wake up, Dalton. Come back to me.”
The clock on the wall ticks in true cliché fashion, counting the minutes then hours of agony. Nurses pour in and I step back. They do their tests, smile warmly at me, and leave. I told both Ben and Kylie they can take off. There’s no need for them to hang around and wait. A hospital cafeteria is not what the two of them would be used to. I know my sister is relieved when she texts back.
Kylie: We’re not going far. There is a nice bar down the road. We’ll be there. Call when that lazy ass wakes up.
“Kylie is calling you lazy,” I report to Dalton, who responds only with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. In all the commotion I forgot to ask his father how he was doing. Was the procedure a success? Was he going to be all right? I consider going back down to ask, but I can’t imagine leaving Dalton right now. He’s going to wake up. I can feel it. Being the first thing he sees is the least I can do. “She seriously does not get when it’s too early for jokes. Socially awkward. You know she’s down the road right now with Ben at a bar. You think they’d ever date? He’s the opposite of anyone she’s ever been with. But you’re the opposite of anyone I’ve been with so maybe there is hope. Though I guess at this point we wouldn’t exactly be a good example. More like a cautionary tale.”
I’m rambling because there is no one here to cut me off. “I called my father to tell him what happened. I couldn’t reach him. I figured he’d go off the radar for a little while to mourn the business. But I really wanted to tell him all about your plan. Just one more reason you need to wake up. You promised to help my father. You promised to help Kylie who is about to bite off way more than she can chew with the Bachelor Tower. You have things left to do.”
Dalton groans as his lashes flutter slightly. “Dalton, wake up. It’s Penny. You have to wake up.”
He responds with another grumble, but this time he sounds like he’s in pain. I slap my hand to the red button and wait as the nurses rush in.
“He’s making noise,” I report frantically. “His eyes moved.”
One machine bursts to life with a blaring alarm and the urgency on the faces of the nurses increases. They exchange orders to each other as a doctor rushes in. It’s only a moment later that I’m pulled out of the room and find myself standing alone in the hallway. “He’s waking up,” I say to myself. “That’s good, isn’t it?”