Page 279 of Trouble from Abroad
The moment my fork lands on my empty plate, my pager beeps. Mia stiffens, but Lily only slumps on her stool, too used to the sound.
“Wha—”
“My dad has to go,” Lil cuts in. Her eyes tilt up to Mia, wide with hope. “But you’re staying here with me, right?”
“Of course.” Mia doesn’t miss a beat, scooting the stool closer, tucking my daughter under her arm. Just like that, my imminent absence is washed away. And I don’t resent it one bit.
No child wants to feel left behind. Only a blind or cowardly father would miss the facts lying in front of him. Lily’s scars are still fresh, whether she acknowledges themor not. One note for her therapist, a question for me: How can I better support my kid?
For now, I hold on to the one thing that matters—Lily isn’t crumbling—she’s steady under Mia’s arm, trusting that she won’t be left by herself even for a minute, waiting for the neighbor to once again rip her from the safety and comfort of her home.
That trust is what makes me believe, against every ounce of caution, that this arrangement might not just hold. It might actually give my daughter what she needs. And what I’ve begun to pine for longer than I care to admit.
* * *
I take an Uber to the hospital so I can read Kate’s updates on my way. The numbers couldn’t be better. I get there just in time to see my team wheeling her toward ICU—and to catch an earful of her complaints. My voice rises above hers.
“For a minimum of forty-eight hours, Dr. Katherine. Want to make it seventy-two? You know, my old boss used to say we could never be too careful.”
“Argh. Go to hell, Preston.” She sounds a little groggy, but she’s fully conscious. I checked. “You’ve done your job. Go home to your family. I won’t be able to sleep with all that beeping. I want a private room.”
I doubt Kate even knows what my family looks like anymore—we haven’t spoken outside of hospital walls in years. That was the job we signed up for. Or so I thought. The realization only strengthens my resolve to make things different from now on.
“What kind of hospital do you think this is?” I tease. “Your ICU room is private. Busy, yes. Beeping, always. But private. You’ll get a bigger, quieter one once you’re out of danger. Do I really need to explain all this to you, or are you just enjoying torturing my team?”
She flashes me the same diabolical grin she used to wear whenever she cornered us with one of her pop quizzes.
“Same Evil Kate. You’re not here to test my team. I already did that, and I trust every doctor standing around your gurney. Show them respect—or I’ll call the first-years. My new class only started three months ago, and I’ve barely spent any time training them.” I raise my brows. “That should be fun.”
“Fine,” she grumbles.
“Also, you refused to list an emergency contact. What the hell is that about? Where’s Dave? With the kids? Should I call and update him? What about your sister?”
“Dave is gone.”
My fingers freeze on the pages of her chart. I blink hard, once, twice, before finally lifting my eyes to hers.
She tuts. “Not gone-gone, Preston. The jerk’s alive—and far too well, if you ask me. He’s in LA, shacked up with Lucy’s ex-kindergarten teacher.”
“Fuck, Kate.” I let the file drop to my side. “I had no idea.” Then, forcing an edge of humor into the moment, I add, “Well… welcome to the divorcee’s club, my friend.”
“No way!” Her eyes pop and, if she weren’t fresh out of spine surgery, she’d be halfway upright in that bed right now.
We roll her bed into the ICU area. Her room’s ready—monitors, lines, the works. I had a sofa hauled in beside thevisitor chair. There will be someone at her side until we clear forty-eight hours without any problems.
“What about the ba?—”
Here it comes. The question everyone asks. The one I hate most.
“Not mine.” The words scrape their way out, rough. Truth, but not the whole truth. Because he’s still Lily’s half-brother. Which means I can’t wash my hands and walk away. How do I protect my daughter and fight for her rights when the mess runs this deep? I want to move on, but this fact drags me back.
“We’re not going to talk about this now.” My jaw locks as I cut her off.
The pity in her eyes tempts me to poke and pry about Dave, but I’m not that much of an asshole. I might be sleeping with the nanny, but I’m not that much of a cliché. “So the kids are with your sister, Christine? Give me her number.”
Her throat works, as she recites the number, before adding, “Please, just… don’t make it sound worse than it is.”
“I won’t lie. But I’ll give her a version the kids can handle—enough to prepare the girls without scaring them.”
