Page 4 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
It's just a burn;he repeated to himself desperately.She said it was small.He clung to that word like it would keep him sane.Small.
Maybe Matilda had exaggerated; maybe Horace was just being cautious. Maybe Fern was already there, snuggled in Coral's bed at home, probably imagining cruel and unusual ways to murder him.
Fern was like a lioness with her cub, too protective sometimes. She'd be furious when he arrived; of course, she would. It wouldn't be coldness and quiet this time. He didn't know what to expect because he had fucked up and fucked up big. He'd have to calm her down. Explain on his knees. Promise it wouldn't happen again.
Chapter 4
The drive stretched and folded in on itself. When the hospital lights finally came into view, glowing faintly through the mist, it was close to midnight and the tension in his chest had built to an unbearable level.
He parked crooked in the first spot he could find and ran through the sliding doors into the bright reception area.
"I am looking for Coraline Ashbourne. She’s my daughter. She had come in with a burn?" he gasped.
The woman behind the glass partition blinked at him with the kind of unhurried calm that came from having dealt with patients and their worried kin for years. She checked her screen, typed something, and then pointed toward a long corridor. "She has been moved to Ward B, first floor. Follow this corridor and take the lift at the end, then follow the signs."
He was already halfway there before she'd finished her sentence.
He had to introduce himself through the intercom before they let him come in through the automatic doors. The ward was quiet, most of the lights dimmed for the night. Only the low hum of machines and the faint beeping of monitors occasionally disturbed the air. He could feel his heart try to pound its way out of his chest as he approached the nurses' station.
A pretty blonde nurse sat behind the counter, flipping through charts.
"Hi," he said, trying to steady his voice as he searched the common areas for a familiar face. "I'm looking for Coraline Ashbourne."
She looked up briefly as if sizing him up, then down at the list taped to the board beside her. Her expression didn't soften.
Most women looked at him a certain way—he knew that. He stood six foot four, broad shouldered, with arms roped with muscle and ink. The full sleeves of tattoos marked him out even in the most neutral spaces, the black lines disappearing beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt. His face was too rough-hewn to be traditionally handsome, but his looks were arresting. The pale brown of his eyes caught light like amber—Fern called them his eagle eyes.
But this nurse didn't look at him like that. She looked at him like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
"And you are?" she asked flatly, though he suspected she knew. Coraline had his unusual eyes.
He blinked. "I… " He cleared his throat. "I'm Coraline's dad."
The silence stretched. She took her time checking the list again, finger sliding down the column of names until it paused.
"Oh, yes," she said finally, without looking up. "The little girl with the burns. A child safeguarding referral has gone out. I will need to see some ID please."
She watched him fish it out of his wallet while eyeing him as if expecting a confession on the spot.
Connor's breath seemed to saw in and out of his lungs like he was running uphill.Child safeguarding? Social services?
"She's in cube four," the nurse continued, pointing towards the corridor. "Came in around three this afternoon."
Three.
The word hit him like a punch to the chest.
He'd been laughing over fries with Jacob while his daughter was being admitted to the hospital. All the way to the hospital, he'd been telling himself everything was fine, that his mother had it handled, that Fern was overreacting.
Three.
His throat closed. He could barely force the words out. "Where... where is cube four?"
The nurse nodded down the corridor. "Down the hall and to the right. Her mother's with her."
The corridor seemed to stretch forever. The air was too warm, the fluorescent lights too harsh. Every step dragged heavier than the last.
When he reached cube four, he paused at the door as if preparing himself, his shaking hand hovering over the handle. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears.
