Page 168 of Dream Chaser

“Ale… It’s almost a two-hour drive.”

He erased the distance between us and cupped my cheek, leaning in for a kiss. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone. Tell her we’ll be there.”

Right then, I loved him even more. If that was even possible.

“Mom?” I spoke into my phone. “Are you still there?”

“I am.”

“We’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Alejandro and I continued our way to the garage. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked once I slid into his car and he turned the key in the ignition.

“High blood pressure and chest pain,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s serious, but she’s waiting to be admitted.” I buckled in, heaving a sigh. “You must think I’m a doormat.”

“No,” Ale said. “I think you’re a good daughter. And I hope she takes this as an opportunity to apologize for how she treated you.”

“She must be really sick if she hasn’t brought up the divorce,” I said as we pulled onto the street. “I’m sure it’s the talk of the town in Millford.”

“I made sure to contribute to the local rumor mill when I was there,” Ale said. “That diner seemed to be a perfect spot for that.”

“God, yes. Everyone goes there.”

“Like the bar in my hometown. We’ll visit next time we’re there. I’m sure they’ll already know who you are by then.”

“I better learn some Spanish fast.” I covered his thigh with my palm. “So I can tell everyone how lucky I am to have found you.”

He tossed a smoldering look my way. “I could pull up to the curb right now and show you who’s the lucky one.”

“Later, boss,” I said, squeezing him. “Keep driving.”

***

Peterson Hospital was small, located in Brookfield, a town between Millford and Emerport. As expected, the emergency room was almost empty.

I headed for the counter. “Good evening. I’m here to see Melissa Lockhart. She must’ve been admitted already. I’m her daughter.”

“Good evening,” the girl said. She clicked the mouse a few times, looking at the computer monitor. “No admissions for Melissa Lockhart, I’m afraid.”

“Nova?”

I turned. My mother stood behind me, a coat draped over her arm, her short hair styled.

“Mom? You said you were going to be admitted.”

She huffed, not quite meeting my eyes. “I expected to be. They just sent me home and said to see my doctor tomorrow to adjust my medication.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“So you wouldn’t need to come?”

“So I wouldn’t worry.” How could anyone want to make someone worry on purpose?

I swallowed my frustration and glanced at Ale. He smiled just barely, green eyes full of sympathy. The urge to apologize scratched my throat. I made him drive here after a seven-hour flight, and for what?

“So, what now?” I asked my mother.