Page 26 of Fate and Fortune
“I’m fine.”
“What about Dad?” Tate asked. “Does he know?”
“Not yet,” Frankie said. “He’s awake. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell him the news, though. He’s pretty fragile at the moment.”
“I agree,” Kim replied, her voice so soft Sam almost missed the words. “He needs rest. We can tell him about Leigh later.”
Kim looked like she’d been crying again today. Sam wasn’t a huge fan of her and his father’s marriage, but no one could say she didn’t truly care about Joel.
Frankie nudged him away from the group, several feet down the hall.
“You look like hell. Still.”
“Gee, thanks, sis. I’m shocked to hear that, since everything has been sunshine and rainbows in my life lately.”
He didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm. With Frankie, he didn’t have to pretend.
“Tell me the truth. Are you really fine, or are you just performing?”
Sam didn’t answer right away. He watched a nurse with a cart drift past, the clatter of pill bottles briefly drowning out the tension.
“Have you ever seen a dead body?”
“Kind of. Some guy had a heart attack in the stands during a match near the beginning of my career. He didn’t make it, and I remember that his face was completely white. He looked pretty young, too.”
Frankie’s grip on his arm tightened, and she lowered her voice. “If you’re falling apart, I need to know. I’m counting on you not to implode. You’ve got to keep it all going.”
He knew that already.
“I’m not going to implode.”
“Alright. But if you need to punch something, let me know.”
“You’d let me punch you?”
“You’d lose,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
They returned to the others, who hadn’t moved. The mood had shifted, a little looser, a little less brittle. Piper had found a tissue and dabbed at her cheeks. Tate was running down a to-do list on his phone, Kim reading over his shoulder. Zack’s face was back to neutral.
The door to the unit opened, and a nurse stepped into the hallway.
“You can go in now, but try not to tire him too much.”
They filed into the step-down room as a unit. It was dim, with the shades drawn. Monitors beeped and pulsed, IV lines spidered across the sheets, and Joel Winslow, always the largest force in any room, was almost unrecognizable under the weight of blankets and medical tape. He looked smaller somehow and far older than he had only a week ago. His hands trembled when he tried to move them, and his eyes fluttered open, but looked glassy.
“The firm?”
His father’s voice was weak, but Sam heard the question.
Christ on a cracker, this man hadn’t asked about his wife, his family, or even his own health.
He’d asked about the goddamn business.
“Still standing, Dad,” Tate replied. “It’s all good.”
His father’s gaze drifted to Zack before he nodded. Clearly, Joel Winslow was deluding himself into thinking that his oldest son had finally stepped up to the plate and taken over. No one today was going to disabuse him of that notion. He could find out later when he was stronger.
Thanks for that vote of confidence, Dad.
