Dear Cupid (25 page)

“Thank you.” Kate managed a smile of gratitude just as Dylan’s pediatrician emerged from one of the treatment rooms.

“Dr. Peterson.” Kate hurried toward him.

“Kate, good, I’m glad you’re here.”

“How’s Dylan?’

“Better now.” He gave her a cool look, as if wanting to voice all the things she already knew: that preventive steps in the early stages could have lessened the attack, and barring that, Dylan should have been admitted hours before he was.

“He was staying with his grandparents,” she offered lamely in her own defense. “Can I see him?”

“This way.” Dr. Peterson turned and led the way back toward the swinging doors. “We’ll be moving him to a private room soon.”

“Then you’ll be keeping him overnight?” The solid footing she’d fought to maintain all morning faltered. She glanced back over her shoulder. “My parents.”

 “We’ll let them know the room number as soon as he’s been moved.”

“Yes, of course.” Numbly she followed the doctor down the hall, toward her son.

~ ~ ~

Mike stood for a moment, staring after Kate, before he turned awkwardly to her parents. He offered a half-smile to the tall, slender woman with smooth blond hair and soft green eyes. “You must be Kate’s mother.”

“Aye.” The woman arched a brow. She had a quiet manner, neatly pressed clothes, and a sure, steady gaze. “And you would be ...?”

“Mike Cameron.” He cleared his throat, wondering if Kate’s parents knew where their daughter had been when she received word about Dylan. “I’m a, uh, friend of Kate’s.”

“Cameron?” A frown flickered across her brow. “Oh, yes. The Scotsman whose grandfather sailed out of Glasgow some years back.”

“That would be me.” Relief washed over him as the woman offered her hand.

“I’m Mary Larson, and this is Kate’s father, Arthur.” The woman turned to the man at her side. “Arthur,” she repeated a bit louder.

“Hmm? What?” Kate’s father pulled his attention from the door through which his daughter had disappeared.

“This is the young man Mary Pat told us about. Mike Cameron. Katy’s new man friend.”

Dr. Larson was a burly man with wild white hair and a steely gray beard. He looked perfectly at home in his slightly baggy pants and navy blue polo shirt, which he’d neglected to tuck in.

“Cameron, you say?” The surprisingly dark eyebrows came together in a frown as he gave Mike a quick once-over. “Yes, I seem to remember some mention of that name.”

Mike straightened instinctively. “Yes, sir. I’m pleased to finally meet you. Though I would have preferred different circumstances.”

“Yes,” the professor agreed before he returned his attention back down the hall.

They waited another thirty minutes in the ER. Mike sat beside Kate’s father listening absently as Kate’s mother and Linda talked in hushed tones.

Finally, a nurse stopped long enough to tell them Dylan’s room number before she hurried off again. By silent consent, Mike rode up in the elevator with the others. He hung back, though, as they made their way through the maze of corridors, then stopped altogether when they reached Dylan’s door.

He didn’t belong here, he realized. Not yet. He wasn’t family, even if he longed to be the one who sat at Kate’s side, held her hand, and worried along with her over her son.

That right had to be more than earned. It had to be granted. Discouraged, but far from defeated, he took a seat in the hall and began his own vigil.

~ ~ ~

Kate looked up when her parents and Linda entered. The unbearable tightness in her chest loosened some just at the sight of them.

“How is he?” her mother asked as she moved quietly toward the bed, her eyes already fixed on Dylan.

“Sleeping now, thank goodness.” Kate turned back to the bed. Her son lay against the white sheets, his breathing fast and shallow. “He was so scared, though, Mom. He was so scared.” The tears rose hot and fast, clogging in her throat.

“I know.” Her mother leaned down to hug her.

“How could Anne do this?” Kate pulled back to swipe the moisture from her cheeks. “How could she let him get this bad? Doesn’t she have eyes and ears?”

With a patient smile, her mother brushed the hair from Kate’s face. “The frailty of our children isn’t an easy thing for a body to accept. For some, it’s easier not to see. But I think Anne realized what she’d done when she got here.”

The phrase “too little, too late” sprang to Kate’s tongue, but she swallowed it down. Lashing out at Anne Bradshaw wouldn’t solve anything; no matter how badly she needed to lash out at something or someone.

They settled in to wait, her mother and Linda in the chairs on the other side of Dylan’s bed, her father perched on the window seat. Kate gave her mother a list of things she’d need: some juice and animal crackers for Dylan, a few storybooks, paper and a fresh box of crayons. Linda agreed to drive back out to the lake and get Kate a change of clothes, her makeup, and the magazine off her nightstand. At the moment, Kate doubted she could concentrate enough to read, but she also knew how slowly the hours passed while watching Dylan sleep.

After another gentle hug from her mother and a gruff one from her father, Kate watched her parents leave.

“Oh, Kate,” Linda said as they settled back down to either side of Dylan’s bed. “I feel so awful.”

“What on earth for?” Kate frowned. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but I see now that I never took Dylan’s condition seriously enough. I can’t believe all the times I called you overprotective.”

“It’s all right,” Kate offered a smile she hoped was reassuring even if it felt a bit weak. “Until you’ve lived through it, it’s hard to believe something like this can happen so quickly.” She gave in to the need to take Dylan’s hand in hers. Whether from the medicine or exhaustion, he lay completely still except for the rapid rise and fall of his diaphragm. His air passages had constricted to the point where he had to use his stomach muscles to pull every breath into his lungs. The sound of the effort tore her apart.

She remembered the time, years ago, when a nurse had told her to breathe through a straw for ten minutes so she’d better understand how Dylan felt during an attack. She barely lasted the full time, had felt panicked and helpless by the end. Yet Dylan had been like that for hours, and faced hours more, perhaps even days.

“I swear,” Linda said, leaning forward. “I’ll never give you grief for being overprotective again.”

Kate managed a more genuine smile at her friend’s earnest expression. “No, but I can see I might be the one giving you grief instead.”

“Maybe so.” They both smiled in a moment of perfect understanding and support.

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice demanded from the doorway.

All warmth drained from Kate’s face as she turned to face her ex-husband. “Well, hello, Edward. So good of you to join us.”

He flushed a bit when he saw Linda. After a quick glance toward the bed, he stepped toward Kate and lowered his voice. “My mother just called, crying and spouting some nonsense about Dylan being sick and her not being able to reach you. Just where the hell were you last night?”

“Where was I?” She stared at him in disbelief. How like Edward to instantly blame her for everything. “I should think the question is, where the hell were you?”

“I had a dinner meeting with a client.” He shrugged.

“You were supposed to be spending the weekend with your son, not dumping him on your parents. But, since you did, I can’t believe you forgot to unpack his nebulizer.”

“I didn’t realize I’d be leaving him all night. But the meeting ran over.”

“That’s no excuse, Edward!” She raked her hands through her hair in an effort to control her temper. “Do you realize your son could have died because of your negligence?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at him.” She pointed toward the bed. “Take a good hard look at what you’ve done to our son.”

For the first time, he turned his full attention to the bed. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of Dylan lying there with an oxygen tube lying across his face, and an IV snaking upward from his arm. Dylan’s face appeared nearly as white as the hospital sheets. “I don’t understand. He was fine when I left him.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Kate snapped. “An attack this bad has warning signs. As usual, you were too preoccupied with yourself to pay attention.”

“If y’all will excuse me,” Linda said, rising. “I’ll be on my way.” She caught Kate’s gaze and nodded toward the bed. Dylan’s eyes had fluttered open. Linda came around the bed and squeezed Kate’s hand. “I’ll go get your things, then be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.” Kate nodded. When Linda had gone, she turned and found Edward still studying his son.

“Hey, Dill-man, you’re going to be okay, right?” Edward asked.

Dylan managed a weak nod.

Kate bent forward and kissed Dylan’s brow. “You rest here a minute, sweetie. Your father and I need to talk, but I’ll be right back. I promise.”

His weak, frightened look brought the tightness back to her chest. Still, she had things to say to Edward that were best said out of Dylan’s hearing range. Without a word, she walked through the door, knowing her ex-husband would follow.

“Mike?” She came up short the minute she passed into the bright hallway.

Mike came instantly to his feet. “How’s Dylan?”

“Better. Though not out of the woods yet.” She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

“You rode in with me, remember?” He offered her a half-teasing smile.

“Yes, but—” She glanced over her shoulder, all too aware of Edward hanging on every word. The two men locked gazes and both of them straightened. Edward’s stance turned guarded, Mike’s aggressive. She immediately rejected any thought of introducing them.

“It’s thoughtful of you to wait, but you really didn’t need to,” she said to Mike.

“Of course I did.” He turned his attention back to her and the intimacy of his smile made her blush. “You rode in with me, you’ll ride home with me.”

Her blush grew warmer at such a possessive male statement made in front of her ex-husband. “Mike, I’ll be here overnight.”

Worry flashed across his face. “He’s that bad, then?”

“They want to keep him on the IV and oxygen for a while. We’ll know better tomorrow when he’ll get to go home.” She glanced again at Edward, wondering how she’d get the privacy she needed.

“I see,” Mike said, and to her surprise, he seemed to understand her distress. He nodded toward the door. “Maybe I could, you know, wait for you ... inside.”

“Yes, please,” she answered gratefully. “And Mike,” she added as he moved past her. “Thank you. For everything.”

He gave her arm a casual squeeze before turning away.

Once inside the darkened room, Mike closed the door enough to block out most of the sounds in the hall, yet still let some light through. So that was Dylan’s father, he thought. The fool who’d lost Kate. White-collar wimp. The only thing he couldn’t see was why someone as vibrant and lively as Kate had married a stuffed shirt like that in the first place.

“Mom?” a weak voice called from the bed.

“No.” He stepped around the corner of the bathroom so Dylan could see him. “It’s me, Mike.”

“Oh.” Dylan slumped back into his pillow.

God, the kid looked pale, and every breath sounded like a hard-won gasp. He moved closer to the bed. “Can I get you anything?”

The boy just closed his eyes, as if slipping into sleep. “They’re going to ... fight about me ... aren’t they?”

Mike shifted uneasily, not sure what to say. He knew how to talk to boys about Power Rangers and spaceships, or how he’d help make the latest action-adventure movie. But how the hell was he supposed to answer a question like that?

Looking at the boy lying in the bed, he remembered Dylan was roughly the same age as his youngest nephew, even if Dylan was much smaller. The thought of how he’d feel if this was one of his sisters’ kids lying there reached inside his chest and squeezed tight.

“Well, yeah,” Mike said, “it did look like they were about to light into each other, but I don’t know that they were going to fight about you.”

He watched the boy struggle to draw enough breath to talk. “They always fight ... about me.” Another hard breath. “Or money ... or Dad ... working ... too much.”

“I see.” Mike took a seat in the chair by the bed. From out in the hall, he heard a masculine voice rise in anger then drop quickly to a tightly controlled rumble. Kate’s voice fired back, equally angry.

“So,” Mike said, loud enough to cover up the sounds from the hall. “I hear they’re going to keep you here a while, eh, kid?”

“I want ... to go home.” Though Dylan’s eyes remained closed, Mike saw tears wet the lashes.

“What, and miss out on all this great attention?” The voices in the hall rose and fell, The words were muffled but the fury came through all too clear. “Hey, you play your cards right, you could have these nurses eating out of your hand.”

Dylan just shrugged, too weak or disinterested to respond. Mike watched him, mentally searching for a way to bridge the awkwardness between them. What would he do if this were one of his nephews?