Part 21 (2/2)
”Okay, but awake is good, right?” he asked. If his old man was conscious, that had to be a decent sign.
”I don't know. The paramedic . . .”
Emerson trailed off, and Hunter's stomach swan-dived toward his knees. ”What? Please, I need to know.”
”Look, there are a lot of things this could be, Hunter, and the paramedics and doctors have to err on the side of caution.” Although her bright-blue gaze never faltered, her tone fell just short of hiding her concern, and f.u.c.k, he wanted to cling to her like a life raft right now.
”What do you mean? What aren't you telling me?”
Her lips pressed together as if the words behind them tasted sour. ”One of the things your father was complaining of just before he collapsed was left arm pain. Coupled with some of the other symptoms . . . the paramedic said they couldn't rule out a heart attack.”
Hunter's stomach lurched, his breakfast threatening a repeat appearance. No way. No, no, no. ”My father had a heart attack?”
”He didn't say that definitively. The doctor and nurses are giving your father all their attention to figure out what's making him sick,” Emerson said. ”He's in great hands.”
Great hands, he thought, turning toward her with his emotions filling his chest. ”He was in your hands. If you hadn't acted so quickly, if you hadn't been there with him-”
”But I was.” Emerson cut off the path of his gut-twisting thoughts with a shake of her head. Before Hunter could work up any other questions, the automatic doors whooshed open to reveal his brothers, both looking equally wild eyed and panicked.
”Hunt!” Owen spotted him first, cutting the s.p.a.ce between the entryway and the alcove in just a few lumbering strides. Worry lines creased hard over his forehead, his dark hair sticking up in about six different directions as if he'd been pulling on it without mercy, and Hunter returned his brother's rough embrace.
”Please tell us you know what the h.e.l.l is going on,” Eli said, his request as unsteady as his expression as he divided a stare between Hunter and Emerson.
s.h.i.+t, he wished with all his might that he had something to offer other than the lame headshake he was currently sporting. ”Nothing other than he's here and they're working on him. The nurse said she'd tell the doc we're waiting.”
Emerson quietly recounted everything she'd told Hunter so his brothers could get up to speed, and while he didn't glean any new information in the retelling, the reminder that she'd been with his old man when he'd collapsed at least kept Hunter from losing every last marble in his jar. The four of them sat in stony silence, Hunter's fingers locked over Emerson's, Owen with his forearms braced across the thighs of his dirt-streaked Wranglers, and Eli prowling over the linoleum so many times Hunter was sure he'd leave a permanent footpath on the s.h.i.+ny tiles. Sounds rushed together to form indistinct white noise in his ears, blurring all of his thoughts until only one thing remained.
His father had to be okay. He had to.
Christ, he should've said something-no, he should've taken action, pushed his old man to take it easy when he'd first noticed his fatigue at the Watermelon Festival. If Hunter had insisted his father get more rest, or go see Doc Sanders, maybe none of this would've happened. But he'd been too afraid to rock the boat, too worried about the status f.u.c.king quo to point out his father's overexertion.
And now his father was lying in a hospital bed, possibly having a heart attack.
Please G.o.d. Don't let him die because I kept quiet. Please.
Time pa.s.sed, although whether it was minutes or hours or G.o.dd.a.m.n months, Hunter had no clue. Finally, the automatic doors leading into the belly of the ED buzzed open to reveal a muscle-bound man in green scrubs, a stethoscope looped around his neck and a serious expression in his dark eyes. ”Cross family?”
Hunter's pulse stuttered. ”Yes,” he and his brothers said in unison, the three of them and Emerson moving forward to meet the man in less than a breath.
”I'm Dr. Ortiz, and I've been working with your father. Thanks for your patience while we figured a few things out.”
”So you know what's wrong? Is he okay?” Owen asked, and the doctor gave a tentative nod, gesturing them back into the alcove, presumably for some privacy from the bustling waiting area.
”Your father has had a h.e.l.l of a morning,” Dr. Ortiz said slowly, and Eli cut in with a frown.
”That's not a yes.”
For a split second, their eyes locked, but before Hunter could step in, the doctor shook his head and took a step back.
”I know this is stressful. Although it took some doing, right now your father is stable. The good news is his initial blood work and his ECG indicate that he didn't have a heart attack.”
Relief slammed into Hunter so hard, his knees nearly quit, and beside him, Emerson murmured a quiet ”oh, thank G.o.d” that echoed everyone's expression.
”I've ordered a few more tests just to be sure,” Dr. Ortiz qualified with a lift of his hand. ”But regardless, your father's still looking at a potentially serious diagnosis. I believe he collapsed from heat exhaustion.”
Hunter and his brothers bit out various curse words. They knew-they knew how dangerous the heat could be. How could he have missed something so obvious as his father working too hard and not hydrating enough?
From beside him, Emerson's soft exhale equated to a wordless of course. ”The arm pain was muscular cramping,” she said. ”With the profuse sweating and dizziness, that makes perfect sense.”
Dr. Ortiz lifted a shadowy brow. ”Are you a doctor?”
”Physical therapist,” she corrected. ”I was with him when he collapsed.”
”Well, your quick thinking might've made all the difference,” Dr. Ortiz said, allowing himself a small smile before returning his gaze to Hunter and his brothers. ”We're treating your father with IV fluids, and we've managed to stabilize his body temperature somewhat. He's still a bit disoriented and weak, but that should resolve as he rests. I'll be honest. He got d.a.m.ned lucky.”
”How's that?” Eli asked, his brows shooting up in clear disbelief.
But the doctor met it head-on. ”Heat exhaustion can become heat stroke in a matter of minutes, and your father looks to have been well on his way. He's not out of the woods entirely, but at least now we can see the tree line. He's fortunate he got immediate care.”
”So he's going to make a full recovery?” Hope uncurled in Hunter's chest, rising up past all the other emotions churning through him, and Dr. Ortiz lifted his stubbled chin.
”As long as he responds to treatment and his chest X-ray is clear, he should be able to go home later today.”
”Can we see him?” Owen asked.
”Of course. I'll have to ask that you visit in pairs, and only briefly, until he rests some more. But he's been asking for you.”
”You two go,” Hunter said, because really, his brothers looked about as shaky as his legs felt right now. He needed to buckle down, to find his calm, G.o.d, even just to manage these emotions and think clearly.
”Are you sure?” Uncertainty colored Eli's tone, and even though Hunter nodded, he didn't meet his brother's stare.
”Yeah. Absolutely.”
He watched Owen and Eli disappear behind the double-wide automatic doors. Desperate to strong-arm all the feelings cranking down on his chest like an iron band, he sc.r.a.ped for a breath, but the attempt was flimsy at best. Dammit, he needed to keep it together. He needed to be calm, composed. He needed . . .
”Hunter.”
The one word, the soft, strong voice that whispered it, broke him right down the middle, and without thinking, Hunter turned to let Emerson gather him close.
”I'm sorry. I just . . . I need . . .”
”It's okay. You don't have to say anything,” she said. Her arms circled around his shoulders, her closeness filling his lungs with the scent of lavender and an overwhelming sense of safety, and he gave in. All the emotion-the fear, the confusion, the reality of what he could've lost-everything rushed up from beneath his easygoing cover, and he let go with a broken exhale.
Still, Emerson didn't waver. ”I've got you,” she said.
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