Fall From Grace. KRISTI GOLD
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the hospital.”
“I thought this was your day off.”
He shoved the pager back into place. “Unfortunately, residency doesn’t allow for a real day off.”
The one thing Anne couldn’t quite accept—his career choice—could be the one thing that would put an end to a relationship that otherwise had potential. He lived for his work, just as her father did, and if she stayed in Jack Morgan’s life, she could be following in her mother’s footsteps. Following in Jack’s shadow—something she refused to do. But then, it was much too early to be seriously entertaining a future with him.
He pushed back from the table and stood. “Looks like our day’s going to be cut short. But I’ll make it up to you next time.”
If there was a next time—something Anne would have to decide soon. “That’s how it goes, I guess.”
“Yeah. And it’s a bitch.”
Jack took Anne’s hand, and although she considered pulling away, she simply couldn’t. At least not now. Not until absolutely necessary.
When he led her down a path away from the exit, she gestured behind her. “That’s the way out, Jack.”
He pointed straight ahead. “And that’s the way to the gorilla exhibit. The hospital will own me for the next two days straight. They can let me have at least another hour with you.”
Jack gave Anne’s hand a gentle squeeze, gave her another warm smile. But more disconcerting, he gave her hope.
CHAPTER 4
Delia was no stranger to hopeless situations, or seeing a loved one suffer. She’d kept a twenty-four-hour vigil over her husband some eight years before, only to face the heartbreaking decision to end life support and let him go. Yet that situation was very different from her son-in-law’s. Jack was awake and still alive.
When Jack’s gaze tracked to hers, she moved to the end of the hospital bed, braced one fist on her hip and said, “A fine mess we have here, but only a temporary mess.”
“Maybe not t-temporary.”
At least he could speak—a positive sign, Delia decided as she rolled the hospital tray aside, pulled up a chair and dropped into it. “Now, Jack, you’re a fighter. You won’t let this setback keep you down for long.”
“S-stroke, Delia, not a setback.”
“And people recover from strokes every day.” She chose to save him from the story of her friend Alice, who’d suffered a stroke and amazed everyone by making a total recovery at the age of eighty-five. Jack didn’t need an overdose of optimism. He simply needed a leaning shoulder and a nudge in the right direction after refusing Anne’s offer to let her care for him.
“Does Annie know you’re h-h-ere?” he asked.
She’d purposefully avoided telling Anne for many reasons, the first being that her daughter wouldn’t approve of her meddling. “This is about you, not her.” Only a partial truth. It was about both of them.
She scooted a little closer and took his right hand into hers—the hand that was as lifeless as his eyes. In a perfect world, she would have been in his place due to her age. Yet nothing about this situation—or life—was perfect. Far from it.
While Delia studied Jack in preparation for what she would say next, he stared straight ahead. Except for the absence of hair, he still looked the same, very much the handsome man who’d captured her daughter’s heart and brightened all their lives for a long while. Before the light went out on a love that should have lasted a lifetime.
Perhaps reminding him of that love would serve as a good place to begin. “Do you remember the day you came to the house to ask Bryce’s permission to marry Anne?”
“My mind’s kind of…foggy.”
His mind might be foggy, but Delia’s role had become clear. She could serve as his memory for as long as necessary. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Just listen.”
She brought out those fond recollections of days past. Good days, before the bad. “You were so nervous when you were talking to us about the marriage. In fact, I’ve only seen you nervous three times in twenty-odd years. That day you were going to propose to Anne, your wedding day and the day Katie was born. Anyway, I remember Bryce telling you that he’d give his permission as long as you accepted Anne’s faults, particularly her stubbornness.”
Jack attempted a smile, but it only formed halfway. “She’s not always r-right.”
“But she’s never in doubt.” Delia laughed. “That’s our Anne. Bryce also told you she had a long memory and that wasn’t always a good thing.”
She saw the flash of pain in his eyes and it gave her a much-needed sense of purpose. “I have a long memory, too, Jack. I remember how you looked at Anne from the first moment you met her. I remember that your love for her was so obvious, at least to me. But my best memory of you involves Bryce’s funeral. You didn’t stay with the other pallbearers at the graveside. You came back and sat between Anne and me. Then you took my hand and you put your arm around Anne, but not before you touched her belly, as if you were comforting your unborn baby, too. It was such a precious moment, and I’ve never forgotten it.”
When she glimpsed tears in Jack’s eyes, Delia swallowed around the nagging lump in her throat. “You were a rock. So strong for everyone. You’re still strong, Jack.”
Though he successfully fought back the tears, Delia felt his sorrow as keenly as if it were her own. In many ways, it was.
“Not strong…now,” he said. “I’m n-nothing.”
“You’ll never be nothing. You’re a good man. This stroke hasn’t changed that about you.” She squeezed his hand, even though she recognized he couldn’t feel it. “You told me once that Anne regretted the things she didn’t say to her father before he died. She regretted not forgiving him for his absence in her life and failing to give him a second chance before it was too late.”
Delia released a long sigh when his expression remained impassive. “She needs that second chance from you, Jack, whether she realizes it or not. You both deserve a second chance. Let her take care of you as you’ve always taken care of her.”
“I wasn’t t-there enough,” he said before turning his face toward the wall.
“Yes, you were. When it counted most.” After coming to her feet, Delia let go of his hand and leaned to kiss his cheek. “Think about it, Jack. That’s all I’m asking. Anne needs to be needed by you, and you desperately need her. You need each other. You always have, but never more than now.”
He stood alone in the middle of a room, alone and afraid. A stark hazy room filled with strangers. Not all strangers. Annie was there, at a corner table next to a window. He recognized the man seated beside her, but he couldn’t remember his name. He did know he hated him. Hated the way he looked at Annie, the way he touched her, like he had the right. He wanted to go to them, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to shout to the bastard that she belonged to him, but the words wouldn’t form. Slowly he tried to lift one leg, take one step. Move forward. Move toward her. But he lost the battle. He’d lost her—
“Wake up, Doc. Time for a shower.”
Jack’s eyes drifted open to discover the Samoan R.N. standing over him, a man who had at least three inches on Jack and a massive frame that would rival a West Texas mountain. Despite his casual expression, shaggy hair and close-cropped goatee, Pete the Nurse looked ominous.
Jack’s gaze roamed to the shower chair next to the bed—hell on rollers, with a seat that consisted of an open circle made to accommodate a bare ass. His bare ass, if Pete had his way. “Don’t need a shower. I had a sponge bath…this morning.” A spit-and-shine administered by a young nurse who’d had novice