“Yeah, he’s going to be fine, as long as he takes it easy. That may require heavy sedation.” She remained silent. They’d regressed in less than a day. She didn’t chide him, didn’t chuckle…just silence. “I’m only joking. We’re going to take proper care of him, of course.”
“I’m so sorry, Cal. If there’s anything you need…”
He needed her. Turning away from Jules, he closed his eyes. “I have it under control. Thank you for calling.” Now he sounded odd and formal.
Monica hesitated. “You’re welcome.”
There were a million things Cal wanted to say, but they weren’t the words she needed to hear.
“If you change your mind, call me. Good-bye, Cal.”
She hung up before he could say anything. Why had he let her walk out that door? Why hadn’t he followed her? Because you can’t offer her tomorrow. You don’t even know where you’ll be next week. Cal had always equated his ability to take off anywhere, at any time, with freedom. Now it just felt pointless.
He thrust the phone back at Jules and mumbled something about coffee. He could use a few minutes alone. Had Allie told her the rest of it—that he was planning on going back to Vegas? Did Monica even care? She’d called Jules, after all, not him. He had a sinking suspicion that he’d fucked up badly. The thought of never holding her again left him empty.
He made another trek to the cafeteria and brought back sandwiches and crisps. Tara placed the unopened food on a side table, but Jules nibbled on hers.
“Did you and Monica have a row or something?” she asked.
“Yeah, something,” Cal answered. He glanced at the telly and pretended to watch the news.
The next few hours passed slowly. Cal made himself useful by checking in with the nurse every hour. Finally, Tara was allowed a five-minute visit.
When she returned to the waiting room, she looked ill. “He’s working himself into a fuss. His blood pressure is too high.” She sank down in the chair and placed one hand over her eyes. Tara relied so much on the old man, Cal didn’t think she’d make it through the day without him. “He’s worried about work and about Jules’s upcoming court date. He simply won’t lie still.”
“He’ll be all right, Mummy. Won’t he, Cal?”
“Of course.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Father will pull through this. Don’t worry about court—I’ll contact your attorney and see if he can postpone your appearance until next month.” She gazed up at him, looking so terribly young, her brown eyes wide and searching as they met his.
“Thanks for being here. Knobface.”
He leaned over and kissed her temple. “I’ll go see if I can settle him down, all right?”
Cal found a young, pretty nurse, and using a hefty dose of charm while stressing his accent, Cal talked her into giving him five minutes with the old man.
Cal wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into the room. But the robust, arrogant father he knew appeared old, weak. His skin matched the white pillowcase, and his hair looked much thinner than Cal remembered. The old man’s cheeks were sunken, and the tubes and wires running from his arms and chest weren’t encouraging. It brought back memories of Babcock.
George Hughes was a colossal prat, no question about that. As he lay there, immobilized by the equipment attached to him, he barked at the nurse trying to take his blood pressure. He demanded to see the doctor and kept asking for his mobile. “Now, damn it. Why won’t you people listen? I need my phone. Where is my phone?”
“You’re not getting your phone,” Cal said. “You’ve had a heart attack, you geezer.”
George’s white brows dropped so low they threatened to cover his eyes completely. “Get this man out of my room.”
Cal shot the nurse a grin. “I’m the son. Lucky me, eh? I’ll try and get him to behave.” She unwrapped the cuff and shot him a sympathetic glance before leaving the room. “They don’t like you,” Cal said. “You’re being a twat.”
“What are you doing here? Come to dance on my grave, have you?”
“No, I’m a terrible dancer. No rhythm at all. I probably get that from your side of the family. And you’re not dying. Yet. But keep it up with the yelling and the threats, and you’ll be stuck here for days. Is that what you want?”
Screwing up his lips, causing deep wrinkles to pucker around his mouth, George looked out the window. “Don’t know why you care. No one invited you here.”
“Not strictly true. Jules asked me to come with her.”
George placed his hands on the guardrails. “If you’re here to suck up, you’re in for a rude surprise. You’re not even in the will, you know.” He glanced back at Cal with an expression as icy as his tone.
Like Cal gave a toss. “And here I thought Pixie was the dramatic one. Listen, Jules has been worried sick. Tara’s nerves are shot. They’re worried about you. Tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Why should I trust a layabout like you?”
Cal shifted his weight onto one foot. “Because you and I have something in common.”
“What, our last names? I’m not even one hundred percent certain you’re really mine. Your mother wasn’t faithful, you know.”
“Ooo, nice. Come on. Get them all out of your system.” George remained quiet. “I’m talking about our fondness for Juliette.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for showing up here and doing your duty?”
Cal leaned both hands on the footboard. “God, no. That would ruin our delightful dynamic. I just want you to calm down, leave work to your assistants, and get better. And do stop yelling for your mobile. It’s not happening.” Cal moved around the IV drip and opened the table drawer, removing a pad of paper and a pen.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” George watched Cal’s movements. “Seeing me weak like this.”
Cal rolled his eyes. “Not really. I don’t hate you. I’m not wild about you, either, so don’t go crazy.”
George snorted. “The feeling’s entirely mutual.”
So they didn’t hate each other. Not exactly a touching moment, but Cal would take it.
“See to Juliette’s court date,” George said. “Call my secretary and have her reschedule my appointments. Tell her to prioritize anything pressing and pass it off accordingly.” He continued to rattle off a long, detailed list, and Cal wrote it down. “Did you get that? It’s all important.”
“I’ve got it.” Cal stood and shoved the list in his pocket. “I promise you, I’ll take care of it.” He turned to leave, but George’s voice made him retrace his steps.
“Calum, I might need a nurse when I get out of here. I don’t want Tara taking care of me. That’s not how it’s meant to work. Find someone qualified. It’ll put her mind at ease.”
“I’ll find the best nurse in Beverly Hills.”
George sighed. “Perhaps you’re not as useless as you look.”
Cal threw back his head and laughed. “That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
He patted his father’s foot. “Get some rest.”
* * *
The day had passed so slowly. Throughout the afternoon, he made tea runs and spoke three times to his father’s secretary. Competent woman. Emotionless. The perfect match for George Hughes.
Now Cal stood by the window, staring down at the dark street below. Not many cars at this time of night. In the window’s reflection, he watched Jules stir. She opened her eyes and rubbed her neck.
“Any news?” she asked.
“No. Why don’t you let me call for your driver? You and your mother should go home and get some sleep. Real sleep. You’ll feel better for it.”
“No, I don’t want to leave.”
He understood her reluctance. Cal had never left Babcock. Not for one day. Near the end, he’d been terrified to leave her side, afraid she’d die without him there. Cal hadn’t wanted to sit at her bedside, vigilant, waiting for the end. It had been agonizing, yet he’d done it. He’d held her hand in the final moments. Maybe that had given her a bit of solace. He liked to think so anyway.