I reach for his hand, and he slides it inside mine without question. His fingers are so big, his palm engulfs mine, and I realize in that moment he and I are cut from the same cloth. I had my revenge already, but Grayson hasn’t had his yet. He has to be biting at the bit.
“I’ll be by your side every step of the way. You want me to hold the gun to her head, I will.” I get to my feet and press my body against his and lace our hands together. “You want me to pull the trigger, I will. If it means you, me, and Dillon get to be a family in peace, then that is what I’ll do.”
I can see the murderous angst raging in his eyes. If he had the chance, I know he’d kill her right now. “You’d do that? I’d never ask you to pull the trigger,” he says.
“Why not?” I ask him, laying my hand on the side of his cheek. “I’ve done it before.” And to be honest, I’d do it again, especially if it means protecting the ones I love.
“Guys! The doctor has news,” Jaxon skids to a stop outside of the hospital doors, and Grayson kisses my palm and then tugs me behind him as he hurries inside.
The air conditioning blows over us as we enter, and chills pimple across my arms. The doctor is waiting for us at the end of the hall in green scrubs and a scrub cap. He’s an older gentleman, but not too old to wonder why he’s still operating. His hair is a mix between silver and brown, and he has permanent wrinkles between his brows, probably from focusing for so many hours during the day.
“What is it? Is he dead? Don’t let him be dead, please. He’s okay, right? Please, tell me he is okay. I… I…” Grayson mumbles to find more words to say, to beg the doctor to tell him good news.
The doctor reaches out and lays a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “Dillon is out of surgery. He is fine. It will be awhile before he wakes up. I’m going to assume he passed out in the shower and did not slip. His white cell count is very high. I spoke with his Oncologist flying here from Portland, and he will tell you more on what to expect for the treatment plan.”
Grayson nods and rubs his chin with two fingers. “So he is okay? He’s alive? I can go see him?”
The tired surgeon places his hands on his hips in thought. “You can, but he is unconscious and will be for a day or so. I think you’re better going home—”
“I’m not leaving. No way in hell am I chancing him waking up and thinking he’s alone. He’s been alone long enough. I’m fucking staying; you hear me? I’m staying right here,” Grayson states, straightening to his full height.
“I understand, Mr. Campbell. I can take you and two other people back, but I’m afraid that’s all I can allow at the moment.”
Maggie and I step forward, ready to be the crutch Grayson needs us to be.
“Remember, it looks scarier than what it is. He’s being monitored by several machines. It’s protocol. Okay?”
“Okay,” Grayson agrees. He turns around to his family, the guys, and he clears his throat. “Thank you all for being here. It means the world.”
“Of course. Always. That’s what brothers do, right?” Jaxon hugs Grayson and pats him on the back. “Let us know if you need anything. I’ll bring you a change of clothes later today. You too, Finley.”
“Thank you,” I say to Jaxon. I hadn’t even thought of clothes.
“Call us with an update,” Heaven says.
“Yeah, I need to threaten the little guy cause he owes me a game of air hockey,” Owen grunts and pats Grayson on the shoulder before he leaves.
Grayson gives everyone a tight grin and takes the step forward to follow the doctor through the beige doors. The longer we walk, the sweatier Grayson’s palm gets, but I’m not going to let go. It’s just sweat.
“Here we are.”
“I’m sorry. You’re doctor…?” Grayson asks as his hand lands on the doorknob. “I should have asked earlier. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand. My name is Doctor Thomas.”
Grayson holds out his hand and stares Doctor Thomas in the eye. “Thank you for taking care of my boy. I’ll make sure to donate money to your department and get whatever else you need.”
The doctor's eyes widen, and a big smile takes over his face. “Thank you—wow—thank you. You have no idea how much that means.”
“I do,” Grayson says simply, staring through the small window in the door. “It’s everything.” He turns the knob and enters the room.
The first thing I notice is how cold the room is. It’s dark for the most part, but there is one light shining down onto the hospital bed where Dillon lays. Since he is so small, he doesn’t even take up half the bed. The sheets are snug around his body, and Grayson pulls a chair up next to the bed, tucking the blankets in tighter.
Grayson bends over and kisses Dillon’s cheek and whispers something in his ear. A hiss of a machine hooked to a tube that goes down Dillon’s throat has tears brimming my eyes. The doctor wasn’t lying—this is rough. I can’t stand seeing a child like this.
“Why does he have a tube?” Grayson asks.
“Protocol. We want to make sure he is getting enough oxygen, that’s all. The less work his body does right now, the better. He needs to reserve his strength.”
“Because of the cancer,” Grayson says what the
