“I know.” Dylan scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe he’ll see reason.”
I hope so.
Dylan dropped me off to get ready for the show. Nobody was home, a rare thing at my house. I had a few hours until I needed to be at the theater, so I debated between a nap and a long shower. It was eerily quiet without the TV on or Mom humming in the kitchen. I checked for a note and didn’t see anything. Mom usually left one on the counter. She hadn’t texted me either. At least not that I heard. I pulled out my phone only to realize it was dead.
Great.
After I plugged my phone into the charger in my room, I sat on my bed. I wasn’t really tired anymore. I’d taken a shower already. I couldn’t remember a time when I was alone in this house. It was really starting to creep me out. Glancing around the room, I saw the real answer to my problem: my guitar.
I’d brought it home after the show to work on my song. Picking it up, I settled it onto my lap. The music flowed through me as I played an old song Dad used to sing to me. Then I played the song I written a few days before. As much as I enjoyed both of them, they didn’t move me in this moment.
The silence in the house, the heat then cold from Dylan, the utter aloneness I felt crashed against my chest. I grabbed my laptop and a notebook. Once I set my screen to record, lyrics poured through me.
Alone in a world of my own
Alone in a place I have sewn
It doesn’t take much
To feel so hopeless
It doesn’t take much
To feel so incomplete
How’d I get so alone
How’d I get so alone
I played it back. It sounded great the first time. Then I realized what I’d done. Again. It was one of Hank’s songs. I’d written shitty lyrics to his biggest power ballad. Fraud, that’s what I was. There was no way I’d ever be able to stand up to him when I didn’t have a leg to stand on.
Dylan warned me about Hank’s wrath, because it was coming. There was no doubt about it. I just didn’t want to be protected. My father had been protecting me all my life. I wanted to live, take risks, and do what I love. I didn’t want to hide behind somebody’s wall of safety. That wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
But I needed to tell Dylan that.
And I needed to stop actually letting people protect me, too.
When Dad was in the hospital, I’d needed someone to hold me up. Dylan had been there for me. As much as I appreciated that fact, I couldn’t expect him to do it all the time. He’d probably head back to L.A. when Hank did. I wasn’t sure where I was going once the show was over, but Nashville felt more and more right.
I reached for my phone to text him that we needed to talk. Then I saw Mom’s messages.
Dad’s at the hospital.
Cami? Where are you?
Answer your phone!
Call me now.
Get here asap.
Damn it, Cameron. Where are you?
I called her, but she didn’t answer. Then I called a taxi. Dad was fine. I knew it. There wasn’t anything wrong. It was probably indigestion or something simple. Just like last time. There wasn’t anything wrong.
There couldn’t be.
I started to text Dylan and stopped. He needed his space. I needed mine.
A horn beeped outside and I ran out without locking the door.
Dad’s fine.
Dad’s fine.
Dad’s fine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mom and Jake sat in the ER waiting room. Jake looked so young leaning against her shoulder. Mom’s arm was around him, her face a mask of exhaustion. By the redness in their faces, they’d both been crying hard. Jake turned his head toward the entrance and met my gaze. My little brother hadn’t shown me any brotherly affection since he hit puberty. He ran toward me and hugged me hard. A sob escaped his throat before he dropped his arm and stepped back.
“Dad started shaking.” He stared at his shoes. “Then he started drooling.” Jake finally looked at me. “His body did this weird contortion thing. It scared the shit out of me.”
I forced him to hug me again. When the stroke happened, I’d been there. I’d seen it. I knew how my brother felt. “He’ll be okay.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Jake said against my shoulder. Tears clouded his voice. “I just sat there and watched.”
I closed my eyes to my own tears.
“It ... this is my fault,” he said before another sob racked his body.
“No, it’s not.” I hugged him tighter. “He’s been sick for a long time.”
“I didn’t do anything to help.” Jake’s voice cracked.
There wasn’t a single word I could say to comfort him. Mom joined us, wrapping her arms around Jake.
“Where have you been, Cameron?” she asked. Her stress ringing in her voice.
My heart broke into a million pieces. “I’m sorry. My phone was dead and I didn’t realize it... I’m sorry.”
Mom nodded and guided us back toward the seats. We sat in the hard chairs that barely had enough room for our butts. There wasn’t anything to do but wait. I wanted to storm behind the swinging doors and demand answers. Instead, we stared at the TV hanging so high on the wall it almost touched the ceiling. One show ended, then another began, repeat. My phone rang in my pocket. I let it go to voice mail.
It rang again. I fished it from my short. Out of the corner of my eye, Mom stood slowly. I pushed my phone back into my pocket and stood too. Her gaze was locked on the doctor walking toward us. My heart hitched in my chest. The long white coat didn’t billow around him or anything TV-ish. It just hung around his long legs. He strode past
