“Fuckin’ crazy,” Hendrix says from beside me at my actions.
“I”—hiccup—“don’t know.”
“I’ll go with you. This way, you can see your dad and stay safe.”
“Really?” I question, unbelieving.
I blow my nose again as Hendrix merely shakes his head at me.
“Livi, please don’t question my word.”
Jagger walks in the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
“You and Morrison are gonna have to step in here for a few days,” he tells him. “Livi and I are gonna go see her old man.”
“He okay?” Jagger asks, coming up to rub my back.
I shake my head.
“He’s in the hospital in California,” Hendrix explains, pulling me against him.
“You sure you can—”
“I’m one hundred percent sure I can trust you two to deal with this place, starting now. I’m taking Livi home, and we’re gonna get some sleep. One of you two can take us in the morning.”
“Of course, you know that’s a given, man,” Jagger says. “Go.”
When we get back to Hendrix’s place, he leads me upstairs, strips me down, throws a shirt over me, and then pulls back the covers.
“Get in bed, babe. I got it from here.”
I absolutely hate flying. Whoever decided climbing into a tin can and propelling yourself into the air was a smart idea was completely off their rocker. The Wright Brothers and all their genius—whatever.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as my nerves overtake me. I run to the bathroom and empty the contents of last night’s dinner. Immediately, Hendrix is beside me, holding my hair back.
“You okay, Livi?”
I nod my head as I try not to think of going up in the air. The climb inch by inch, foot by foot, mile by—
I hunch over the toilet again as now I am left with the dry heaves.
Floating in the clouds, soaring in the sky … I was not meant to be a bird; therefore, none of this appeals to me.
“Livi.” Hendrix doesn’t try to hide his concern in his tone.
“I’m okay. I guess I should’ve mentioned I hate flying.” I snort, laughing at myself, which causes me to lurch with dry heaves again.
Once Hendrix releases his hold on my hair and disappears out of the bathroom, I take the time to push down the rest of my nausea and brush my teeth. He returns with a cup of water and Dramamine. I smile softly as I take the pills and finish getting ready.
Stepping outside, I see Morrison’s shiny sports car sitting out front. Ever the stylish one, Morrison is in black slacks; a gray, button down shirt; and aviator sunglasses. He looks like he just left a photo shoot for a high class fashion magazine. I shake my head at him as he approaches us. It is way too early in the morning for anyone to look that put together.
He nods to Hendrix before wrapping his big arms around me in a hug. Hendrix practically growls, while I laugh until I snort. I am a goober, but oh well.
Taking my bag, Hendrix loads everything into the back of his classic Chevy.
“Look, man, she’s powerful, but she isn’t made to hug those curves in a drift like your foreign, aluminum can, excuse for a car, Morrison. Don’t drive it like you stole it, fucker,” Hendrix orders.
Boys and their toys.
I shake my head and let out another giggle as I settle into the backseat, surprised when Hendrix joins me rather than sit up front and be a passenger seat driver to his brother.
Nerves consume me the closer we get to the airport. Am I really going back there? Why does my dad want to see me so badly?
I really wish I could puke again; only, the medication is doing its job.
Hendrix laces our hands together as we make our way through the airport. The only time he isn’t touching me in some form of comfort, guidance, or possessiveness is when we have to pass through the security checkpoint individually. I find his attentiveness to me simply another reason to love him.
Gasp.
“Livi, are you okay?”
No, I am not okay. I am in love with Hendrix Caldwell. He surely isn’t ready for this admission. I can’t tell him any of this.
Pushing it down, I swallow hard.
“I’m good. Nervous about flying, that’s all.”
After about seven hours, we make it safely to California. Thankfully, Hendrix knew I wouldn’t want to inconvenience my stepmother nor would I want to be indebted to any of them, so he rented a car for us.
Pulling up to the hospital, I am full of mixed emotions. I do this for a living. I deal, day in and day out, with patients in the same situation as my dad—medical emergencies and not being prepared for them.
Has my step-monster already signed a DNR? If one of these mini-strokes were to be more, is my dad’s paperwork in order? Are his affairs in order? Does my step-monster understand the need and the importance of a medical power of attorney? Should he lose his ability to be cognizant of his surroundings and unable to make sound decisions, someone needs to have a medical power of attorney to handle his healthcare and wellbeing. Does he have a living will? How does he truly feel about life support?