Chapter Ten
They made it to the hospital in record time, probably breaking a few laws along the way.
Kris hadn’t asked questions. Hadn’t given Nate the sad pity eyes he hated—the kind he couldn’t escape after his mom died. Instead, she’d marched them straight to her car after his announcement and driven like the devil to Los Angeles County hospital.
All the tension from their stupid argument had disappeared, replaced by fraught worry.
They found Skylar in the waiting room, shaken but holding it together, all things considered. Based on what she’d told Nate when she called, she’d gone straight home from the pier and discovered their father passed out at the bottom of the stairs. At first, she’d thought he was unconscious after drinking too much—a common occurrence—until she’d noticed his blue-tinged skin and weak, irregular breathing. That was when she’d freaked out and called 911 and Nate.
A quick check-in with the doctor revealed Michael contracted alcohol poisoning after, yep, drinking too much. It was a new low, and Nate was torn between fury and panic over his father’s situation. Luckily, Skylar had found Michael in time—if she’d come home even an hour later, the elder Reynolds might’ve already choked to death on his vomit.
Michael was in stable condition after the doctor gave him intravenous fluids with vitamin and glucose to stop the dehydration and increase his blood sugar, but the hospital was keeping him overnight for monitoring and evaluation.
Kris drove Skylar home while Nate filled out paperwork, much to Skylar’s consternation. She’d wanted to stay, but Nate had insisted she get some rest since she had soccer camp tomorrow. Their dad was fine—he was asleep, and the nurses would take care of him.
Nate sat in front of his father’s room after he finished the paperwork, too exhausted to move. He was pissed at his old man for putting himself in danger like that—for drinking so much he’d planted himself at death’s door. But Michael was still his father. He was still the man who’d taught Nate how to swim and let him win at arm-wrestling. Seven-year-old Nate had thought he was the strongest kid in the world because he’d beat his dad—his superhero dad—at arm-wrestling.
What Nate wouldn’t give to get those days and his dad back.
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, tempted to pass out right there in the hospital hallway.
Maybe he did pass out, he didn’t know. But after an indeterminate amount of time, a whiff of amber and florals edged out the omnipresent antiseptic in the air and caused him to crack open his eyes.
He raised his head and blinked once. Twice.
“What are you doing here?” His voice came out scratchy and tired.
“I brought you food.” Kris handed him a soda and an In-N-Out bag. “You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat.”Her tone brooked no opposition, and Nate was too exhausted to argue.
The minute he opened the bag, the smell of burger and fries slammed into his nostrils and woke the monster. His stomach had been asleep all this time, playing second fiddle to his nerves and overworked brain, but now it roared to life, demanding attention.
Five minutes later, he’d demolished all the food.
Nate finished the last fry and looked up to find Kris staring at him with wide eyes.
“Sorry.” Guilt crawled into his now-satiated stomach. “I should’ve offered you some before I went all Conan the Barbarian on the food.”
“No, I already ate with Skylar.” Kris’s mouth twitched. “You eat like a starved bear.”
A laugh rumbled in Nate’s chest, catching him by surprise. It felt damn good, though. “Guess I was hungry after all.” He crumpled the bag into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “You didn’t have to come back. You could’ve—should’ve—gone home after dropping Skylar off.”
Kris lifted her shoulder. “It’s not like I had anything else to do. Besides, I wanted to make sure—” She hesitated. “Skylar’s fine, by the way. She passed out right after she got home.”
She’d known what Nate was going to ask before he asked it.
“Thanks for driving her,” he said softly. “And for staying.”
He hadn’t expected her to be so…nice, especially not after he’d been such a dick to her at the pier. He hadn’t meant to go so hard on her, but he’d been all wound up from their Ferris wheel ride—the sexiest, most frustrating Ferris wheel ride of his life—and the way she’d repeated,We aren’t actually dating,like she’d never dream of being with someone like him.
Fuck. It had driven him crazy and straight into Assholeville.
Yet here she was, keeping him company in front of his alcoholic father’s hospital room after driving him here, driving his sister home, and feeding him.
Gratitude, regret, and embarrassment sloshed in his stomach.