My phone vibrating incessantly woke me from a dead sleep. Adam’s heavy body was half on top of mine like a weighted blanket, so it took me a few seconds to be able to move my arm to snag it from my nightstand.
Federman Memorial Hospital was calling.
“Hello?”
Adam shifted behind me at the sound of my voice, his arm tightening around my waist.
“Is this Adelaide Goodman, Saul Goodman’s daughter?”
“It is. Who is this?”
“I’m a nurse at Federman. Your father was admitted to the hospital this evening. He came in with symptoms of a stroke. You’re his emergency contact, so we wanted to notify you of what’s going on.”
My heart stopped. “Is he—is he awake?”
“He’s conscious but groggy.”
Pushing Adam’s arm off me, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Can I see him?”
“Yes. He’s currently having an MRI, but he’ll be back in his room within the hour. It always helps patients to relax and heal if they have loved ones with them.”
After getting the information I needed from the nurse, I hung up and shot to my feet. Adam was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
“Your dad?” he asked.
“Yeah. They think he had a stroke.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He got dressed by my side, throwing on clothes quickly and efficiently and calling for a car to drive us to the hospital. As he put his wallet in his back pocket, I wrapped my arms around his middle and hugged him hard.
“Thank you,” I mumbled into his shoulder.
“For what, baby?”
“For not trying to talk me out of going to him.”
Adam hadn’t questioned my need to rush to the hospital. He’d sprung into action, never asking if I needed him with me or if I should even be going at all.
“I would never. That’s your dad, even if he’s a dick.”
I laughed through the tears clogging my throat. “I love you, Adam Wainwright.”
“Love you forever, Adelaide Zala Goodman.”
My father had aged a hundred years since I last saw him. He had scruff on his jaw and his hair was uncombed. I’d never seen him unkempt. Ever. Even in the days following Mom’s death, he’d kept himself groomed and polished. Now, though, he appeared shrunken in his hospital gown and looked every bit his seventy years.
I breathed a sigh of relief at finding him alone in his room. If Natalie had been here, I would have tried to make nice to not stress him out, but it would have been tough.
“Adelaide.” He sounded so surprised to see me, my knees nearly gave out. But Adam was there, holding my hand and keeping me upright.
“Dad. You look terrible.” I rushed to his side, placing my hand over his.
He blinked at me, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You look like your mother.”
Bending forward, I put my forehead on his hand. “If you die, I’ll be so mad at you.”
“Madder than you already are?”