“I’m fine,” he growls, shaking off my touch.
“I’m sorry.” Tears fill my eyes as my hand falls reluctantly to my side. “I didn’t mean to hurt or embarrass you.”
His breathing turns harsh as he rubs his chest. Pain flashes across his face before vanishing.
“Griffin?” Concern threads through Mom’s voice as her brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Dad snaps, waving off her concern before spinning toward Keaton. “Get out of my house! Anything that needs to be said can be done through our,” his eyes widen as a burst of panic explodes across his face, “through our—”
His voice dies as one hand clutches at his chest, and he gasps for air. His fingers twist, clawing at the perfectly pressed cotton of his shirt.
“Dad!” I leap forward as he topples over like a tree. I reach out, attempting to slide my arms around him. Instead of stopping his descent, I get taken down. I’m no match for his girth. He crashes onto the wood floor with a thump and the wind gets knocked out of me.
For one brief second that stretches for eons, utter silence swamps the room. My heartbeat gallops in my ears as I gape at my father’s ashen face. He stares back sightlessly as his mouth hangs open.
And then all hell breaks loose.
“Griffin,” Mom screams, dropping to her knees. She clutches his arm before pressing her fingers against his neck. “Summer, call an ambulance!”
Unable to stop staring at my father, I drag my arm from beneath him and scoot back on all fours until my back slams into the paneled wall. My brain clicks off, no longer able to process my surroundings. I can’t shake myself from the strange stupor that has fallen over me.
“Summer,” Mom shouts, louder this time. The panic filling her voice has my own hurtling to the surface. “Call 911!”
Oh God.
I need to call an ambulance.
Something is wrong with Dad.
A sob threatens to escape as I drop onto my hands and knees. Pain shoots through my bruised shins as I crawl toward the door. My body trembles as I rise unsteadily to my feet and stumble toward the foyer where I dropped my backpack when I walked through the door only fifteen minutes ago. Tears streak down my face as I rip open the zipper and frantically rifle through the bag.
“I’ve already called,” says a deep voice. “They’re on the way.”
My head jerks up to meet Kingsley’s hard-edged stare.
Before I can utter a sound, he swings away, leaving me alone in the foyer. Ice seeps into my veins as I stare into the study. Mom is hunkered over Dad, pressing on his chest. Her voice wobbles as she counts off compressions before pinching his nose and breathing into his mouth.
One, two, three, four, five…
Chapter Twelve
Mom, Austin, and I sit huddled on an uncomfortable fabric bench in the waiting area of the emergency room. There’s a handful of other people who have taken up sentinel like we have, waiting for news regarding a loved one. It feels like we’ve been here forever, and we still don’t know what’s going on with Dad.
The last sixty minutes continue to play on a vicious loop inside my head. Nothing I do makes it stop.
Stepping inside the house and hearing the raised voices.
Dad and Keaton arguing about the contract.
Keaton gleefully informing Dad that I’ve been sleeping with his son.
The disappointment and shock that had filled my father’s eyes.
Him clutching his chest and toppling over.
Oh God…
Is this really happening, or have I become trapped in a nightmare?
Dad is only in his late forties. I’m not saying he’s in the best shape of his life and could run a marathon, but for the most part, he eats right and exercises when time allows. He’s always been strong and healthy. There’s no reason he shouldn’t pull through this.
And yet, that does nothing to alleviate my concerns.
It took the paramedics fifteen minutes to arrive at the house. And during that time, Mom never stopped administering CPR. Dad was still breathing when they rushed in, converging on him before checking his vitals, securing him on a stretcher, and loading him into the back of an ambulance. Mom and I jumped into the Volvo and followed behind.
On the way to the hospital, I left a message on Austin’s phone before calling the school. Luckily, Mrs. Baxter was still working in the office and was able to get a hold of the head football coach. Five minutes later, Austin was in the G-wagon and heading to the only hospital within a sixty-mile radius. We arrived twenty minutes ago, and Austin rushed through the emergency room doors not ten minutes after that.
Mom swipes at the tears that leak from the corners of her eyes with trembling fingers.
“He’ll be fine.” Unsure how to comfort her, I rub soft circles over her back. “Dad is a fighter.” The idea of losing him is almost unfathomable. He’s the backbone of this family. How could we possibly survive without that?