I laughed without humor. “Give me a freaking break, Damien. You lost the right to play the helpful do-gooder when you dumped me. So stop it. I don’t have the time or patience for your contrite BS,” I threw at him.
Damien grabbed my hand and I tried to pull away. He gripped me tightly making escape impossible and I widened my eyes in surprise. “I’ve told you I made a mistake. I’ve made it clear I want you back. We were good together, Ri. Perfect. Stop being so stubborn and let me make it up to you.”
I opened my mouth to say something. I wasn’t entirely sure what would come off my tongue. My mind was a mess of barely firing synapses. But then, as though saved by the hands of fate themselves, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out and saw my mother’s name flashing across the screen and dread instantly uncoiled in my belly. Why would she be calling me this time of night?
“I’ve got to take this…I’ve…” my words trailed off and I put the phone to my ear, hurrying toward the back of the restaurant.
“Hold on, Mom,” I said breathlessly after I answered it. I rushed past the stage and my eyes inadvertently met Garrett’s. They were on a break between songs, Cole was working the crowd and Garrett stood there, as he always did, his guitar around his neck, his hand rubbing up and down the fret board as he waited to play.
His face that had been pinched and closed off changed suddenly when he took in my anxious expression. I knew I looked worried. Because there was no reason for my mom to call unless there was something I should be worrying about. Nighttime calls past ten from your parents never heralded good news.
Garrett recognized something was wrong and his eyes changed just slightly enough for me to see that. I couldn’t think about him, or Damien, anything else. I pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen and practically ran to the smoking area. Thankfully most of the kitchen staff was already gone for the night so I was alone.
“Mom, you still there?” I asked, more than a little out of breath.
“Riley,” my mother’s broken sob on the other end had my knees buckling underneath me. Shit, this was bad.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s your dad,” was all she said and it felt like my heart had frozen in my chest. My face flushed hot and my fingers went numb.
“Is Dad all right?” I asked stupidly. Of course he wasn’t all right! Why else would my mother be calling me at a quarter till twelve on a Saturday night crying? Get with it, Riley!
My mom took a shuddering breath. “Dad’s in the hospital. He’s had a heart attack,” she said haltingly and I felt my world fade to black. Spots danced in front of my eyes and I found it hard to focus.
“What? A heart attack? That makes no sense! Dad’s so healthy he makes healthy people look bad!” I said, knowing I was bordering on hysterical. But this was every child’s worst nightmare. My dad was an ox. My Mr. T and Arnold Schwarzenegger all mushed together in a peace loving hippie package. He was bigger than life and now my mom was telling me that the man who I had hailed as my own personal hero my entire life was in fact very, very mortal.
“Sure he is but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his vices like everyone else. I’ve been on him to quit eating those damn greasy hamburgers at Sal’s. But he swore he exercised enough and drank his wheat germ tea so he’d be fine. Stupid ass man!” I was so taken aback by my mom’s use of curse words that I didn’t respond immediately. My mother never, and I mean never cussed. This was almost as scary as the fact that my dad was in the hospital.
“Will he…I mean, is he going to…” I couldn’t force myself to finish the statement. I just couldn’t ask my mother whether my dad was going to live or die. Somehow putting it into words would give it power. Making all of this way too real.