“We’ll be right outside.” Wyatt kissed the top of Melanie’s head and smiled at Hope.
The nurse closed the door after they left and pulled the curtain around the bed. She pressed a few things on the monitor and checked Hope’s IV. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“Who are you?” Hope’s tears were already drying up.
“I’m Clarisse, one of the nurses. You’re at the hospital.”
Hope looked down at her arm. “I broke my arm.”
“Yes, you did. Do you remember falling?”
Hope shook her head.
“It’s okay.”
Clarisse turned her attention to Melanie. “We should try and keep her calm. The bed in ICU will be ready in about an hour, until then I’m going to keep visitors away.”
Melanie looked at the monitor. “What happened?”
“Her pulse shot up. Then I heard the yelling. She’s had enough stress.”
“I’m tired,” Hope said, closing her eyes.
“You sleep, sweetie. I’m right here.”
Melanie nodded toward the door and slipped away from the bed with the nurse. In hushed tones, she explained the situation.
“Hope doesn’t know her father. He’s just reentered the picture and seems determined to cause chaos.”
Clarisse frowned. “I’ll notify risk management and the nursing director. Maybe they can talk with him and let him see how his impact isn’t helping the situation right now.”
“Thank you.”
Clarisse left the room, and when Melanie turned back, Hope was already asleep.
Jo started into Nathan the minute the three of them were clear of the lobby doors.
“How stupid can you be? Hope has a head injury, you asshat. The last thing she needs is her sperm donor coming in to screw things up more inside her head.”
“Fuck you, JoAnne. She’s my kid. I have rights.”
“You have squat. You gave up your rights when you walked away.”
Wyatt didn’t want to yell at the man, he simply wanted to punch him. Maybe bruise up his left fist to go with his right.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. And if you try a stunt like that again, I’ll slap handcuffs on you so fast your cocky grin will slide right into hell where you belong.”
Nathan took a step way too close to Jo for Wyatt’s comfort.
“Just try it. False arrest, false imprisonment.”
“Obstructing justice, threatening a peace officer, interfering with police proceedings.”
“All right, enough.” How the hell did Wyatt become the calm one? “Much as I’d love to kick your ass right now for what you pulled in there, the last thing Melanie needs is this.”
Nathan put both hands in the air and waved Wyatt toward him. “Let’s go, Redneck. You just throw the first punch.”
Wyatt clenched his fists, his jaw tight. It would be so nice to see blood on Nathan’s three-piece suit. He heard his father’s voice inside his head . . . “Don’t throw the first punch, son; throw the last.”
He forced his fists to unwind and turned his attention toward Jo. Without turning his back on Nathan, he said to her, “I think Mr. Lewis has a few questions to answer.”
“Damn it.” She waved a hand in the air at Nathan. “We’re not done.”
“Not by a long shot.”
Then Jo ran toward her squad car, leaving the two of them behind.
Wyatt took one last look at Nathan, turned on his heel, and walked to his truck.
His mother answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t our long lost son calling, even if it’s close to eleven.”
He hadn’t even thought of the time when he dialed their number. “Yeah, sorry. I should call more.”
“And visit more.” His mom was the quintessential housewife during Wyatt’s youth and still took the role seriously while heading up a dozen charity organizations and causes that helped define her as something other than the wife of William Gibson, otherwise known as the defense attorney to some of the most prominent people in the country, the man you called when you knew damn well you were guilty but had enough money to pay your way out of jail time.
Wyatt was the polar opposite of his father, but unlike most of the kids he grew up with who were all but bullied into the family firm, big companies, or startups that dotted Silicon Valley, William always encouraged Wyatt to take his own path.
He remembered once, when he was a kid, the road trip that took them up the coasts of Northern California, Oregon, and into Washington State. The three of them had stopped in a town a lot like River Bend, and he and his father tried to toss poles into a stream to fish. They didn’t catch anything, probably because of all the talking they had done. William had confessed that if he were to do it all different, he’d trade his life for something simple . . . like a small town in a nowhere place where people were kind to each other. Where defending property lines and lot usage would way outnumber violent crimes and the nasty people who did them.
Wyatt knew, deep down, that was why he’d chosen the life he had.
And his parents had always encouraged him to do it.