I’d even told him about the weird lady who always came into Rebels and asked questions about my family. I’d served the vodka and Red Bull to her weeks ago, and whenever I tried to ask her questions, or it looked like one of my family was about to approach, she’d take her drink and disappear—leaving a hefty tip each time.
I was attributing her actions to the joys of working in a bar with all kinds of patrons, but Parker wanted me to be careful. Her description wasn’t ringing any bells for him, but with my family, you could never be too cautious.
We’d also been taking it slowly. I’d only ever had sex once when I was eighteen—not that Parker knew that—and with our hang-ups, we needed to take the time. It wouldn’t just fuck up our emotions if we messed this up, it would also have an impact on our family because he was part of us, too.
That didn’t mean we hadn’t had some heated make out sessions, though. There’d even been some hand under the top action, but that’s where it’d ended. So it went without saying that I was feeling slightly… antsy.
I also wasn’t dumb, so there was no way I’d say no to Parker coming to visit.
Me: Absolutely! x
Roughly fifteen seconds after I’d sent the message, the sound of a train horn roared through my home, making me squeal, and the dogs go nuts. I hated that doorbell, and if I could figure out how to remove it, I would.
Remembering too late that I was only wearing a thin bathrobe, I tightened my belt as I went downstairs to answer the door. It was unfortunate that I was dressed like this, but in my defense, I’d been about to get in the shower when he’d text me. Fifteen seconds also wasn’t enough warning to put on regular clothes.
Answering the door looking like a dirty hooker, it was. Well, a dirty hooker in a nice robe.
Hurdling the dogs, I got to the door without having an accident and opened it. When he didn’t say anything, just scanned me from head to toe, I shifted nervously and cleared my throat.
“Christ.”
Taking a step back and waving him in, I explained, “I was about to take a shower when you text. I didn’t even think about what I was wearing until I was coming down the stairs.”
Pulling me closer to him, he rubbed the small of my back with one hand. “Don’t apologize. I love this.”
The ‘this’ was a silky turquoise robe that only came to the knees. Mom had bought it for me months ago, and I loved it.
I was about to make a joke about it, but I noticed the tension around his eyes and mouth and the fact his smile wasn’t reaching them.
“Are you okay?”
Dropping his head onto my shoulder with a sigh, he rumbled, “No. I’m not even close to being okay.”
Leading him over to the couch, I chose a seat and pulled him down beside me. Deciding he wanted me closer, he scooting me toward him, closing the mere inch that’d been between us.
“What happened? Is it Dale?”
Looking absolutely defeated, Parker dropped his head back onto the cushion. “We had a guy brought in tonight who’d been in an accident and had to be cut out of his vehicle. His injuries are incompatible with life, but he had a medical alert bracelet on that said to check his wallet for a letter.”
“You can get that?”
“You can get them engraved with whatever you need,” he explained, rolling his head slightly to look at me. “When they found the letter, it stated if anything happened to him, he was to be put on life support until his liver could be harvested and transplanted into his son.”
“Why was he giving his son his liver? Couldn’t he do that when he was alive?”
One side of his mouth hitched slightly in a weak smile. “Yeah, you can. He was scheduled to donate half of it to his son in Denver in six days.”
“So, what happened?”
“The paramedics did what they could and brought him in. I spoke to the transplant team in Denver about it, and they were going to send a team to do some checks and transport him to Denver and notify the family that the operation was going ahead once they had it. The problem is, they need to check if the accident caused damage to the liver and if they can still use it. It’s up to the team to accept or deny it.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, the double tragedy hitting me. “How old is the son?”
“Fourteen.”
Closing my eyes, I tried to think of a fourteen-year-old being sick enough to need a new liver, and now maybe having lost the chance of getting one quickly and his father, all in one night.