This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(120)

“That won’t happen,” she hastens to assure me. “I’m going to do my homework right now.”

“You want a snack first?” I slide the cinnamon loaf across the counter in her direction.

“Homework!” She trots out of the kitchen. “I’ll eat later.”

Entering, Inez almost collides with her as Lottie leaves at a clip, following much more slowly from the front door.

“Hey, Nez,” I greet her. “Yasmen with you?”

“No, she said to tell you she had to get to Grits,” Inez says, “but to save her some cinnamon loaf.”

I give Hendrix an I told you so look before returning my attention to Inez. “Good day at school?”

She hesitates, fiddles with the beads on her backpack strap. “It was… okay. Something happened. I didn’t see it, but I heard about it.”

“Really?” I stand and collect Hendrix’s and my plates, walking them over to the dishwasher. “What happened?”

“The ambulance came,” she says, her voice and eyes lowered.

“Oh no.” I turn to face her. “I hope everything’s okay?”

Harrington takes no chances and will call an ambulance for a hangnail, so it doesn’t seem too unusual. If anything, a few parents have complained about having to foot the bill when “an emergency” could have been handled by the school nurse.

“Was it a student?” I press, trying to see the expression on Inez’s lowered face. “A teacher?”

“It was Adam,” she says, her eyes finally lifting to meet mine. “The ambulance came for Adam, Mom.”

My heart stops—stills—sprints, and I grip the edge of the sink. “Do you mean… Judah’s Adam? Adam Cross?”

Inez nods, her eyes clinging to mine. “Yeah. It was… I didn’t see, but I heard he had a seizure and hit his head.”

“Oh, God.” My hand flies to cover my mouth and I try to catch my breath. “But he… he was okay? Was he conscious by the time the—”

“No.” She shakes her head miserably. “They said he wasn’t.”

I don’t wait for more information.

“I’ll be back.” I grab my purse from the mudroom. “Hen, Lupe should be home in like ten minutes. Would you—”

“Go!” she urges, concern drawing her brows together. “I got ’em.”

I kick off my slippers and shove my feet into the sneakers by the door. Harrington always uses the hospital closest to the school for emergencies. I’ll start there. I can’t worry about Inez’s speculations or if she thinks I shouldn’t be with Judah, or if this will stoke her anger with me. I can’t even care whether Judah would welcome having me there or not. In my mind’s eye, I see my wrinkled pink slip of a grocery list tucked in the pages of Judah’s copy of All About Love. I see bags and bags of groceries on my front porch when we had no food. I see the focaccia basket he ordered thinking I would never even know he’d done it to support me.

A collage of care, a dozen ways he has demonstrated his feelings for me. I know how fiercely he loves those boys. I’m sure his ex-wife will be there, and probably her husband too, but something screams in my head that I should be there. The hole that has been aching beside me since our last conversation—I can’t let him feel that way now. This is what you do to support and be there for the ones you love.

Love?

I stumble, my shoe getting caught on the kitchen rug, or maybe it’s my mind stumbling on this new realization.

Love?

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Inez says, her words hitting my back as I race to the garage door.

I stop and turn, taking a second to study her. “Why, honey? It’s not your fault. I just need to know Adam’s… that Judah…”

Worry crowds my throat and lodges a knot under my ribs.

“I mean I’m sorry for…” Inez licks her lips, eyes cast down. “For before.”

I walk over to her, bracketing her face between my palms and looking into her eyes. “We’re good, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She leans into my shoulder and mumbles into my shirt. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He will be.”

I give her a quick kiss, rush out to the garage, and pray the whole way to the hospital that my words are true.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR





JUDAH


He’s gonna be fine.”

At the doctor’s proclamation, I breathe for what feels like the first time in a year. The relief is dizzying, and I slump against the wall of the hospital room, swiping a shaking hand over my face.

“Jesus.” Tremaine sinks to the chair beside Adam’s bed and drops her face into her hands. “Thank you.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Adam says, though he looks worse for wear with the white bandage eclipsing part of his forehead.

“They probably just wanted a second opinion,” the attending physician, Dr. Carolton, says with a kind smile. “I’m sorry your neurologist is on vacation, but I can assure you the CAT scan shows typical seizure activity for Adam’s condition. We feel confident the complication came from the blow to his head when he fell.”