“I’m coming with you,” I say, slipping my foot into a shoe by the front door.
“No, you’re not.”
I look up at him, somewhat in shock at the harshness of his voice as I slip my other shoe on. He begins to pull the door shut on me, and I slap a palm against it.
“I’m coming with you!” I say again, more determined this time.
He turns and looks at me with hardened eyes. “He doesn’t need you there, Sydney.”
I have no idea what he means by that, but his tone pisses me off. I push against his chest and step outside with him. “I’m coming,” I say with finality.
I walk down the stairs just as the ambulance begins to pull away. Ridge is standing with his hands clasped behind his head, watching as it leaves. Warren makes it to the bottom of the stairs, and as soon as Ridge sees him, they both rush toward Ridge’s car. I follow them.
Warren climbs into the driver’s seat, Ridge into the passenger seat. I open the door to the backseat and pull it shut behind me.
Warren pulls out of the parking lot and speeds until we’re caught up to the ambulance.
Ridge is terrified. I can see it in the way his arms are wrapped around himself and he’s shaking his knee, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.
I still have no idea what’s wrong with Maggie, and I’m scared that she might not be okay. It still doesn’t feel like my business, and I’m definitely not about to ask Warren what’s going on.
The nervousness seeping from Ridge is making my heart ache for him. I move to the edge of the backseat and reach forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to mine and grabs it, then squeezes it tightly.
I want to help him, but I can’t. I don’t know how. All I can think about is how completely helpless I feel, how much he’s hurting, and how scared I am that he might lose Maggie, because it’s so painfully obvious how that would kill him.
He brings his other hand up to mine, which is still gripping his shoulder. He squeezes both of his hands around mine desperately, then tilts his face toward his shoulder. He kisses the top of my hand, and I feel a tear fall against my skin.
I close my eyes and press my forehead against the back of his seat, and I cry.
? ? ?
We’re in the waiting room.
Well, Warren and I are in the waiting room. Ridge has been with Maggie since we arrived an hour ago, and Warren hasn’t spoken a single word to me.
Which is why I’m not speaking to him. He obviously has an issue, and I’m not really in the mood to defend myself, because I’ve done absolutely nothing to Warren that should even require defending.
I slouch back in my chair and pull up the search browser on my phone, curious to know about what Warren said to the 911 operator.
I type CFRD into the search box and hit enter. My eyes are pulled to the very first result: Managing cystic fibrosis–related diabetes.
I click on the link, and it explains the different types of diabetes but doesn’t explain much more. I’ve heard of cystic fibrosis but don’t know enough about it to know how it affects Maggie. I click a link on the left of the page that says, What is cystic fibrosis? My heart begins to pound and my tears are flowing as I take in the same words that stick out on every single page, no matter how many pages I click.
Genetic disorder of the lungs.
Life-threatening.
Shortened life expectancy.
No known cure.
Survival rates into mid-and upper thirties.
I can’t read any more through all the tears I’m crying for Maggie. For Ridge.