words—demands—began pouring out. “How, specifically, has it caught up with him? Heart failure? Some kind of cancer? Stroke? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Kidney failure is the big one right now. There are other more minor diagnoses, but his kidneys are the biggest worry. He’s on dialysis, but he’s too old for a transplant, and his body isn’t holding up well to dialysis.”
Quinn took a deep pull on the drink, considered draining it, then carefully placed it upon the desk.
“What does that mean?” He’d had training as an EMT in the military—hence Ben calling him Doc—but he wasn’t actually a doctor. He hadn’t dealt with dialysis in combat situations, so he didn’t know anything about it. If he’d never gone into the military, he would’ve been better equipped to understand, assuming he’d gotten into medical school as he’d—as they’d both—planned.
Another life. He’d enjoyed his life as a soldier; it was his life as a prince that was stressing him out.
“Some people live a lot of years on dialysis, but his body just isn’t strong enough. He’s had the access port moved twice now. Keeps getting infected and he’s running out of places to put it or the will to let them try another location. He’s already said he won’t be having another one placed.” Philip headed for the decanter and poured his own drink.
After their parents’ unexpected deaths when they were children, Grandfather had stepped up to fill the father role—even when he was busy running the country. Quinn just didn’t know how to process this information. One more thing. A third person to save.
Well, second. Ben and Grandfather. He wasn’t trying to save Anais, and what could he even save her from? Another bad spray tan?
“Not to put pressure on you, but I’m hoping that having you around will give him the urge to fight a little longer,” Philip muttered. “Then I wonder if that’s selfish of me, but I can’t help it. It’s not looking good. I’m glad you’re home. We need you. I need you here.”
“I want to see him,” he said, redirecting his thoughts to what mattered at this precise moment. He could only deal with what was before him.
“He’s sleeping.”
“And I want to see him. I can sit quietly at his bedside, Philip. I will be here tomorrow when he wakes, but I want to see him now. Let me prepare myself so I don’t go in looking at him like he’s a dying man when he sees me for the first time.” He added, more quietly, “Let my first shock be when he can’t see it. I’ve already had two shocks since I got home. I don’t think I can look a third person I love in the eye like that.”
A third person he loved. God help him, he’d done it again.
“Loved. Someone I loved. You know what I mean.”
“Who was the second?”
Not Anais.
“Ben. I should feel bad that I didn’t come here first and see Grandfather, but if I had Ben would be dead. He tried to hang himself in his room this afternoon, and I got there in time to stop him, get help, get him cut down... Which is why I have to see Anais again tomorrow, because I need to go back for Ben.”
And he needed to make those calls still. God, this day really sucked.
His brother nodded to the nearly empty second tumbler. “Drink the rest first. Sounds like you’re going to need it. Will you be staying here tonight?”
“No,” he said first and then, after finishing his drink, shrugged. “I don’t know. Should I? I was going to go to my flat. Unless you think I should stay to see when he wakes?”
Philip shook his head. “You don’t need to stay, but you look rough, Quinn. Your room is prepared if you want to stay. Might do you good.”
Sleep would do him good. He stood again, but it took all the strength in him to follow his brother down the hallways to the King’s suite.
Before they’d even entered, he heard the soft hums and beeps of life-saving equipment and knew Philip had been trying to soften the blow.
But Quinn smelled death. He knew the scent of it by now.
* * *
Anais stood at her favorite treadmill—the one she hadn’t been on since Quinn’s terrible cry for help had shattered her will to hide and sent her running toward him for the first time in years.
Her work day had ended over an hour ago, and Quinn was still on site, still with Benjamin Nettle as far as she knew—as far as everyone knew. A prince couldn’t spend hours a day for three days straight in the building without word getting around.
What she didn’t want to get around? That she’d been waiting for him today. Was still waiting for him. That knowledge would trigger too many questions and the conclusions she needed no one to reach if she wanted to stay. And she had to stay. Her departure from Corrachlean had meant leaving Mom, and they’d spent seven years apart. Visits had been impossible before Anna Kincaid had been born.
Quinn hated her Anna look—she could tell by the way he’d looked at her, as if she’d sprouted some horrifying, self-induced deformity. But she liked it in a way. It made her feel invisible. After fitting in—which she’d never truly done anywhere—being invisible was the next best thing.
But he hated more than her new look. He hated her.
And, really, what could she expect? Aside from expecting to not see him for a long, long time—or ever, if she’d had her way.
The treadmill whirred beneath her feet, and she took one of the safety bars to steady herself as she inched up the speed and the incline. Maybe exercise could wipe her mind, help her zone out and forget she was waiting for him.
The only way she’d kept going after they’d fallen apart was to practice willful amnesia. Not letting herself wonder about him or how he was doing, never thinking about how he felt or if he ever thought of her. She couldn’t do that and keep going. Which probably made her the second person who hadn’t been thinking about how Quinn felt—he never dwelt on anything that hurt. Not for himself. Not for her. Not for anyone, at least when they’d been married. She’d spent darned near a year trying to work him out, and all she had was: he liked sex with her and hated responsibility.
Then, two days ago, she’d learned something else—something that took her breath every time it replayed in her head, hundreds of times per day: losing his fingers hurt him less than she had.
Was he still suffering in the way she never let herself wonder if he was suffering?
She didn’t want to believe it was true. His hatred was real, and he’d definitely wanted to hurt her, so it would be better if she could stop lingering over it. No matter what, her leaving had been kinder to both of them in the long run. If she’d stayed with Quinn until Wayne had followed through with his threats, Corrachlean’s people wouldn’t have been the only ones to think terribly of her; Quinn’s opinion would’ve plummeted into earth too. At least he hated her now for something that was ultimately kinder. Even if she never wanted him to know that.
Maybe that was why, despite knowing he’d been at the facility the past two days, she hadn’t been able to drag herself to Ben’s room to ask him to speak with her.
