You’re not going, and neither am I. We’re a family, and if you won’t fight for our family then I will.”
“Knock yourself out.” He reached for the bottle.
She grabbed it from his hand, and it went flying, smashing into the glass coffee table and shattering it.
The sight of her surrounded by shards of glass cleared the fog in his brain, making way for a moment of clarity. “Don’t move.”
As tears continued to rain down her face, she whimpered.
Standing, he reached for her and lifted her up and off the floor.
Christina wrapped her arms around his neck and curled her legs around his hips. She trembled violently, her tears wetting his face.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” His heart beat fast and hard as fear sliced through the numbness.
“Please don’t let me go, Tommy.” Her chest heaved from the strength of her sobs. “I’d never survive it.”
He tightened his hold on her, blinking rapidly to stop tears that suddenly couldn’t be contained. His chest ached as the dam broke, flooding him with a barrage of emotions he was unequipped to handle. Fear and grief and love and despair... All of it poured forth as Christina clung to him. He’d never cried like this before. Not when his grandparents died or when he found out he had a son he didn’t know about or when Arnold was killed right in front of him.
Something about the sight of Christina surrounded by broken glass had done what nothing else could. It had broken him. Leaning against a wall, he slid down, taking her with him, until they were on the floor. She never let go, holding him through the storm the way she had from the beginning.
He had no idea how long they were there before he found his voice. “I... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean—”
Cradling his face in her hands, she kissed him and wiped away his tears. “We need help, Tommy. We can’t do this alone. Please. Before we lose us...”
He hesitated but only for a second. “Okay.”
* * *
SAM SHOT OUT of bed, going from asleep to running in the blink of an eye when she heard Scotty cry out. Fearing another vomit-astrophe, she steeled herself as she turned the corner in his room and found him sitting up in bed, weeping.
“Buddy, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick again?”
She’d never seen him cry like this, as if his heart were breaking. Sam sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around him. The heat from his body radiated through the thin T-shirt he wore, but he didn’t feel quite as hot as he had during the night.
“I still feel awful,” he said between sobs. “I can’t go to the party.”
“I’m so sorry, and so is Dad. We know how disappointed you are.” And she knew that under normal circumstances, Scotty would never cry over such a thing. “But Dad said last night—and it’s true—there’ll be lots and lots of chances to have fun with your friends and lots of other parties.”
“I wanted to go to this one.”
“I know.” Desperate to find a way to comfort him, she settled him back on his pillow. “How about we have our own little party right here? We’ll watch whatever movie you want and play video games.”
His shoulders lifted ever so slightly.
She was no substitute for his friends, but she’d do whatever she could to fill the void. “You want to get up and try to eat something?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. Not yet.”
“Let me know when you’re ready.” She tucked him in and kissed his forehead.
“Thanks,” he said, “for taking care of me and stuff.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Sure,” he said with the tiniest hint of a smile. “Cleaning up puke is a pleasure.”
“Being your mom is a pleasure. The good, the bad and the ugly. I love it all.”
“Something’s wrong with you if you like the ugly.”
“I hear that every day.” She left him with a smile and went back to her room, crawling in bed next to Nick, who hadn’t stirred. When she placed a hand on his back, the heat of his body alarmed her. She felt his forehead and launched out of bed to find the thermometer Harry had left for her. Running it over his forehead, she gasped when it registered at 104.5. Dear God!
“Nick.” She shook his shoulder. “Babe, wake up. You’ve got to take something for the fever.” Kissing his cheek, she said, “Nick, wake up.” He didn’t respond, even when she shook him vigorously.
Frantic, Sam grabbed her phone from the bedside table and called Harry. “Nick is at 104.5, and he won’t wake up,” she said the second Harry answered.
“Call 911. Right now. I’ll meet you at GW.”
“I can’t leave Scotty with only his detail!”
“Call Tracy to stay with him.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. Harry—”
“Make the call, Sam.”
Her hands shook as she called 911 and requested an ambulance. In the hallway, she said to Darcy, “I called rescue for Nick. He’s unresponsive.”
“Oh my God! I’ll let them know downstairs.”
After nearly dropping the phone in her haste, Sam found Tracy’s number and willed her sister to answer the phone. “Trace! I need you to come over here. Hurry. Nick and Scotty are sick, and I have to take Nick to GW—”
“What? Okay, I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“You have to stay with Scotty.” Her voice broke and tears flooded her eyes. “I can’t wake him up, Trace. Nick. He won’t wake up.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Sam went to Nick and shook him again, looking for something, anything. “Please,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
But like before, he didn’t move.
She laid her hand on his chest where the strong beat of his heart was the best thing she’d ever felt. Then she noted the rise and fall of his breathing. Those were good signs, weren’t they?
It seemed to take hours for the paramedics to arrive when it was probably only minutes. Everything moved very quickly. They had him on an IV and strapped to a gurney in a matter of seconds and were whisking him out of the house, escorted by the Secret Service.
Sam was torn in two very distinct directions—go with Nick or stay with Scotty until Tracy arrived. She looked in on Scotty, who’d gone back to sleep. The fact that he was sleeping
