“I’ll take you,” Blake told him. It was instant. He didn’t even think twice. He turned to me and asked, “You coming?”

   I didn’t know why he asked me to go, but I wasn’t going to say no.

   Josh switched the lights on as he waited by the door. “Get your shit,” Blake said. “We’ll meet you at the front door.”

   I started toward the storeroom. “What about the cleanup?” I shouted over my shoulder.

   “I got it,” he answered with the phone already to his ear.

   What would normally have been a fifteen-minute drive took five. Josh had the car door open and jumped out before we even came to a complete stop. After finding a parking spot and turning the car off, Blake turned to me. “Tommy is Josh’s son.”

CHAPTER SIX

   Chloe

   Josh was pacing back and forth in the waiting room when we walked in. He paused for a moment when he saw us but then continued. “They won’t let me see him,” he shouted to no one in particular.

   Blake approached him but gave him his space. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

   “I mean that bitch didn’t put my name on Tommy’s birth certificate, so I have no fucking right to see my own son. Where the fuck is she, Blake? I’m here, so where the fuck is she when our son’s in there?” He pointed at the swinging doors next to the nurses’ station. “He’s my fucking son!” he shouted again, this time for their benefit.

   Blake took a brave step forward and put his arm around Josh’s shoulders. As they headed out the door, Blake spoke quietly, with his head bent, his words meant for only Josh.

   I took a seat and waited. Honestly, I felt a little out of place. And hospitals—particularly this one—weren’t filled with good memories.

   A few minutes later, they came back in. Josh looked a little calmer as he slumped down on the seat opposite me. Blake sat next to me. His arm rested along the back of my chair. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

   “Uh-huh.” I nodded. My eyes stayed on Josh. “Josh?” I asked. He looked up from the floor. He seemed to have aged a decade in the half hour since I’d watched him skateboarding so freely in the bowling alley. Then it clicked—why I had had that feeling when I was watching him. That was his escape. His hideaway from reality, where he could just be a kid again, instead of raising one. “Who’s here with Tommy?”

   “His grandparents. Tommy’s mom’s parents. I can’t get hold of them to let them know I’m here.”

   Well, at least there was that. At least Tommy had someone.

   A doctor walked in, holding a clipboard. Josh was up and out of his seat instantly. “Is he okay?”

   The doctor looked up at Josh, then Blake and me. His eyes fixed on me, and I knew the moment recognition set in. I slumped in my seat and averted my gaze. “I’m sorry . . .” His voice trailed off.

   “What?” Josh yelped.

   “Oh no! I’m sorry. I mean, I just got here. I don’t know who or what you’re talking about. I just came in to use the vending machine.”

   “Oh God.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Josh fall back in his chair.

   I recognized the doctor. In fact, I’d never forget him. Dr. Ramirez was his name. He cleared his throat. I still refused to look up.

   “Chloe? Is that you?”

   I felt the back of Blake’s fingers skim up and down my arm, but I remained silent.

   Dr. Ramirez sighed. “I’ve been trying to contact you, Chloe. I’ve been sending you letters once a month. It’s important that you come in and see me. Especially with—”

   Glaring up at him, I tried to keep my emotions in check as I said, “Isn’t this illegal—you talking about me like this in front of other people? Surely that violates patient-doctor confidentiality.”

   He rubbed his hand against his graying beard. “I’m just worried about you, Chloe.”

   “I’m fine,” I said. I didn’t want him talking about this—not now—and definitely not with Blake and Josh there. Blake’s hand settled on the curve of my shoulder; he squeezed it lightly.

   I looked down at the floor. I had nothing more to say. I heard the doctor sigh again before the sound of his footsteps faded and then disappeared.

   Several seconds of silence passed. If they had questions, they kept them to themselves, and I was grateful for that.

   “Chloe?” Josh said. He’d stood up and was walking toward me. He squatted down onto one knee so our gazes met. His eyes were filled with tears but clear enough that I could see the pain behind them. He took my hand in his. “I wouldn’t—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option. But you—you know that doctor and he seems to know you. And me—I need someone on my side right now. I need somebody that can help me. I need to see Tommy. I need to see my son. And I need to know that he’s okay. If you could do something, anything at all, to help me, to get me closer to him . . . I’m asking—no, I’m begging you—please, please help me.”

   A tear fell. Not his—but mine.

   I nodded, stood up, and made my way to the nurses’ desk. “Can you please page Dr. Ramirez?”

   Five minutes later, Josh was led in to see his son. I’d promised Dr. Ramirez I’d come in for a checkup. I’d lied. I’d even given him a phone number. Not mine. But Josh was able to be with his son. And that was all that mattered.

   “That was a good thing you did.”

   I looked up from dumping sugar in my coffee. We were on the floor of the waiting room and had an assortment of snacks and beverages between us.

   “I didn’t do anything, Blake.”

   He shook his head slowly. “You might not think so. But Josh—he’ll remember that forever.”

   I replaced the lid and took a sip of the coffee. It was nearly two in the morning now. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing there, but I couldn’t leave, and truthfully, I didn’t want to.

   Blake cleared his throat and looked up at me through his lashes. “So, that doctor knows you? He’s been sending you letters?”

   I slumped my shoulders, heaved a sigh, and ignored his question. “What’s the deal with him?”

   “Josh?” he asked, then took a sip of his coffee. It must have been too hot because he cursed and sucked the skin on the back of his hand, trying to cool his mouth. I contained my chuckle. He shrugged and continued, “He met Natalie our freshman year—”