7: WHERE'S THEODORE EASTWOOD?

ADRIAN

The private waiting room smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee.

The beeping of machines somewhere down the hall was constant, almost fucking mocking.

This was the Eastwoods’ medical practice, and we were kept on the private floor while waiting for some kind of word on his state.

Sev paced like a caged wolf, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight. Sasha was sitting, drumming his fingers against his crossed leg and looking cool as ever as he watched the TV mounted on the wall. Like he didn’t just hear that his father had collapsed in the middle of a conference and was being lifted by a helicopter to here.

His composure sent a fire of annoyance through me, and I turned away and glanced at Sev.

He was watching Sasha with his arms crossed. When his gaze flicked to mine, he muttered quietly, “I’m worried.”

I nodded, “Me too.”

The door opened and I straightened as Rai walked in. She looked at her sons, and when her gaze came to mine, she broke. A sob cracked out of her as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

My chest tightened.

No. God, no.

Sev stepped toward her. “Mom, what the hell is going on?”

I walked to Rai. “Is he okay?”

She shook her head, frantic. “He needs to tell you himself.”

A sharp jolt of relief shot through me. That meant he was alive at least. But the panic surged still, “Then take us to him. Can he see us? What the hell are we doing here?”

When Igor stepped through the threshold, my gaze flicked to him.

“Igor––”

He held a hand up, silencing me.

Sev and I exchanged a quick look.

“All of you come with me.”

Sasha finally joined the worry party and got up, and we all trailed after our uncle.

Nurses and doctors parted as we made our way to his room, too many people staring and patients ridiculously pointing at me, at my uncle, at Rai.

Security guards flocked us at every angle. In this family, it was a damn near necessity.

When we got to his room, it was dim, humming with monitors and beeping machines.

Sev slowed near the bed, but I didn’t.

I walked straight to him, the smell of antiseptic sharp in my nose. He was naked, strapped to tubes, his skin so pale and fragile-looking under the dim light.

I couldn’t breathe properly for a moment.

“Dad,” I whispered, voice cracking before I could stop it.

Sev asked, “Where’s the doctor?”

“You don’t need a doctor here, dear. Your father should tell you himself.”

Sasha’s voice was colder, more composed. “What’s wrong with you, Dad?”

Dad’s hand lifted slightly. I leaned forward, adjusting the oxygen mask so he could speak more clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice ragged. “I’m sorry for leaving you all in the dark for so long. But I... I can’t…” His eyes locked on mine. When his hand reached for me, I grabbed it, squeezing tightly, unable to help myself. “I have to face reality.”

“Stop beating around the bush.” Sasha warned, “Come out and say it.”

I looked away from our father long enough to glare daggers at the fucking idiot.

The room went silent except for the beeping and the hiss of the machines. I gripped his hand tighter, as if holding it could somehow keep him here, keep him breathing.

And keep him from saying whatever the hell I knew I sure as fuck didn’t want to hear.

Sev’s face mirrored mine, tight with growing panic.

I leaned down closer, heart hammering. “Dad––”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes pressed together, and I watched a tear slip. “I’ve been ill for a very long time, since you all were children. I’ve gotten multiple doctors’ opinions, but... there no longer seems to be any hope for me.” His hand squeezed mine with strength I was surprised he had, “I was a candidate for a clinical trail Theodore Eastwood wanted us to experiment with. But the risks are more than he’s willing to put his name on. It has been shut down.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sev barked, his emotions winning as he came around Dad’s bed.

“I have a degenerative disease. My heart is no longer doing what it needs to do to keep me alive.”

“Well, how much time do you have?”

“Sasha!” Sev smacked his brother’s shoulder. But Sasha ignored him entirely, hands folded as he stared down at our father without any emotion in his eyes.

Haggardly, our father laughed. It was more of a humorous cough, as he wheezed, “Aleksandr, you never fail... to amuse me.”

“Did Theodore say you have a time limit or not?” Sasha pressed.

After a long sigh, our father relented, “There is no cure.”

Shit.

“I’m dying.”

Shit.

“I don’t have much time left.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My dad was dying... and it seemed there was nothing I could do about it but sit and wait for him to kick the bucket?

Was there nothing that could be done?

Nothing at all?

“What risks come with the clinical trials?”

“Loss of motor function,” It was Rai who answered this time, “His hearing and sight may be impaired too. The worst case we know of is irreversible brain damage.” She grasped her thin neck, and I could see the turmoil turning her inside out, “The medicine is too corrosive for someone who has been so sick for so long. Theodore thinks it’s too risky.”

“More risky than death?” Sasha asked calmly.

Uncle Igor shook his head, “Theodore Eastwood is a doctor, one of the best. He has stated going through with it will not be in your father’s interest. His quality of life may be redundant forever if there are complications.”

“If.” I barked, “If, there are complications. There might not be. And if he has no other choice but those fucking trials, then he should do them.”

Igor’s gaze was impatient as he leveled with mine, “Will you be the one to convince Theodore to put his practice on the line to save one man?”

You know what?

I set Dad’s hand down gently, curling mine into a fist as I asked, “Where’s Theodore Eastwood?”