The End - Blackbird book 7

13. family affairs

Connor waited until he was sure his mother was asleep. Then he cleared his throat. Brock was able to remove his eyes from Gillian's face and look up at him.

"Sir, there's something I need to tell you."

Brock's eyebrows came down in a questioning scowl at the boy's tone. He had something to confess. And that could only mean something about Andrea. Brock nodded as his mind rewinded at full speed back to the weekend they'd spent in DC. And realized in growing horror the teens had a thousand opportunities to make the worst mistakes while their parents were too busy working. Or kissing. How could he be so fool to trust Gillian's son as much as his mother did? As if he'd never been eighteen himself!

Connor grimaced. "I know you don't like to share any part of your work life with Andrea, because you wanna keep her... unaware, as a way to protect her."

Brock grasped the key word: work. That, and the way the boy held his phone, as if presenting exhibit A to his own trial, allowed Brock's heart to beat again.

"Yes, that's right," he said, as grave as the boy.

"Well, I..." Connor shrugged. "It was earlier today... I was alone here when they took Mom to the OR, and outta my mind. I needed to talk to someone and I..."

"You told Andrea," Brock completed curtly.

"Not all of it. She was at school, so I texted her..." Connor sighed. "I asked her to call me when she got home 'cause my mom was in the ER."

Brock glanced down at the boy's phone. "And she's home now."

Connor nodded with another quick grimace.

Before Brock could answer, his own phone buzzed. He scowled deeper at seeing it was Andrea.

"I'm sorry..." muttered Connor as Brock stood up and headed out to take the call.

"Dad! Where are you? How's Reg? Connor's not replying to my texts! What happened? Are they okay?"

Brock waited while Andrea asked all her rushed questions. As he heard her sweet voice so upset, he recalled when he was committed after being tortured by the militia. It'd been Gillian's call to tell Andrea about his condition. She'd never told his daughter any more than necessary: he'd been injured while working on a case and he'd need some time to be on his feet again. Andrea had never asked further than that. Not to him, at least. And he didn't think Gillian would go into gore details.

"She's fine, dear. She's out of surgery and sleeping now. Connor is with her," he said, rock-solid calm to comfort her.

"And where are you? Tell me you're with her! You gotta make sure she's fine!"

"I'm at the door of her hospital room, Andrea. Don't worry, I'm taking care of her."

Andrea let out a relieved sigh. "Take care of Con too, please. Make sure he eats and sleeps. He won't leave Reg's side if you let'im. How is she? What happened?"

"She's fine. She'd be home in a few days."

Andrea understood her father wouldn't tell her what had happened and didn't insist—she could always ask Connor. "So you're there with them?"

"Yes, dear."

"O-okay... Good. Well, can you tell Connor to call me? And tell Reg I said hi."

"I will." Brock saw Russell walk out of the elevator. "I'm sorry, dear, but I gotta go now."

"Sure. Go. And stay with her, Dad, please. Take care of her. Love you."

"Me too. Call you back later."

"Please. And tell Con to call me too! Bye."

Russell got to his side as Brock disconnected. Connor smiled at them through the glass wall and Russell signaled at him to come out.

"Hey, Russ. Mom's slee—"

"Why aren't you taking your grandpa's calls?"

Brock was surprised at Russell's curt voice, matching his frown at the boy. He'd never seen Russell playing parent with Gillian's son, but it didn't strike him as impossible, considering how close Russell was to them.

Connor arched his eyebrows, not the least bit intimidated. "He called you?"

"Three times already. 'Cause you're hanging up on him. Why would you do that?"

"If I was shot, what d'you think Mom would do?" Connor replied, angry. "Would she call or would she be right by my side? Well, that one in there is his daughter. His only child. So he should be here, not on the phone."

"I'll be right back," muttered Brock, and made a tactical retreat to the vending machine. He was dying to hear what they said about King Gillian. But witnessing such a domestic argument fell far off his jurisdiction.

However, he overheard the conversation while he waited for his coffee. He didn't worry about a stroke over so much caffeine in his system. After all he was in a hospital.

"He's on a plane as we speak, kiddo. He was in San Diego when Reg was shot. D'you know how far that is? It's a six-hour flight. That's why he's calling instead. 'Cause he can't be here for another couple of hours."

"He shouldn't have bothered. He never did, so why start now?"

Russell stiffened at the bitter reproach in Connor's reply.

"What're you saying, kiddo? Reg and you are the King's only family. How can you expect'im to stay away when she's still fighting for her life?"

Brock sneaked behind him back into Gillian's room. She was still sound asleep, lost in sedatives. From his chair by her bed, he heard Connor's sharp answer, even when the boy kept his deep voice low.

"I didn't see'im around when Mom was injured and trapped in that building, and he was hardly two miles away. As far as Back Bay! But he was there to have'er shot down like a dog. So he don't get to play the worried father anymore."

Brock looked up at them, taken aback. Russell's face reflected his surprise, but he put it aside and threw an arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him closer to hug him. Connor clung to Russell, and his shrugged shoulders told Brock he was fighting hard not to break down in tears again.

"You're right, kiddo," said Russell, still holding him tight. "You're right. We'll wait for Reg to say if she wants to see'im."

"Keep'im away, Russ. I'll punch'im if he shows up here now."

"Don't worry. I will."

Watching them, Brock recalled what Andrea had just said about looking after Connor too. So he decided to gamble his luck on his authority. He gave them a moment to calm down and showed at the door.

"Connor, you've been here six hours," he said. "Why don't you go grab a bite at the cafeteria and take a little break? I'm staying here."

Russell patted Connor's back with an encouraging smile. "Brock's right. Let's get us a late lunch and some fresh air."

The boy glanced past him, at Gillian, breathed deep and looked up at Brock again. "Don't let'im in."

Brock only nodded, just as serious.

Russell scoffed, patting Connor's arm. "I wouldn't wanna be the King if he tries to come anywhere near your mom on Brock's watch," he said. "Let's go, kiddo. I'm starving."

"Connor," said Brock when they started to the elevators. "Andrea's waiting for your call."

The boy was able to smile. "Thanks, sir. I'll call her in a while."