Part 21 (1/2)

Dr. McClean just nodded, and Julie turned toward the man on the bed. Dragging in a long, shaky breath, she squared her shoulders and crossed to his bedside, reached down and clasped his frail hand. It felt just as cold and lifeless as Alex looked, and a wave of pity washed over her. Oh Alex. Sitting down beside him, she bent down close to his ear.

”Alex, it's Julie. Can you hear me?”

At first he made no move, just lay there in silence, the only sound the high-pitched bleep of the heart monitor.

She swallowed past the hard ache in her throat. ”Alex, it's Julie.”

A slight movement, then his eyelids fluttered and slid open. He looked at her and made a faint nod of his head.

The ache in her throat grew more fierce. Alex was the father she never had. He had been there since her first struggling days at UCLA. He was her friend and mentor; she couldn't stand to see him like this.

”Patrick is coming,” she whispered, fighting desperately not to cry. ”You just rest and everything will be all right.”

His eyes slid closed. He managed the faintest shake of his head. She felt a whisper of movement as he tried to squeeze her hand, then his fingers fell open, limp and unresponsive. Oh, G.o.d, he was telling her goodbye. He believed he was dying and he wanted to say his farewells to the people he loved.

”You're going to be all right,” she whispered fiercely, her throat so tight she could barely speak. ”You have to be. Patrick needs you. I need you.” Her voice broke. ”Please, Alex, you can't leave us now.”

But his eyes didn't open and his fingers didn't move. Julie bent over him and kissed his sunken cheek, silent tears streaming down her face. ”Don't go,” she whispered. ”I love you so much. Don't go, dear Alex. Please don't leave us.”

Gentle hands clasped her shoulders. Patrick urged her up from the chair and turned her into his arms. She hadn't heard him come in, yet she was glad, so glad that he was there.

”It's all right, love. My father wouldn't want you to cry.” His touch was gentle but his face looked grim. Harsh lines cut into his brow and the skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones.

”We have to help him, Patrick. Surely there is something we can do.”

”You've spoken to Dr. McClean?”

”Yes, but...he sounded so hopeless.”

He led her a few feet away. ”Whatever happens, it's in G.o.d's hands now. All we can do is pray.”

She leaned against him, rested her head on his chest. ”I don't want him to die, Patrick.”

”I know, love, neither do I.”

”It hurts, Patrick. G.o.d, it hurts so much.” They stood there in silence, clinging to each other, Julie crying, Patrick stroking her hair.

Julie lifted her head, used the tissue the doctor had given her to dab at the wetness on her cheek. ”I'll be all right, now.”

But she didn't look all right. She looked pale and shaken and he wished he could do something to take that haunted look away. Turning toward Nathan, he motioned for the big male nurse to take her out of the room. Val watched her go, feeling the weight of her grief, the painful tightening in his chest that he had felt before. Julie loved Alexander Donovan. Losing him was tearing her apart. Strangely enough, her pain seemed also to be his.

Val waited until she was gone, then sat down in the chair beside the bed, his attention fixed on the frail man lying nearly lifeless beneath the sheets.

”h.e.l.lo...Father.”

Watery blue eyes slid open. Shrewd eyes, perceptive, even in the face of death. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Val wondered what the old man might say if he were able to speak.

”Take it easy. You need your rest. You need to try and get some sleep.” So far he had spent little time in the old man's company, just stopped by the house on occasion as Patrick would have done. He didn't want to chance more. If anyone would notice the differences in Patrick Donovan since Val's arrival, it was his father.

He stirred faintly on the bed. One hand was frozen by the stroke, the other started to tremble. He was trying to lift it, Val saw, to reach out and touch his son. Val took the old man's hand and the moment their fingers brushed, a fierce ache constricted inside him. His throat hurt. A lump formed so thick and heavy he feared he would choke.

”Father,” he whispered, knowing the emotion he was feeling was grief. It came from Patrick, was the same pain Julie felt, though Val was able to distance himself, keep the unwanted emotions at a manageable length.

It was Julie he was worried about, Julie who would suffer at the death of someone she loved.

In an instant, his decision was made. Knowing he shouldn't, that whatever happened was best left in the hands of fate, Val leaned closer. Alex Donovan's eyes were closed but the thin veined hand still clung to his. Digging into his pocket, Val removed a small silver plate half the size of a dollar bill and a quarter of an inch thick. It was for medical emergencies. The body he occupied was human, after all. Any number of problems might occur.

Val freed himself from the fragile grip, pressed the plate into his palm then once again reached for the old man's hand. He wasn't sure how much good it would do. The stroke had obviously done extensive damage. But perhaps it would help and if Alex Donovan lived, it would also help Julie, make her terrible sadness go away.

He sat there for several minutes more, then removed the silver plate and shoved it back into his pocket. When he stood up, he saw Julie standing at the door.

”What was that?” she asked as he approached.

”What was what?”

”I thought I saw you put something...” She glanced away, a little embarra.s.sed. ”Never mind. I can't seem to think straight with Alex the way he is.”

The doctor walked up just then. ”I think we should let him get some rest.” He flicked a glance at Patrick. ”Are you planning to spend the night here or...” Or do you have other more important plans than your father's last night on Earth, his condemning look said.

Val knew he was thinking of the first stroke Alex had suffered, of the all-night party Patrick had been attending, the girl he'd shacked up with after that. He hadn't gotten home to receive the news till late the next day. In the meantime, his father was very nearly dead.

”We'll be staying, of course,” Julie answered defensively, reading the train of the doctor's thoughts. ”I'm sure Mario has already made up our rooms.”

The doctor continued to stare at Patrick.

”I'm staying,” he said.

The older man's mouth softened faintly. ”Good. Your father said you had changed since your heart attack. Perhaps he's right.”

Val said nothing and neither did Julie. He had definitely changed. He just hoped, if the old man lived, he wouldn't realize exactly how much.

Sixteen.

Julie alternated between bouts of weeping and fierce determination. Alex Donovan wasn't the kind to give up, and neither was she. There was always a chance he would live.

But as the hours crept past, the chance seemed more and more remote. At ten o'clock, he slipped into a coma. At midnight, his condition remained the same. At 2:00 a.m., Julie sat in the hall outside his door silently weeping.

Patrick had just gone in.

He came out a few minutes later. ”The doctor says he's resting peacefully, which is exactly what you need to do.”

”I'm not leaving. I couldn't sleep, anyway, even if I tried.”

Patrick stayed up, too, sitting beside her on the sofa Mario had ordered placed in the hall, his shoulder solid and comforting beneath her cheek when she finally did fall asleep. She wondered what he was thinking. She remembered how devastated he had been by his father's first stroke, the guilt he had suffered for not being there when his father needed him. He had been nearly unable to function.

This time he seemed far more in control, resigned in some way to accepting whatever fate Alex might suffer. He was a rock of support for her and Nathan, and his strong, rea.s.suring presence helped them through the hours until dawn. She awakened to find his hand gently stroking through her hair.