Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(63)

The nervousness seeping from Ridge is making my heart ache for him. I move to the edge of the backseat and reach forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to mine and grabs it, then squeezes it tightly.

I want to help him, but I can’t. I don’t know how. All I can think about is how completely helpless I feel, how much he’s hurting, and how scared I am that he might lose Maggie, because it’s so painfully obvious how that would kill him.

He brings his other hand up to mine, which is still gripping his shoulder. He squeezes both of his hands around mine desperately, then tilts his face toward his shoulder. He kisses the top of my hand, and I feel a tear fall against my skin.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against the back of his seat, and I cry.

• • •

We’re in the waiting room.

Well, Warren and I are in the waiting room. Ridge has been with Maggie since we arrived an hour ago, and Warren hasn’t spoken a single word to me.

Which is why I’m not speaking to him. He obviously has an issue, and I’m not really in the mood to defend myself, because I’ve done absolutely nothing to Warren that should even require defending.

I slouch back in my chair and pull up the search browser on my phone, curious to know about what Warren said to the 911 operator.

I type CFRD into the search box and hit enter. My eyes are pulled to the very first result: Managing cystic fibrosis–related diabetes.

I click on the link, and it explains the different types of diabetes but doesn’t explain much more. I’ve heard of cystic fibrosis but don’t know enough about it to know how it affects Maggie. I click a link on the left of the page that says, What is cystic fibrosis? My heart begins to pound and my tears are flowing as I take in the same words that stick out on every single page, no matter how many pages I click.

Genetic disorder of the lungs.

Life-threatening.

Shortened life expectancy.

No known cure.

Survival rates into mid- and upper thirties.

I can’t read any more through all the tears I’m crying for Maggie. For Ridge.

I close the browser on my phone, and my eyes are pulled to my hand. I take in the unread words in Ridge’s handwriting across my palm.

I need you to move out.

Ridge

Both Warren and Sydney spring to their feet when I round the corner to the waiting room.

“How is she?” Warren signs.

“Better. She’s awake now.”

Warren nods, and Sydney is looking back and forth between us.

“The doctor says the alcohol and dehydration probably caused her . . .” I stop signing, because Warren’s lips are pressed into a firm line as he watches my explanation.

“Verbalize for her,” I sign, nodding my head toward Sydney.

Warren turns and looks at Sydney, then refocuses his attention on me. “This doesn’t concern her,” he signs silently.

What the hell is his problem?

“She’s worried about Maggie, Warren. It does concern her. Now, verbalize what I’m saying for her.”

Warren shakes his head. “She’s not here for Maggie, Ridge. She doesn’t care how Maggie’s doing. She’s only worried about you.”

I bury my anger, then slowly step forward and stand directly in front of him. “Verbalize for her. Now.”

Warren sighs but doesn’t turn toward Sydney. He stares straight at me as he both signs and verbalizes for us. “Ridge says Maggie’s okay. She’s awake.”

Sydney’s entire body relaxes as her hands go to the back of her head and relief washes over her. She says something to him, and he closes his eyes, takes a quick breath, then opens them.

“Sydney wants to know if either of you need anything. From the apartment.”

I look at Sydney and shake my head. “They’re keeping her overnight to monitor her blood sugar. I’ll come by tomorrow if we need anything. I’m staying a few days at her house.”

Warren verbalizes again, and Sydney nods.

“You two head back and get some rest.”

Warren nods. Sydney steps forward and gives me a tight hug, then backs away.

Warren begins to turn toward the exit, but I grab his arm and make him look at me again. “I don’t know why you’re upset with her, Warren, but please don’t be a jerk to her. I’ve done that enough already.”

He nods, and they turn to leave. Sydney looks back over her shoulder and smiles a painful smile. I turn and walk back to Maggie’s room.

The head of her bed is slightly raised now, and she looks up at me. There’s an IV drip in her arm, replenishing her fluids. Her head slowly rolls across her pillow as her eyes follow me across the room.

“I’m sorry,” she signs.

I shake my head, not even remotely wanting or needing any type of apology from her. “Stop. Don’t feel bad. Like you always say, you’re young. Young people do crazy things like get drunk and have hangovers and puke for twelve hours straight.”

She laughs. “Yes, but like you always say, probably not young people with life-threatening conditions.”

I smile as I reach her bed, then scoot a chair close to it and take a seat. “I’m going back to San Antonio with you. I’ll stay a few days until I feel better about leaving you alone.”

She sighs and turns her head, looking straight up to the ceiling. “I’m fine. It was just an insulin issue.” She turns back to face me. “You can’t baby me every time this happens, Ridge.”