Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(59)

“This way.” San starts walking down the hall, but my feet adhere to the floor, paralyzed with the emotion I’ve stuffed under the anger and frustration of getting here, of getting to her.

“Is she . . .” I clear my throat, fists balled at my sides. “Is she okay? Is she gonna be okay?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder, his face giving away nothing.

“I think so. The doctor’s with her now. They ran some tests.” San starts forward again, and I follow, the fear abating some. “We should know something soon.”

“Aunt Ruthie?” I keep pace with him, but my mind races ahead. “You called her?”

“Yeah, she’s figuring out a flight now.”

“Figuring out a flight? No.” I frown, pulling my phone from my pocket. “I’ll get Bristol to arrange a private flight. She needs to get here as quickly as possible, and I don’t want her worrying about how she’ll pay for it.”

“That’d be great,” San says. “I really appreciate that, man.”

I grab his arm to stop him.

“It’s not some benevolent act from a rich friend.” My voice, despite the restraint I try to exercise, rises. “That’s my girl in there, San. I don’t know how much she’s told you, but we’re—”

“Together, I know.” He bounces a hard look back to me. “And for the record, before she was your girl, she was my best friend. I know you hate it, but she and I have been close a lot longer than she’s been in love with you. She doesn’t need you rolling up in here all possessive and loud and irrational. Keep your shit together. The last thing she needs is you stomping up and down these halls telling everyone she’s yours and you’re together. Stay out of sight when you can and if anyone asks, the two of you are just friends.”

“First of all, I don’t hate that you two are close.” I try to take the edge off my tone. “If there’s anyone I’d trust to protect her besides me, it’s you.”

“Well, thanks for that.” The look on his faces actually says he doesn’t give a damn.

“And second of all, why the hell do you care if people know we’re together?” I point back to the nurse’s station. “I’m not even down as an emergency contact. If you hadn’t shown up, I probably still wouldn’t even know how the hell to find her in this hospital. I’ve been sneaking around for the last month to have anything to do with her. And now you tell me to keep it on the low, too. Why?”

San presses his lips against his teeth, like he’s biting something back. Holding something in. I can’t help but think of the night I found out about Kai’s one-night stand with Drex. Something she’d been keeping from me, San already knew.

“Is there something I should know?” My voice drops, not because I’m discreet, but because the thought of her keeping something critical from me, still not trusting me, sobers the hell right out of me. “San?”

For a minute, our eyes connect, and there’s no doubt in my mind there is something I should know. I hope he’ll tell me, but someone in a white lab coat a few feet up the hall calls his name.

Our eyes stay locked for an extra second before he tips his head in the direction of the doctor.

“I think we got some news,” he says. “Let’s go find out.”

I set my bad feeling aside long enough to focus on whatever the doctor can tell us.

“I’m Dr. Wells.” He looks at me, recognition and curiosity flickering in his eyes, before he turns his attention back to San. “I understand you’re Ms. Pearson’s next of kin?”

“Well, she doesn’t really have any kin, but I’m her emergency contact,” San says. “Ruthie, the closest she’s got to family, should be here soon.”

That reminds me we still need to make arrangements for Aunt Ruthie’s flight. I fire off a quick text to Bristol asking her to charter something to Georgia. I’m giving her details, but the doctor’s words to San pull me into their conversation.

“Did you say pneumonia?” I demand of the doctor. “Kai has pneumonia?”

He looks at San questioningly, silently asking if it’s okay to share information with me.

“I’m her—”

“Friend,” San cuts in over me. “Rhys and I are both Kai’s friends. She doesn’t have any blood left, so we’re all she’s got. You can talk freely to him.”

My teeth grind against each other, frustration like a keg of dynamite in my belly, ready to blow at the slightest spark.

“Mr. Gray, right?” Dr. Wells glances down at a chart in his hands. “Yes, Ms. Pearson has pneumonia.”

“Dammit.” I remove my Dodgers cap, slapping it into my palm. “I should have pushed about that cough.”

“Cough?” A frown draws Dr. Wells’ silvered brows together. “Any other symptoms you noticed?”

“I mean, she’s been on a pretty grueling tour, so I assumed the fatigue was because of that.”

“I’m sure it was,” Dr. Wells agrees. “But her body was trying to fight this with very few weapons.”

“A fever, too,” I add. “Ella, her makeup artist, said she had a fever earlier, but went on anyway.”