“What happens if he doesn’t have the surgery?” Aidan asked grimly.

Her anguished expression said it all.

Choking on the lump in his throat, he turned to the window of his dad’s room, but the blinds were drawn so he couldn’t see inside.

“Go,” Veronica urged. “You’re his son. You should see him first.”

He hesitated. Christ, he didn’t want to walk into that room. Didn’t want to see his father lying there, hooked up to machines. Their encounters were sad enough as it was.

But he had no choice. This was his father, for chrissake.

Taking a breath, Aidan opened the door and walked inside.

Tim Rhodes was lying on a hospital bed in the middle of the private room. His dark hair, still full and free of gray, looked greasy and unkempt. His dark eyes were closed but snapped open at Aidan’s entrance.

“Aidan,” his dad said gruffly.

As he approached the bed, he grabbed the nearby metal chair and dragged it closer to his dad. Sitting was a damn good idea—his legs were close to buckling from seeing his father so pale and beaten.

“Hey, Dad.” He swallowed. “How’re you doing?”

“Still alive, so that’s something.” The attempt at humor fell flat, and neither man smiled at the joke.

“They said you need surgery.”

“If my heart is strong enough to allow it.”

Aidan’s throat was so tight he could barely force out any words, but he managed one wobbly question. “Were you having heart problems again?”

“None that I knew of. I’ve been taking care of myself ever since the last one five years ago. Eating right, exercising, I even quit smoking last year.”

It spoke volumes that Aidan hadn’t known that. Conversations in which they shared any part of their lives were few and far between, and his heart constricted painfully as he realized he hardly knew the man lying on the bed. This was his father, damn it, and he knew nothing about him.

“I’m glad you came.”

The emotion lining Tim’s voice came out of left field, startling Aidan into saying, “You are?”

“Of course I am. You’re my son. Is it so shocking that I’d want to see my son before I died?”

Panic erupted in his chest. “Don’t f**king say that. You’re not going to die, Dad.”

“There’s a chance my heart will stop on the table. Doctors said so.”

“There’s also a chance it won’t.” Aidan battled a spark of resentment. “For once in your life, can’t you be positive about something? You’re always so damn pessimistic, so wrapped up in the bad things instead of focusing on the good ones.”

Rather than look upset by the accusation, Tim’s eyes took on a somber light. “You’re right. And that’s why I’m glad you came, Aidan.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Ever since you were born, I tried so hard to shield you from those bad things you just mentioned. I carried the burden alone, and I know sometimes the frustration and heartache and sadness bled through that strong front I was putting up.”

Aidan had no idea where his father was going with this, and a part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t always there to talk to you, and I’m sorry I never truly let you in and showed you how I was feeling, but it was too damn hard, and I knew that doing it would lead to a conversation I never wanted to have with you.” Tim went quiet for a moment, the steady beeping of his heart monitor the only sound in the room. Then he cleared his throat. “But we need to have that conversation now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In the event that I don’t make it through surgery, there are some things you need to know, Aidan.”

Claire was climbing the walls. She hadn’t heard from Aidan or Dylan in two days, and if one of them didn’t walk through that door soon, she was going to freak the f**k out.

“Honey, I’m hoooooome.”

From her perch on the couch, Claire froze, wondering if she’d imagined that familiar singsong voice. Dylan?

No, her mind had conjured it up, cruelly making her believe her prayer had been answered and Dylan had just walked in the door.

“Claire? Aid?”

Her heart nearly jumped right out of her chest when Dylan strode into the living room.

God, she wasn’t imagining him. He was here.

“Oh, thank God!” She lunged off the couch and hurried toward him, throwing herself into his strong arms so hard their chests collided with a violent thump.

“Hey, now,” he said with a laugh, his arms coming around her waist. “What’s with the dramatic hello?”

Claire hugged him even tighter, breathing in his woodsy scent and sinking into the familiar hardness of his body. She pulled back to run her fingers over his week’s worth of beard growth, and searched his playful green eyes for any sign that he’d gotten injured during his mission.

He looked completely fine, an observation that brought a rush of relief. Still, she couldn’t help but demand, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Dylan grinned. “Not a scratch on me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He glanced around. “Where’s Aidan?”

The question sent Claire’s spirits plummeting back to freak-out mode. “Chicago,” she said bleakly. “His dad had a heart attack.”