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Standing, I smooth down my shirt. “Hello.” I hold out my hand, but the woman only looks at it. This is uncomfortable, to say the least.
Gram gives her daughter an encouraging nod. “This is Mae. She and Remi are close. He saved her daughter’s life.”
Remi’s father whips his head up, freezing me with a cold stare, but he has yet to say a word to me otherwise. I don’t crumble under men like him. Never have. Never will. If he thinks he can intimidate me, he’s sadly mistaken.
“Mae?” Gram takes my extended hand and places it into the woman’s. “This is Evangeline, Remington’s mother.”
Smiling, I give her hand a small shake. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances, Mrs. Arison.”
Remi’s mother sucks in a breath and snaps toward her husband.
“It’s Fairchild,” the man corrects as if he’s rectifying a high school classroom. “Remington is a Fairchild.” He doubles down, sending Granada a hateful look, and I want to step in between them as a shield. Remi’s father isn’t threatening, per se, but something is off. He’s being calm and cool now, but something tells me he has a thin restraint over his simmering anger.
Gram shakes her head in disgust but doesn’t address her indignant son-in-law.
“Here, Evangeline, take my seat.”
Uneasy, Evangeline slides past me and sits where I once was. Granada stands behind her, both hands on her shoulders. Remi’s mother looks so sick and lost, my heart cracks for her.
“You can talk to him if you want. He can hear you,” I mollify the woman, who looks so defeated compared to the man ready to go on a rampage.
For a minute, the only noise in the room is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.
Remi’s mother speaks, “Son, I’m here.” Her voice is scratchy, like she’s not used to using it. Her thin fingers stroke Remi’s arm. “Mommy’s here, my beautiful boy.”
Remi’s dad clicks his tongue. “Always with the coddling. He’s a fucking man, Eva.” He pulls Remi’s chart off the wall and scans it, seemingly displeased. “They have my son under a goddamn resident,” he scoffs, exhaling through his nose. “We should consider arranging a medical charter.” The man scans the room, but he’s addressing no one. “We should take him back to Los Angeles, to the best neurologists in the country.”
While Mr. Fairchild’s mouth is saying “should”, his cold features suggest he’ll do whatever he damn well pleases. Is this “reasonable guy” act for my benefit?
“Remi’s is right where he needs to be,” Kiara speaks up. “If you put him through transfer now, as precarious as he is, it could do more harm than good. You know that, Father.” She’s struggling to keep her tone in check. After a long-suffering sigh, she adds, “Your son is in the best place he could possibly be.”
At Kiara’s mild defiance, Evangeline clams up, and I want to fight for her. I know an abused woman when I see one. I have a sneaking suspicion her drug abuse is a direct effect of her husband’s verbal and, possibly, physical assault. I scan her arms for bruises that I don’t find, but there is a nagging intuition I can’t shake. This woman is in as much danger as her son right now.
All artificial sincerity dissolves from Remi’s father. It’s as if his skin peels back, revealing the beast disguised as a man. Yep, he’s a sadist. No wonder Remi changed his last name.
“I will do whatever it is I deem fit for my son. You, above all people, should understand.” He flays his daughter with a glare. “I’d hate for something to happen to Jackson and you having to make such a difficult choice.” His tone is conversational, but his words are menacing.
Evangeline visibly shakes as Kiara’s stuttered gasp reverberates around the room. Something else is going on here. Something way deeper than a man upset about his son being in a coma.
“Stop that,” Granada admonishes. “This is not the place for your condemnation.” She points her crooked forefinger to him. “It’s been a long travel day for you. You just found out your son is in a coma, so maybe you should sit down and … reflect.”
Again, everything seems just under the surface, but the air is thick with tension. A dull knife could still be used as a weapon.
“Listen to me, Granada. I will take my son and your waste of a daughter away from here, and you’ll never see them again.” He points at Remi. “Do you think he’s in any position to protest?” My muscles tense, ready to jump in front of any danger. “This is an opportunity,” he says. I want to vomit at the hint of elation in his voice.
I’m a black mambo ready to strike. If he tries anything with Remi, I’ll fucking kill him first.
“You should take Gram’s advice. You’re not helping anyone.” Even though he hasn’t said a word to me, I want to make myself known. My voice may be as serene as his, but my spine is stiff, ready for battle.
Gram squeezes my wrist in warning.
Mr. Fairchild smiles, but it’s the kind an alligator would wear before devouring its prey. Unfortunately for him, I’m no salamander. I’m a motherfucking lioness, and we’re in my territory. I will happily tear up this asshole, limb from limb.
“What’s not helping is your presence here. You’re not family.” When he sees I’m not flappable at his insults, he goes for the kill. “It should be your daughter laying in that bed. Not my son.” This bastard likes to go for the jugular.
I smile imperceptibly. I’ve played versions of this game before. “If you think you’re scaring me, you can save it.” I keep my voice low and pleasant. Remi doesn’t need to feel the stress in this room.
“I wouldn’t be so flippant, darling. You have no idea what you’re up against,” he goads with a candied smile.
