Page 45 of The Family Pet

Jury sighed and ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “Yeah, I’m over this for the night.”

A vibration against my hip startled me into taking a step back, and Ridge dragged his phone out of his pocket to glare at it.

He answered with a grin. “Hello, Daddy!” A wide smile flitted across his lips, then vanished.

“What?” I murmured.

A shudder ran through his body.

I hugged him. “What’s wrong?”

Ridge shook his head, and I could hear Uncle Bowie’s voice; however, I couldn’t make out the words.

“Okay. Yes,” he said, then ended the call abruptly before staring at his phone for a moment.

“What happened?” Jury asked, and the palpable fear in his tone let me know that maybe one of his parents passing away had affected him more than he’d been letting on during our visit. I didn’t blame him. Ridge was acting a lot like someone had died, and the longer he stayed quiet, the wider Jury’s eyes became.

“Dad’s in the hospital.” Ridge rested his head against mine.

“Is it bad?” I whispered.

“He says it isn’t,” Ridge muttered, and I could tell he wasn’t sure if he believed Uncle Bowie or not, and I agreed with him. It was difficult to say with Uncle Bowie because he pretended he was fine all the time.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, then slipped my fingers into the hair on the back of his head, comforting him by massaging the area. He dropped his face against my neck, and I held him. “It’ll be okay. I love you, and I’m here for you. Uncle Bowie would’ve told you if it was bad enough to worry.” One small lie wouldn’t hurt.

Ridge froze against me, his muscles turning to rocks, and I wasn’t sure what was wrong until he lifted his head and pierced me with his gaze. “You love me?” He stared into my eyes.

For a moment, I felt like I was falling, then nodded.

Jury cleared his throat in a way designed to attract attention, and I flinched. Ridge smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

“Do you want a lift to the hospital? Where is he?” Jury asked.

Ridge grunted. “Walnut Creek. It’s fine. We’re okay to go.”

“What happened?” Jury’s tone was softer.

Ridge ran a hand along my spine. “Dad was injured during a home invasion.”

My knees wouldn’t hold me up and I started to sink to the floor until Ridge caught me around the waist. “By my dad?” Horror washed through me along with guilt.

“Not him personally or Dad would’ve been ranting about it.” Ridge tightened his grip on me until my knees were doing what they were supposed to do again.

“Is the danger over, then? You said you needed to stay here because of Saint’s father.” Jury pursed his lips. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to the hospital.”

Ridge shook his head. “Probably not entirely, but there is no way I’m staying here knowing Dad’s at Walnut Creek.”

Jury sighed. “You can take my dad’s car. No one is using it. Let me go get the keys.”

It had been a long time since I’d driven, but after we left through the front door of Jury’s house, Ridge began to cry. The stress must’ve been more than he’d been willing to let on, and I couldn’t imagine hearing that my father had been shot; however, I suspected something much worse would happen to my own. But Ridge was close to Uncle Bowie. I took the car keys from him, then put him in the passenger seat. He had to be ready to snap because he didn’t even try to stop me.

The drive to the hospital was a blur because I was upset, too, since Ridge had tears streaming down his face. My heart squeezed. I hated seeing him cry more than just about anything else in the world. Each drop glistened in the light from the dash and made me feel like hell. Once we were downtown, it only took me about fifteen minutes to park the car in a garage, then get Ridge inside the hospital. By the time we were standing in the lobby his face was red, but he wasn’t crying anymore.

Ridge texted Uncle Bowie, and a few minutes later we hopped on the elevator, then rushed to a private room. The second we walked into the room together, Uncle Bowie groaned. His bed was raised so that he was mostly sitting with his head propped up on a mountain of fluffy white pillows. There was an IV in the crook of his right elbow, but other than that he didn’t look too bad.

“Don’t stare at me. I’m only here because I need a small surgery whenever the lazy orthopedic surgeon can be bothered to drag himself into the hospital. They said he was at home sleeping.” He wrinkled his nose and my heart flipped. It was cute.

“It is nighttime,” I pointed out.