Chapter Sixteen Her

Chapter Sixteen Her

Married, Day Fifty-Four

My run ended too soon. Fearing some Kathryn-supporting neighbor might mow me down in an expensive sedan made getting fresh

air and burning off tension risky. But I refused to hide in the house every minute of the day. I’m not the family member who

should be ashamed. That person sat at the breakfast bar, eating a sandwich. Unfortunately, he didn’t choke on it.

Without saying a word, I slipped into the kitchen and refilled my water bottle while Richmond lectured Wyatt about his grades.

Never mind that it was summer, long before the kid returned to college for his junior year.

“We will not have a repeat of last year’s embarrassing effort.” Richmond finished the comment then took another bite of his

sandwich.

Wyatt, fully flustered and running his hand through his hair, fidgeted on the barstool. “I swear I did the best I could.”

“Bullshit.” Richmond finally lowered the sandwich and gave his son eye contact. “You can’t spend all your time drinking and

going out with friends and expect I’ll fix it for you when you miss your classes and fail out.”

“I didn’t fail. My grade point average—”

“You’re an adult now. Act like it.” Richmond’s angry tone echoed through the kitchen. So did the harsh coughing that followed.

For a few seconds Wyatt just sat there in the eye of the suffocating tension. Part of me wanted to leave. The other part wanted

to stay in case Richmond’s rant got out of hand. Protecting Wyatt from his father’s wrath wasn’t my job, but I still felt

bad for the kid. Being Richmond Dougherty’s son couldn’t have been an easy ride, especially because behind closed doors Richmond’s

demanding nature was second only to his lack of empathy.

Father of the Year.

Wyatt didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He gnawed on his bottom lip and generally looked like he was winding up the courage

to contradict his father. “I’m not sure biology is the right major for me.”

“You need that foundation if you’re going to be a doctor.” Richmond’s coughing died down, but his voice sounded scratchy.

“Is that what he wants?” The question slipped out. It was the obvious one that Richmond should have asked, but he didn’t,

so I tried.

Richmond didn’t look at me, but his hands tightened into fists. “I don’t need your help, Addison.”

“I’m talking to my dad.” Wyatt’s rough tone matched his scowl.

The kid needed to learn when to accept a lifeline. That was a lesson someone else could teach him. I tagged out. “Right. Continue.”

Richmond went back to eating and talking. “You have to be realistic. You’re accustomed to a certain lifestyle. One I don’t intend to provide forever. That means you need to be able to support yourself, and I’m not talking about just getting by.”

“I could do a lot of other things.”

“You need a career. Medicine is the most obvious option.” Richmond’s coughing returned. He picked up his empty mug and moved

it closer to my side of the breakfast bar. “Coffee.”

He had to be kidding. “You can make it yourself.”

Richmond gave me his full attention this time. “You don’t need to be in here for this discussion. It’s between me and my son.”

That guaranteed I was staying. “I wouldn’t want to miss any of your wisdom.”

“Hey.” Wyatt stood up. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

A wheezing sound cut off whatever other gem the kid intended to say. Richmond coughed until he gasped. It sounded like he

couldn’t draw in enough air.

“Dad?” Wyatt looked from his father to me. “Do something.”

Such as? I didn’t know what the hell was happening.

Richmond tugged at the neckline of his polo shirt. “Can’t breathe.”

I stopped lounging against the sink. He had my full attention now.

“Are you choking?” That was the only thing that made sense. But he could talk. That was good, right?

Richmond slid off the stool as if his bones had disintegrated. His body went into free fall and slammed to the floor without

him bracing for impact.

“Dad!” Wyatt tried to pick Richmond up. When that didn’t work, Wyatt sat on the floor and gathered his father’s limp body on his lap.

“Help me.” Richmond grabbed Wyatt’s arm as he gasped. His breath came out as a mix of a cough and rough panting.

The color drained from Wyatt’s face as he looked up. “Addison?”

My body refused to move. Scattered thoughts filled my brain. Saving Richmond now could provide cover for what I had planned

for him later... or I could end this now and be done. Thoughts about letting Richmond die on the floor battled with the

pain and confusion in Wyatt’s voice. Hating Richmond and making Wyatt hold his father while he died were two different things.

I could only live with one of them.

My legs finally worked. I pushed away from the counter and joined Wyatt on the floor, issuing orders as I took over. “Call

911.”

Wyatt rocked back and forth, cradling his father’s convulsing body.

I could not handle this alone. “Wyatt, do it now.”

The wheezing grew louder. Richmond struggled to breathe and talk. Finally, the mumbling made sense. “Pen.”

“He means his adrenaline pen.” Wyatt stood up. His hands shook as reached for his cellphone.

Right. Whatever. “Make the call, Wyatt.”

“He has a severe shellfish allergy. You know that, right?”

So? “He was eating a turkey sandwich.”

Wyatt and I shouted back and forth at each other. Energy surged through me as tension pinged around the room. Every minute felt frantic and out of control. The walls closed in until it was just the three of us in this tiny bit of space. Claustrophobic and frenetic. Sounds and smells crashed together, heightening the chaos.

Richmond rolled on his side, facing me. “Can’t...”

Wyatt yelled into the phone about needing an ambulance. I could barely hear him say the address over Richmond’s desperate

attempts to inhale. His chests rose and fell as he fought for air.

“Where’s his adrenaline pen?” Wyatt was asking me.

Richmond’s wallet. His keys. I knew where he kept those but not a pen. “I have no idea.”

“How can you not know?” Wyatt screamed the question before talking to the person on the other end of the phone again.

I jumped when Richmond grabbed my hand. “Addison...”

Wyatt kept shouting and crying. “Help him!”

Get up . The order filtered through the white noise fogging my brain. I scrambled to my feet then stopped. Looking around the kitchen

didn’t help. I couldn’t focus on anything.

That bag he carried around. The messenger bag. There had to be an adrenaline pen in there. I maneuvered around Wyatt and headed

for the foyer.

“Where are you going?” he cried out.

“I’m getting the pen.” I grabbed the bag and brought it into the kitchen. Turned it upside down and shook it. A stethoscope

fell out and hit the counter with a crack. A blood pressure cuff. Bandages. A bunch of stuff I couldn’t identify.

There, stuck in the side compartment, the needed adrenaline pen. That fast the crescendo of noise bouncing around my brain

clicked off. My heart pounded but my mind cleared.

Wyatt was pacing, not looking at me. I glanced at Richmond. His body shifted and jerked as if he was having a seizure, but

his gaze locked with mine in a look of terror. Of fury.

“Don’t,” he choked out.

Yes, do it. Let him die. End it right here.

My fingers brushed over the one thing that should end Richmond’s torment and save him. But there was another choice. A much

darker one. Temptation pulled at me.

Three words thundered in my brain: He deserves it.