followed them to the loading dock, and one of them walked up to me.
“You’re his daughter?”
I could only nod.
“You did the right thing.”
The other paramedic shouted, and he answered before turning back to me.
“We’re taking him to Hollywood Presbyterian.”
“Okay,” I said as he climbed into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors. It peeled out from the loading dock, lights flashing, siren blaring. I staggered, and two hands reached out to steady me. They were Grace’s.
“Is there someone I can call?”
Forty minutes later, a faded red Prius pulled into the alley. At first I thought it was a crew member coming back from dinner, but then a familiar-looking boy got out. He was tall with broad shoulders and wore a Yankees cap, and I rushed forward and fell into his arms. They were strong, and he held me as if we’d never fought, as if he hadn’t cheated and I hadn’t used him.
“It’s all right,” Liam said. “It’s going to be okay.”
There were so many things I wanted to say: thank you; fuck you; I’m scared. But the words locked up in my throat, so I just pushed away and climbed into the Prius’s passenger seat. Liam got in, glanced briefly at me, then handed me his phone.
“The address is already in there. Just tell me where to turn.”
He fumbled with the oddly placed gearshift, then backed out of the alley onto Orchid Avenue. He stepped on the gas, and the Prius hummed toward Hollywood Boulevard.
Other than “go straight” and “turn here,” I said very little. In return, he didn’t ask how I was holding up, or offer a further apology. He just drove, and I was grateful. After a few blocks, it hit me that the car smelled like perfume. I looked down and spotted a handful of hair ties cinched around the gearshift. Liam saw my face and said, “It’s not . . . This is my buddy’s girlfriend’s car.”
My shoulders relaxed. Jealousy was a pretty ridiculous emotion given the circumstances.
When we got to the ER, Liam came with me to the desk and stood close as the receptionist calmly told me that yes, my father was here, but no, she didn’t have any further information, and no, I couldn’t see him right now. She told me to take a seat, and that somebody would call my name when there was more to tell.
Liam guided me to a worn vinyl chair and sat down next to me. When I didn’t do or say anything, he grabbed my small hand with his larger one.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied, shifting in his seat. “So, your dad. Is he . . . ?”
“He was conscious when the ambulance came.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.” I picked at a hole in the chair’s upholstery. A glance at the clock told me that only four minutes had passed since we’d checked with the nurse.
Liam shifted in his chair. “I want to talk about something, but I don’t want you to feel obligated if you’re not up to it.”
“Okay,” I said, dreading another chain of apologies or excuses, but grateful at the prospect of something else to think about.
Liam seemed to get more uncomfortable. “It’s just . . . You’re the first girl who’s ever called me and asked for an eighteen-wheeler on short notice.”
I laughed out loud. So loud and for so long that the other people in the ER waiting room must have thought I needed the psych ward. Little did they know.
When I had calmed down and wiped the tears from my eyes, I told Liam what had happened—from the call from Flynn Bissette to my wrecking the RV. It was strange; even after all the drama between us, I still felt like I could trust Liam. Talking to him was easy, but not effortless like it was with Ripley. Like it had been, I reminded myself. On impulse I checked my phone, but Ripley still hadn’t replied. I thought about calling him to tell him what had happened to Dad but decided against it. He might see it as manipulative, me exploiting yet another crisis to make up for my awful behavior. And maybe he would be right.
Before I had time to consider it any further, a voice called my name.
“Elias Dante Jr.?”
I jumped out of my seat. “Yes?”
The man standing in the doorway wore a white lab coat—so he was a doctor, not a nurse. I strode across the waiting room to him.
“I’m Dr. Saroyan, your dad’s cardiologist.”
“Is