32
WHITLEY
When the ambulance finally showed up, I was shaking and exhausted. They put him on a stretcher with a breathing mask on his face and carted him onto the ambulance. Mom went with him, and I promised that I would be right behind them.
My father could be dying.
He could be dying from his cancer.
And it was my fault.
“Whitley,” Gavin said carefully, reaching for me.
“Don’t.” I broke away and turned to English, who had stood by through all of it, keeping the lobby clear and working her magic. “Will you take me to the hospital?”
“Of course. Let me get the car back.” She got on her phone and began demanding a quick response.
Gavin looked hurt, and I couldn’t deal with any of this. I couldn’t even think about it until I knew that my dad would be all right.
“Whitley,” he said a
