Chapter One

Jameson

My first clue that something is wrong—very, very wrong—is the way that Jackson is howling. It’s gone way beyond his usual whiney, grumpy hungry cries. This is terror. Desperation. And it sends my heart beating in a frenzied rhythm in my chest as I race through my father-in-law’s house searching for my child. When I find him, I stop in my tracks, blood running cold by the sight in front of me.

Jackson is holding onto the rail of his playpen, jumping up and down. Now that he’s laid eyes on me, he’s screeching for me.

“Maaaamaaaaa! Maaaaammaaaaa! Goppppppa, Maaaamaaaa!”

“It’s okay, baby! It’s okay,” I yell over his hysterics as I’m jolted back into action. In an instant, I’m on my knees on the carpet, trying to roll my father-in-law over onto his back. Big Win isn’t called “Big” Win for nothing. It takes a substantial effort, but I’m finally able to flip him. I put my ear to his chest and hear the faintest trace of a beat. “Hang on, Jackson. Goppa is going to be okay,” I coo to my toddler at the same time I fish into my pocket for the cell phone.

“Siri, call nine-one-one on speaker,” I command and set it on the floor next to me as I loosen Win’s collar, form a fist with my right hand, and lay my left hand over it.

“Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?” A tinny male voice spits up at me from the floor. I lean over Win’s chest, finding his heart and placing my hands directly above it.

“My father-in-law is non-responsive on the floor of his home. His pulse is faint and thready. My name is Jameson Clarke. I’m an RN, and I’m beginning CPR. We’re at two-twenty-two Masthead Drive in Mayhem.”

One, two, three, four, five…

“An ambulance is on the way, Miss Clarke. I’m going to stay on the line…”

“Fine,” I rasp, “but don’t expect me to talk to you. I’m counting…”

Eight, nine, ten, eleven…

“That’s all right. EMTs are about four minutes out.”

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

“Ms. Clarke? I hear the baby crying. Is the baby all right? Should we be prepared to treat the baby on site?”

“No, he’s just scared…”

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…

I count in my head. I pray.

Twenty-nine, thirty…

I breathe for him.

One, two, three, four, five…

I count again.

This process repeats three more times before I hear the wail of the sirens. They just barely outdo the wails of my child. The wails that rip through my head and my heart, even as I count.

By the time I calm my hysterical son and drop him off with my sister, Hennessy, they’ve already got Big Win in the ICU.

When I arrive, I see my ex-husband, Win, standing there at his father’s bedside, looking confused and overwhelmed. But I’m not surprised—it’s a terrible thing, the first time you realize your father isn’t the indestructible hero you always believed him to be. When you look into his face—once so sure—only to see a tired old man looking back at you. For me, that terrible day was earlier this year when my father collapsed in his pub and never regained consciousness, even as my three sisters and I stood vigil at his hospital bed. For my ex-husband, that day is today.

As I approach, the doctor is saying that it might take a while for my former father-in-law to wake up. Or he might not wake up at all. Either way, everything is about to change—for our entire family. But it’s hard to concentrate on what the doctor is saying as the two of us stand there awkwardly, our eyes glued to Big Win’s large chest as it rises and falls under the blanket with each gentle whoosh of the ventilator.

Dr. Douglas notices our distraction. “Win? Jameson? Are you two getting what I’m saying?”

I look to my ex, who doesn’t appear to have heard a thing, before answering for the two of us.

“Yes, Doctor Douglas. I think so. You’re telling us to be prepared for the worst,” I say quietly. On impulse, I reach over and grab Win’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Listen to me, Win,” the doctor commands. “Your father is one of the most stubborn old mules I’ve ever laid eyes on. Do not, for one second, underestimate his ability to fight his way back from this. I’m just telling you all the possible outcomes because I don’t want you to be blindsided by any of them.”

Now he turns in my direction with, if I’m not mistaken, a little apprehension. “Jameson, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Big Win named you one of his healthcare proxies. That means it’s possible you may need to make some difficult decisions. I know it’s a lot—especially having lost your own Pops not so long ago—but I know you can do it.”

My face furrows in confusion. Win apparently has the same reaction, though decidedly less tactful.

“What?” he demands, pulling his hand from mine. “I’m his son. I’m the next of kin. If there are any decisions to make, I’ll be the one to make them, thank you very much,” he informs us flatly.

I clear my throat and put a reassuring hand on Win’s arm. “Dr. Douglas probably hasn’t heard that we’re…that you and I are…” I stop for a moment to collect myself before trying one last time to spit out a coherent sentence. “The doctor doesn’t know that we’ve finalized our divorce. I’m sure he’s just assumed we’d make those decisions together. No one’s trying to usurp your authority here, okay?”

My voice is soft and calm, as if I’m trying to coax a woodland creature to eat from my hand. Despite the fact that our quickie divorce was amicable, lately it seems as if Win’s temper has gone into overdrive. Now, he harrumphs, but at least he doesn’t shake my hand away. I take that as a sign that I can continue.

“It’s going to be okay, Win. I’ll be here with you as long as you need me.”

His pale gray eyes look down into mine, and he’s all ice.

“I don’t want you here for me, Jameson. I want you to leave. And where is our son? Did you pawn him off on one of your sisters again?” Win hisses at me.

So much for soft and calm. I think it might be time to pull out a crossbow and shoot this particular woodland creature right between the eyes.

“Winston,” I grit out, “you do not get to speak to me that way. Not now, not ever. I’m here for you because I love your father and, whether you believe it or not, because I care very much for you. So stop acting like a jerk. Right. Now.”

For a moment, he looks as if he’s going to spew some more vitriol, but one challenging eyebrow raise from me puts him in his place.

“I’m sorry, James,” he mutters, his face coloring.

I grab his hand again and squeeze it. I know this man better than anyone, and right now he’s masking his fear with anger.

“Together,” I reassure him once more. “We’re in this together—for Big Win and for our son.” I turn my attention back to Dr. Douglas, who’s been watching our exchange with some interest. “Go on, Doctor.”

The kindly older gentleman nods and continues. “Well, I admit I’d heard something about the two of you separating, but I didn’t realize you’d finalized everything already. Regardless, Win, Jameson does indeed have a say in your father’s care as his secondary healthcare proxy.”

“Secondary means there’s someone else,” I point out before Win can do it for me. “Surely that makes Win the primary decision maker…”

I feel Win stiffen next to me as Dr. Douglas shakes his head.

“Afraid not,” he says.

That’s about all my ex can take. He drops my hand so he can gesticulate.

“Then who?” he demands loudly, sounding more like a petulant child than a concerned son. In fact, our own toddler regularly shows more restraint than his father is, right at this second. “Who could possibly trump me, his son?”

“His other son,” Dr. Douglas says coolly.

“What. Did you. Just say?” Win says in a slow, shocked whisper.

I’m riveted by this bizarre turn of events. The doctor couldn’t possibly mean…

“Scott,” Dr. Douglas confirms.

Holy crap.

“Scott?” Win roars so loudly that a nurse sticks her head around the curtain to make sure everything is okay. The doctor gives her a nod of assurance, and she disappears again.

“That’s right, Win. Your brother, Scott, is the primary healthcare proxy, and Jameson is the secondary. Until he arrives, nothing happens here that doesn’t go through Jameson first.”

Oh. This is bad. Really, really bad. Why on earth would Big Win put me in this position? I glance over at him in the hospital bed, chest rising and falling, rising and falling. I sigh and turn back to Win.

“Look, I don’t know what your dad was thinking when he set things up this way, but you know he always has his reasons. So let’s just have a seat and figure some of this out, okay? I suppose the first thing we’ll need to do is find Scott. Where was he last? Lima, maybe? Nicaragua? I suppose the Project Peace Headquarters should be able to track him down…”

Win is shaking his head. “There’s no ‘we’ here, Jameson. You’re the proxy. You find him,” he says coolly, picking up his briefcase and heading for the door. “And good luck with that, by the way. My brother’s a runner. You’ll need to turn over every rock in every third world country to figure out which one he’s hiding under.”

“Oh, come on, Win! Please don’t be like that…”

But it’s too late. He raises a hand and waves it without so much as a glance backward.

“Looks like I’m on my own,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone.

“Jameson,” Doc Douglas begins, “if there’s anything I know about you O’Halloran girls, it’s that you’re never on your own.”