Zach contemplated that. “Actually, maybe there is.”
* * *
CADE PUSHED THROUGH the revolving door of Northwestern Memorial Hospital and walked up to the visitors’ desk.
“I’m here to see Noah Garrity.” He braced himself for the question he’d been dreading all morning. Friend or family?
“Sign in here,” the front desk clerk merely said, pointing to a clipboard. “Name and time.”
Cade did so, and then waited as the clerk typed something into the computer. She pulled out an ID badge and wrote a number on it. “Room 1502. Elevators are to your left.” She handed him the badge.
“Thank you.” Cade clipped the badge to his suit jacket and headed for the elevators.
He stepped into an empty elevator and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. He stared straight ahead at the doors, refusing to toy with the cuffs of his sleeves, or run his fingers through his hair, or give in to any other kind of nervous gesture. He was doing this for Zach, and that was it. As much as a small part of him had questions for Noah, he had not come here seeking answers or closure. He was no longer a naïve ten-year-old boy, easily duped by a few pats on the back and a couple of nice moments.
And even if that small part of him still cared about the why, he’d be damned if he let Noah Garrity see that.
He didn’t plan to be angry or spiteful. Just businesslike. Emotions would play no part in this visit today.
The elevator doors opened and Cade stepped out. The floor was quiet, the patients’ rooms situated around the perimeter with a nurses’ station in the center. He followed the arrows to room 1502, at the far end of the hallway.
He tucked his hands into his pants pockets, his strides purposefully unhurried as he passed by the other patient rooms. He’d deliberately chosen to wear a suit, skipping the tie since it was Saturday, because he planned to get in and out as fast as possible with an excuse about needing to get into work. But he wouldn’t lie—he also wanted Noah to see the man he’d become. He may not have gone pro in football, but he’d done well by himself regardless. Northwestern University. Rose Bowl champ. Magna cum laude in his law school class. Assistant U.S. attorney. Today, he would wear those achievements like a suit of armor.
I did it all without you.
He spotted room 1502 and slowed when he saw that the door was open. One of the many things that had kept him awake last night was this moment, when he saw Noah Garrity for the first time in twenty-three years. He had a vivid image in his head of a tall twenty-eight-year-old man looking cool and tough in his leather jacket—a man younger than Cade was today. Juxtaposed against that were the portrayals of gaunt, bedridden cancer patients he’d seen in the movies and on TV.
He took a step closer to the door and saw that neither of those images had been accurate. Sitting in one of the chairs by the window, looking out at the view of the city, was a normal-looking fifty-one-year-old man wearing faded jeans and a navy sweatshirt. With the sunlight coming in through the windows, Cade could see gray peppered throughout Noah’s dark hair. He wore gym shoes—not too-cool-for-school work boots or even flashy running shoes—just regular gray Nikes.
He looked like . . . a dad.
Cade watched as Noah stared out the window. He looked lost in thought, and Cade realized then that his first instincts had been right.
This was a bad idea.
The man had just found out he was dying; he undoubtedly wanted to be alone. Now was not the time for a surprise, awkward visit from a long-lost son.
Cade took a step back to leave, but the heel of his leather wing tip scraped softly against the tile floor. Noah blinked, coming out of his reverie, and glanced over.
A look of shock crossed his face, and they both froze.
“Cade.” Noah stood up from his chair, not saying anything for a long time. “How . . . did you know I was here?”
Cade kept his tone impassive. “Zach.”
“Zach?” Noah’s expression was confused at first, and then realization set in. “He came to you because of the tumor.”
“Yes.”
Cade was wholly unprepared for what happened next.
Noah’s eyes welled up. “That’s so . . . exactly the kind of thing he would do.” His voice broke on the last word and he looked down. He said nothing for a moment, and then peered back up. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “This has been an exhausting couple of days.”
He gestured. “Please. Come in. Uh. . . maybe I can pull this chair over from here . . .” Moving awkwardly, as if nervous, he grabbed an extra chair from the corner and set it a couple of feet across from the one by the window.
After they’d both sat down, Noah rested his hands on his legs and looked Cade over. “So, wow. Assistant U.S. Attorney Cade Morgan, in the flesh.”
Though he showed no reaction outwardly, this surprised Cade. He’d had no clue Noah knew he’d become a prosecutor. “How are you feeling?” It seemed like the kind of question one should ask in a hospital.
“Well, it’s been a roller-coaster ride, all right,” Noah said. “But actually, I feel pretty good this morning. They started me on some new steroid yesterday—told me I needed to stay for observation for twenty-four hours to make sure there aren’t any side effects.” He waved in the direction of the hallway, managing a smile. “I think the nurses are pissed that I won’t wear the hospital gown. I told them they’ll have plenty of chances to see me in one of those soon.”