Free Will & Patrick Meet the Mob by Leta Blake, Alice Griffiths Page B

flashes in her eyes and she grits her teeth. “I’ll try. It’d be easier if he—”
    “Let’s just stop with you’ll try.” He smiles, saccharine and full of rage. “And let’s hope he lives long enough for you to make the attempt.”
    He leaves her then without waiting for a response. He needs to talk to his grandmother immediately. If anyone can put the kibosh on Tony’s potentially murderous intentions, it’s Eleanora. There’s just something about an angry Italian mother to make a grown man shake in his boots. Tony’s no exception.
    The bitter winter wind bites into his skin as Will finds a bench to sit down and test his blood again. It’s higher after the juice, but still not high enough. He cracks open the next juice and sips it as he walks toward his car to drive to his Nonna’s house.
    He shoots a text off to Patrick: Everything okay?
    The bubbles indicating Patrick is thumbing in a reply linger on his screen a few moments. Great. Watching MasterChef . I want calzones for dinner. How’s Mommy?
    Will’s not going to get into it by text. So he types: Annoying. Heading to Nonna’s now.
    Patrick replies. Just talked to her. She’s going to pull strings for the Hammond sitch.
    Will smiles. That’s good news. Stay in the hotel. It’s probably nothing, but I don’t want you out and about. I’ll explain later.
    The reply comes quickly and dripping with self-pity. Where would I go? No brains to cut into, no patients, no life.
    Will snorts. Hang in there. He starts to type I love you but he catches his breath and quickly erases the sentence, regaining his sanity.
    Instead he sends: I’ll bring calzones.
 

     
    Will sits across from Eleanora in her lushly decorated home office watching her do what she usually does best: get what she wants. He snacks on a turkey and Swiss sandwich Reba brings him from the kitchen and listens hopefully to his grandmother’s end of the conversation.
    “Ron, you must grasp the urgency of the situation. Dr. McCloud is uniquely skilled. He has patients who are quite literally dying for his expertise, and yet he’s a prisoner of this unreasonable, not to say ridiculous, lawsuit and the hospital’s regulations.”
    Eleanora winks at Will and he smiles.
    “Surely the board could call an emergency hearing. You have that power.” Eleanora sighs. She makes a face at Will and waves her hand in a combination of “damn” and “don’t worry.” “I see. Well, if that’s the best you can do—of course, of course. Absolutely, Ron. No good deed unpunished.” She laughs and hangs up.
    Will leans forward, his stomach in a knot. “Well?”
    “Well…” Eleanora shakes her head sympathetically.
    He slumps back in his seat, mustard from the sandwich tangy on his tongue. Patrick is going to be so disappointed.
    “No, no, darling, don’t you worry. It’s going to be fine. Unfortunately, it’s going to be a week before it’s fine. Ron tells me Bruce, you remember him? Bruce Williamson? He’s the president of the board, and no decision can be made final without his very literal stamp of approval.”
    “So?”
    Eleanora puffs and rolls her eyes. “So he’s in a small fishing village in rural China, apparently. Adopting a daughter. His wife’s infertile. It’s been a challenge.”
    Will blinks. “What does this mean for Patrick?”
    “Bruce will be back next week, though, darling, and then your doctor can get back in the operating room.”
    Will lets out a sharp sigh and sets the plate scattered with the crumbs of the sandwich aside. “Crap.”
    “Surely your young man can wait that long, sweetheart. I know he’s just itching to get his fingers in some brains, as he likes to say, but there’s nothing to be done for it at the moment. Patience. It’s not my favorite event, but those who’re good at it tell me it pays off.”
    Will opens his murse and gets ready to test himself again. His blood sugar has been too wonky to trust, but he’s starting to feel like a