“That’s what I left five years ago to do. Now I’m going to get back to it.” Pivoting on his heel, he stalked toward the door. “Run your con game with someone else.”
“This offer stands until midnight tonight. This time tomorrow morning, I will be contacting the hospital.”
“Do what you have to do, Joshua.” Griffin twisted the knob and strode out of the office, fury like jet fuel, propelling him forward and out of the downtown Houston glass monolith that housed the offices of Sutherland Industries.
As he hit the sidewalk, his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. For a moment, he almost ignored it. But at the third ring, he removed it with a soft curse. His stomach clenched before dipping at the name that scrolled across the screen. Quickly, he swiped the ‘answer’ bar and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Griff.” The high-pitched, girlish voice echoed in his ear. And though he smiled, the jagged edges of panic didn’t soften.
“Hey, lady bug.” He closed his eyes and the image of Sarah, the lovely eight year-old girl with the wide brown eyes, pixie features and smooth, bald head flickered across his mind. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine. Mommy’s in the cafeteria for coffee, but I took her phone when she wasn’t looking.”
Griffin laughed, easily imagining Sarah’s impish grin. “That’s my little thief. Although now I’m wondering if I should’ve let you watch Oliver Twist. You seemed to have picked up some bad habits.”
“I’m going to be in a musical when I grow up. I’m going to be the first girl to play the Artful Dodger on Broadway.”
When I grow up. Her proclamation punched him in the chest, leaving a terrible, throbbing ache behind. Opening his eyes, he stared across the street. Only he didn’t see the SunTrust branch but Sarah, with needles and tubes in her arms where the chemotherapy drugs streamed into her little body. Sarah, with her bright pink and purple scarves wrapped around her head, her indomitable spirit not marred by the acute lymphocytic leukemia attacking her system. Sarah, soldiering through the vomiting, the mouth sores and listlessness that plagued her as a result of the disease.
Griffin had met the little girl five years ago when he hired her father, Jessie. He’d become close with the tough, native Floridian and his pretty, shy wife Mary Ann. And their cherubic daughter, Sarah, three years old at the time, had stolen his heart. Griffin loved the little girl as if she were his own niece, just as he considered her father his brother-by-choice. When she’d been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, he’d been by her and her parents’ side. He’d rejoiced when she’d entered remission—and cried when a month ago, the disease had returned. For the past three weeks, Sarah had been in the hospital receiving an aggressive chemotherapy treatment. The drugs took their toll, yet Sarah remained cheerful, hopeful and a beacon of light to the adults who loved her.
“I plan to be in the front row. Make sure in your interviews, you tell everyone if not for me, you wouldn’t have had your start.”
She giggled. “Deal.”
“Good.” His smile faded. “How’re you feeling, lady bug?”
Sarah’s soft sigh squeezed his heart in a punishing fist. “Okay. Just tired.” A heavy pause. “I heard Mommy crying last night when she thought I was asleep. She thinks I’m going to die,” the little girl whispered.
“No, she doesn’t,” Griffin quickly assured her, detesting hearing the word ‘die’ coming from her. It seemed blasphemous she even thought the word much less spoke it. Sarah should be running around a playground, singing, dancing, hanging with her friends like other eight year olds. Not lying in a hospital bed listening to her mother weep in the dead of night. “She’s just worried about you, sweetheart. She’s your mom, so it hurts her that you’re sick and hurting. That’s all. We all know you’re going to kick this. And as soon as the doctors okay it, I’m taking you to New York so we can see Wicked.” He’d bought Sarah the soundtrack, and the little girl loved it, and talked frequently about wanting to see the play.
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart.” He sketched the symbol over his heart even though she couldn’t see the gesture.
“Okay. When are you coming to see me?”
Cursing his father for taking him away from the little girl who needed him, Griffin tightened his grip around the cell. “I had to come home to Texas for a few days,” he explained, his tone revealing none of the anger swirling inside him. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“Good,” she chirped. “I was looking out my window this morning. When are you going to build my playground, Griff? I can’t wait to see it.”
Again, rage ripped through him. Sarah’s playground. The one he planned to construct on the land his father now owned and had designated for a parking lot. Damn him. To Joshua, the property was a bargaining chip. To Griffin, it was a promise he’d made the first time Sarah had been sick. The property had become available three months ago, and Griffin had jumped at the opportunity to buy it and grant an oasis of joy to children like Sarah where they could forget the disease that ravaged their bodies. Even for those who weren’t well enough to zip down the slides or soar for the sky on the swings, they could look out on it and hope and dream for the day they could. That land was his gift to Sarah and all those children.
And Joshua had stolen it with no thought but to his own wants and end game.
Not that his father’s schemes and machinations or Griffin’s pride mattered when it came to Sarah. None of it did.
“I’m still working on it, lady bug. But I promise you’re going to have your playground. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”
“Nope, never.” Her delighted laughter tripped down the line. “Are you going to bring me a gift?”
Griffin chuckled, shaking his head. “You got it. What do you want?”
“A Dallas Cheerleader Barbie!”
“Of course you do,” he drawled. It looked like he would be making a trip to the toy store.
