The wheels touched down in New York, and Vincent barely registered the landing. His mind was racing. Of all his children, Jules seemed the kindest—the type to listen. A nurse, empathetic, steady. If anyone might give him a chance, Vincent hoped, it would be the son who healed others.
He made his way to the hospital Jules worked at, palms sweaty and stomach roiling. At the hospital, Vincent didn’t mention who he was. Just that he was an old friend looking to speak to Jules McIntyre. The receptionist nodded and asked him to wait. Vincent sat down, clutching his coat, trying to calm the rhythm in his chest that felt too loud, too fast.