She nodded. On a different day, in a completely different situation, he’d make some lame joke about the irony of Lilian being the one to think of Wilder.

But he couldn’t manage even that.

He emerged into the waiting room seconds later. Sydney still sat in her same chair as before, knees tucked up to her chest and her arms around them. Why weren’t his legs quicker to take him to her? He should be hugging her, too, unearthing words he hadn’t been able to for Lilian.

But he was too numb.

“Neil!” Indi pushed through a revolving door, her heels clacking on the tile floor, tear tracks staining her cheeks. She flew into him, pulling him into a tight embrace, her purse hitting his back. “She’s not in surgery yet, is she? Please tell me I got here in time. They can’t take her back without—”

“Lil’s in with her now. Room 113. Only two people can be with her at a time.” He peeled the visitor’s badge from his shirt. Hopefully no one would double-check the name. He doubted Indi would be moving slowly enough to be stopped anyway. “It’s just down the hall and to the right. There’s a nurses’ station on the way if you can’t—”

“I’ll find it.” She slapped his badge on her coat upside down and moved past him. Then stopped. “Oh, Neil. That’s . . .”

Neil looked behind her to where a man had paused after exiting the revolving door. The man, tall and clearly uncomfortable, stood awkwardly, his white button-down untucked. Silver tinged his dark hair—premature considering, by the rest of his appearance, he didn’t look older than his early thirties.

Oh, of course. Her fiancé.

Neil turned back to Indi, but she was already gone. He let out a breath, his lungs too tight. He should meet the guy. Introduce himself. Or . . . or talk to Sydney. She had to be hurting, hoping for a chance to see Maggie, too, before . . .

He couldn’t do this. He lurched toward the door Indi had just come in, ignoring the man who’d trailed in after her, ignoring Sydney calling his name.

The cold slammed into him the moment his feet landed on the sidewalk and he doubled over, hands on his knees. This couldn’t be happening. Maggie. A heart attack.

Him. Falling apart.

“Neil.” Sydney’s soft voice broke through his panic just enough to raise his head.

“I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

“You’re not fine.”

“Maggie’s the one who’s not fine and I missed it. I didn’t realize . . .” Somewhere nearby an ambulance siren pierced the air. “It’s been too much for her—all of it. Between you coming to Maine and Wilder’s investigation and the search for JP.” No, JR. Tate Carter.

Maggie didn’t even know that part yet. She didn’t know about Sydney not being Diana’s daughter.

“I should’ve realized the toll everything was taking on her. No, I couldn’t force her to the doctor, but I could’ve at least kept her from slaving away in the kitchen all afternoon yesterday, making that huge meal. I could’ve not dragged her across too many acres to see a blasted treehouse in thirty-three-degree weather.”