Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Not sure what else to do, I scrawl a quick note for him, my hand shaking as the pen scratches across the back of the receipt paper.
Carver,
My grandfather is in the hospital. I have to go. I'll be back soon, I promise. Please wait for me.
Your little girl
I place it in the center of the table, stuff my feet into my shoes, and then grab my keys. The cabin door slams shut behind me, and I notice the empty spot where his truck should be.
"Where are you?" I ask as a tiny seed of doubt sprouts fast. He said he wouldn't leave without telling me…but he isn't here. I push the doubt down, crushing that little seed, and lock it away.
No matter what, he wouldn't leave me.
I drive far faster than I should, the winding roads a blur as my mind bounces back to Carver over and over again. Despite my speed, it still takes two hours to make the drive back to Nashville.
Dalton calls halfway into the trip to let me know that Gramps is going to be okay, but until I see him for myself, I'm not sure I'll be able to breathe easy.
I pull into the hospital parking lot a little before ten, and dash inside to find Dalton pacing the sterile corridor outside the ICU, waiting for me. He looks awful, his suit wrinkled, his hair a mess, dark shadows under his eyes.
Maybe it's him I should be worried about. Has he been sleeping? It doesn't look like it.
"Is he okay?" I ask, rushing toward him.
My cousin drags me into a fierce hug, his arms a familiar weight around me as he drops a kiss on top of my head. "He's irritable as hell, so yeah, he's mostly fine."
"Thank God," I exhale, my knees trembling beneath me as relief rushes through me in a dizzying cloud. The whole drive here, I tried to imagine life without Gramps, and I couldn't. He may be overprotective and set in his ways, but he's my family. I can't lose him. "What happened?"
"Dorothy got there to clean this morning and found him passed out on the bathroom floor," Dalton growls. "Apparently, the crazy old man started feeling off and decided he just needed a cold shower to get everything functioning again." He mutters a curse. "How the fuck he expected that to cure his symptoms, I don't know. You know how goddamn stubborn he is."
"Did he know he was having a stroke?"
"He knew the left side of his body wasn't cooperating," he mutters.
"Oh dear," I whisper.
"We had a fucking argument last night." Dalton scrubs a hand down his face, his expression pained. "Jesus, Lena. I thought I killed him."
"Dalton, no." My heart clenches at his confession. "You didn't cause him to have a stroke. You aren't responsible for that."
"You sure about that?" He laughs without humor. "Because it sure seems like it from where I'm standing. This fucking battle between us is the cause of all his goddamn stress."
I fling my arms around him, squeezing him tight. "You aren't responsible," I say fiercely, believing it all the way to my bones…willing him to believe it, too.
He sighs, releasing me. "You ready to go see him?"
I hesitate for a moment, reluctant to let this conversation go, but he has that look in his eyes—the one that says he's done talking about this. Until he works through it himself, nothing I say is going to get through to him. He's too dang stubborn, exactly like the man currently lying in a hospital bed a few yards away.
So I bob my head in a quick nod instead, and we walk toward our grandfather's room together. The ICU is overwhelmingly large and bright, with beeps and hums coming from every direction. But when we arrive at Gramps' room, the noise fades into the background. His room is quiet, peaceful, the only sound the steady beep of a heart monitor attached to him.
"Lena," he rasps from the bed as soon as we enter. His voice is weak, but his gaze is as sharp as ever, his hazel eyes boring into me, missing nothing. The left side of his lip turns down ever so slightly and there's a tiny tremor in his hand when he lifts it, beckoning me forward.
I practically fly across the room, flinging myself at him with tears in my eyes. "I was so worried about you!" I cry, hugging him as tightly as I dare. "You aren't allowed to scare me like that ever again."
He pats me on the back with his right hand. "I had to get you home someway, little bird."
I pull back, my eyes narrowed on him. "That's not funny."
Dalton snorts from the doorway, clearly agreeing with me.
Gramps ignores us both, naturally. He's gotten good at that over the years. The older he gets, the more often he opts not to hear us. "You look different, Lena. What have you been doing up in the mountains?"