14. Skylar
Chapter 14
Skylar
T he sun beats down mercilessly as I kneel in Birdie's lush garden, my fingers buried deep in the rich soil. Sweat trickles down my spine, and I can feel my shirt clinging to my back. The heady scent of roses and lavender fills the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned dirt.
"Skylar, darling, you're working too hard," Birdie calls from her shaded perch on the patio. "Come take a break before you melt into a puddle."
I glance up, squinting against the glare. Birdie sits like a queen on her throne, a tall glass of something that's undoubtedly spiked with bourbon beside her. "I'm fine, Birdie," I call back, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "Unlike some people, I'm not afraid of a little hard work."
"Cheeky girl," she retorts, but I can hear the fondness in her tone. "I'll have you know I've done my fair share of gardening in my day. Why, there was this one time in Morocco..."
As Birdie launches into another of her colorful stories, I return my attention to the flowerbed. My hands move almost of their own accord, weeding and pruning with practiced ease. It's mindless work, but there's something soothing about it. Here, with my hands in the earth and Birdie's voice washing over me, I can almost forget about the mess that is my life.
A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead, and I laugh as I swipe at it with my wrist. My skin comes away smeared with dirt and dotted with colorful petals. For a moment, I'm struck by how fitting it is—I'm a mess, inside and out.
"What's so amusing down there?" Birdie inquires, her story apparently finished.
I shake my head, still smiling. "Nothing, just thinking about how I probably look like some kind of flower-covered swamp monster right now."
Birdie's laughter rings out, clear and bright. "Oh, my dear, you could never look anything less than lovely. Even covered in dirt and sweat, you're still the prettiest thing in this garden."
Her words warm me more than the sun ever could, but I roll my eyes to hide how much they affect me. "You need your eyes checked, Birdie."
"My eyes are just fine, thank you very much," Birdie huffs. "It's your self-perception that needs adjusting."
I don't respond, focusing instead on a particularly stubborn weed. Birdie's kindness is a balm to my battered soul, but it also stirs up feelings I'd rather keep buried. Affection, gratitude, the dangerous hope that maybe, just maybe, I've found somewhere I belong.
But I know better than to let myself believe that. People leave, that's just how it is. Better to keep my walls up, to not get too attached. Even to someone as wonderful as Birdie.
"You know," Birdie says softly, breaking into my thoughts, "you remind me so much of myself at your age. All prickly on the outside, but with such a tender heart underneath."
I look up at her, my chest tight with emotions I can't quite name. "I'm nothing like you, Birdie," I say, my voice huskier than I'd like. "You're...you're extraordinary."
Birdie's eyes soften, and for a moment, I think she might cry. But then she squares her shoulders and fixes me with a stern look. "Nonsense. You're every bit as extraordinary as I am, Skylar Marie Deveraux. And don't you dare argue with me about it."
I duck my head, hiding my smile as I return to my work. The sun continues to beat down, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite as oppressive anymore.
I pause in my weeding, glancing up at Birdie with a frown, unable to ignore the obvious any longer. Something's off about her today. She's been sitting in her usual spot on the patio, she’s still chatty and complimentary as ever, but her movements are slower, more deliberate. And there's a cloudiness in her eyes I've never seen before.
"Birdie?" I call out, wiping my dirt-streaked hands on my shorts. "Everything okay?"
She blinks, focusing on me with visible effort. "What was that, dear? Oh, yes, yes. I'm fine. Just...just a bit warm, I suppose."
“Maybe you should take a break inside?”
"You know," she starts, then trails off, her brow furrowing. "I was going to say something, but it's slipped my mind."
I stand, worry gnawing at my insides. This isn't like her at all. Birdie's always sharp as a tack, ready with a witty comment or sage advice. But now...she seems to be fading the longer we’re outside.
"Maybe we should take a break," I suggest again, trying to keep the concern out of my voice. "It's pretty hot out here."
Birdie nods, seeming relieved. "Yes, that's an excellent idea. Why don't you join me for some iced tea?"
I make my way to the patio, settling into the chair beside her. The cold glass she hands me is a welcome relief against my overheated skin.
"Look at those butterflies," Birdie murmurs, gesturing towards the garden. "Aren't they lovely?"
I follow her gaze, watching the delicate creatures flit from flower to flower. "They are," I agree softly, stealing another glance at her.
What's happening here? I wonder, fear coiling in my stomach. Is this just the heat, or is it something more serious?
"You know, Skylar," Birdie says suddenly, her voice stronger. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate all your hard work. This garden...it's never looked better."
I swallow hard, touched by her words but still uneasy. "Thanks, Birdie. I love working in the garden. It's...it's become a kind of sanctuary for me."
She reaches out, patting my hand. "I'm glad, dear. Very glad indeed."
We sit in silence for a moment, sipping our tea. I want to ask her if she's feeling all right, if there's anything I can do. But the words stick in my throat. I'm not used to caring this much, to being this afraid of losing someone. Not since I lost Theo.
Stay detached , a voice in my head warns. Don't get too close. You know how that ends.
But as I watch Birdie, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight, I know it's already too late for that.
I turn back to the garden, watching the butterflies flit through, bees buzzing from flower to flower.
Suddenly, Birdie makes a strange, strangled noise. My head whips around, heart leaping into my throat. Her face has gone ashen, eyes wide with panic.
"Birdie?" I reach for her, my voice trembling. "What's wrong?"
She waves a hand dismissively, but I can see the effort it takes. "Nothing, dear. Just a bit of...indigestion, I'm sure."
But there's something in her eyes, a flicker of fear that sends ice through my veins. This isn't right. This isn't Birdie.
"Don't give me that," I snap, my worry manifesting as anger. "Something's wrong. Tell me."
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see the fierce, independent woman I've come to love. Then her shoulders slump. "Perhaps...perhaps you should call an ambulance, Skylar. Just to be safe."
My hands shake as I pull out my phone. "What are your symptoms?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I dial.
"Chest pain," Birdie admits quietly. "And...and my left arm feels numb."
Oh God. Oh God, no.
As I explain to the dispatcher, my eyes never leave Birdie. She's pale, too pale, and her breathing is labored. I'm halfway through describing her symptoms when it happens.
Birdie's eyes roll back, and she slumps in her chair.
"Birdie!" I scream, dropping the phone and lunging for her. "No, no, no. Stay with me. Please, Birdie, stay with me."
My hands are on her shoulders, shaking her gently, desperately. This can't be happening. Not Birdie. Not the only person who's truly cared about me in years.
Don't leave me, I think, tears blurring my vision. Please don't leave me alone again.
The world blurs around me, a kaleidoscope of fear and panic. My chest heaves as I try to breathe, but it feels like I'm drowning. Birdie's limp form before me is all I can focus on, her pale skin a stark contrast to the vibrant flowers surrounding us.
"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?" The EMT’s voice cuts through my haze. I blink, realizing I'm still on my knees beside Birdie's chair. I don't know how long it's been but the EMTs are here now, thank God.
"Yes," I choke out, wiping furiously at my tears as I look up at the man towering over me. "Please, you have to help her."
"I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me," he tells me, his tone professional but kind. "Can you tell me what happened before she collapsed?"
I try to speak, but my words come out in a jumbled mess. "She...we were just sitting here. Having tea. And then she...she made this noise. And her arm...she said her arm was numb."
The EMT nods, jotting down notes. "Anything else?"
"I don't know," I sob, frustration rising. "I should have noticed sooner. I should have—"
“It’s okay, hon,” his partner says as she kneels down next to Birdie. “We’ve got her.”
The EMTs move swiftly, their calm efficiency both reassuring and unnerving. One checks Birdie's vitals while the other asks me more questions.
“Did she say anything else before collapsing? Any other symptoms you can remember?”
I rack my brain, but it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. “She...she looked pale earlier. Maybe a little tired. But she always brushes it off, says it’s just age catching up with her.” My voice wavers, guilt heavy in my chest.
The female EMT glances at her partner, a silent exchange passing between them. “Okay, ma’am, we’re going to get her to the hospital now. She’s stable enough to move, but time is critical.”
I watch as they secure Birdie onto the stretcher, strapping her in with practiced care. Her head lolls slightly to the side, and I resist the urge to reach out and smooth back her hair.
“Birdie?” I whisper, as if saying her name might wake her.
“She’s unresponsive right now, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hear you,” the EMT says gently, as they wheel her toward the front of the house.
I follow closely, my steps stumbling as panic grips me again. The sight of the ambulance parked at the curb feels surreal, like a scene I’m watching unfold in someone else’s life.
When they load her into the back, I step forward instinctively. “I’m coming with her.”
The EMT hesitates, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Unless you’re immediate family, we can’t allow you to ride in the ambulance.”
“I—” My voice cracks. “She doesn’t have anyone else. Please.”
The man softens, but his response remains firm. “I know this is hard, but you can follow us in your car. We’ll make sure she’s in the best hands when we get to the hospital.”
I nod, even though every part of me screams to argue, to demand they let me stay with her. My eyes stay locked on Birdie’s still form as the doors close, sealing her away from me.
"Skylar!"
The familiar voice cuts through my spiral. I whip my head around, my tear-filled eyes landing on two figures rushing towards me. Theo and Cohen. My heart lurches at the sight of them, a confusing mix of relief and anxiety washing over me.
Theo reaches me first, his hands immediately cupping my face. His touch is electric, grounding me. "What happened?" he demands, his green eyes wild with concern. "Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, fresh tears spilling over. "It's Birdie," I manage to choke out. "She...she collapsed. I don't know what's wrong."
Theo's expression softens, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "Oh, Sky," he murmurs, and for a moment, I want to lose myself in his embrace, to let him shield me from this nightmare.
But I can't. Not now. Not when Birdie needs me.
I pull back, my gaze darting between Theo and Cohen. "I don't know what to do," I admit, hating how small my voice sounds. "She can't...I can't lose her."
Cohen steps closer, his presence a solid warmth at my back. His hand finds the nape of my neck, strong fingers kneading gently. "We've got you, Skylar," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through me. "We'll take you to the hospital."
I nod, grateful for their support even as guilt gnaws at me. I should have called the ambulance earlier? What if she doesn't make it?
Theo's arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. "Come on, baby," he says softly. "My car's right over there."
The pet name slips out so naturally, as if the years apart never happened. My first instinct is to protest, to remind him that I'm not his "baby" anymore, but the words die in my throat. Right now, I need this—need them—more than I care to admit.
As we walk to Theo's car, I can't help but notice how seamlessly they work together, Theo and Cohen. Two parts of a whole I never knew existed. Cohen opens the back door, and Theo helps me inside.
"I'll sit in back with her," Cohen says, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "We're right here with you, Sky."
The drive to the hospital is a blur. Theo keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed with worry. "She'll be okay," he says, though I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself. "Birdie's tough as nails, remember?"
I manage a weak smile, memories of Birdie's stubborn determination flooding back. "Yeah," I whisper. "She is."
At the hospital, we're ushered into a waiting room. Hours crawl by, each tick of the clock a cruel reminder of how powerless I feel. I’m not family, so they won’t give me any information. Theo and Cohen flank me on either side, a united front against the uncertainty.
I should be thinking about Birdie, about what this means for her—for us. Instead, I find myself hyper-aware of every point of contact between us. Theo's arm draped over my shoulders, Cohen's knee pressed against mine. Their quiet strength, their unwavering presence.
"Ms. Deveraux?" A nurse calls my name, and I snap to attention. "She’s awake. You can see Ms. Blackwood now."
As I stand, Theo squeezes my hand. "We'll be right here," he promises.
I nod, unable to find the words to express my gratitude. As I follow the nurse down the sterile hallway, I realize I haven't once stopped to marvel at how wonderful Theo and Cohen have been. Their support has been...everything.
I push open the door, my heart clenching at the sight of Birdie propped up in the hospital bed. Her usual vibrancy is dimmed, but her eyes still spark with that familiar mischief as she sees me.
"There's my girl," she says, her voice weaker than I've ever heard it. "Come here, darling."
I rush to her side, clasping her frail hand in mine. "Birdie, what happened? Are you okay?"
She chuckles, but it turns into a cough. "Oh, I've been better, dear. But don't you worry about me. We need to talk about you."
My brow furrows. "Me? Birdie, you're the one in the hospital."
"And I'm afraid I won't be leaving anytime soon," she says, her tone somber. "The doctors say my heart's giving out. It's time for me to make some changes."
The weight of her words crashes over me. "What kind of changes?"
Birdie squeezes my hand. "I'm selling the mansion, Skylar. I need to move to Florida to be with my sister and my niece. They can help care for me."
My world tilts on its axis. "But...but what about the garden? What about—"
"You?" Birdie finishes for me. Her eyes are full of understanding. "Oh, my dear girl. You've given that old house more life than it's seen in years. But it's time for both of us to move on."
I bite my lip, fighting back tears. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Birdie. That house...you...it's all I have."
She cups my cheek with her other hand. "You have so much more than you realize, Skylar. Those boys next door? They care about you. More than you let yourself believe. I see Theo sneaking in and out of the carriage house at all hours."
I shake my head, my walls threatening to crumble. "I can't rely on them. I can't rely on anyone."
"Sometimes," Birdie says softly, "the bravest thing we can do is let others in."
As her words sink in, I realize the future I thought I had mapped out has vanished. And I have no idea what comes next.
The ride back is a blur of city lights and muffled voices. I stare out the window, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, barely registering Theo and Cohen's attempts at conversation.
"Sky?" Theo's voice breaks through my haze. "You want to grab some food?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
Cohen leans forward from the back seat. "We could stop for ice cream. Remember that place with the—"
"I'm fine," I manage, my voice hoarse. "Just...home. Please."
They exchange a look I catch in the rearview mirror, but mercifully fall silent.
As we pull up to the house, I see a familiar figure waiting outside. Austin. My stomach does an involuntary flip. Why is he here?
I stumble out of the car, exhaustion seeping into my bones. Austin's piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, and before I can process it, he's there. His hand, warm and steady, cups the back of my neck. With gentle pressure, he tilts my chin up.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low and intense.
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to scream that nothing is okay. Instead, I hear myself say, "Birdie's selling the house."
Austin's brow furrows. "What?"
"She's sick. And she's moving to Florida," I continue, my voice hollow. "To be with her sister."
Theo steps closer. "What does that mean for you, Sky?"
I shrug, feeling numb and adrift. "I don't know. I guess...I guess I'm out of a home."
The realization hits me like a physical blow. My legs wobble, and suddenly Austin's arm is around my waist, steadying me.
"Easy," he murmurs.
I should pull away. I should stand on my own two feet. But right now, I can't summon the strength to do either.
"Let's get you inside," Cohen says, his voice gentle.
Austin's grip on my waist tightens slightly as we reach the front door. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness settling in my chest.
"You're moving in with us," Austin states, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Just for the summer. I already offered you a live-in position, remember? You turned it down then, but this time you won't."
I blink, trying to process his words through the fog of shock and grief. "What?"
He continues, his voice softening slightly, "This way, Birdie can sell without worrying about a tenant, and you'll have somewhere to stay while you figure out your next move."
I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of pity or ulterior motive. But all I see is that same stoic mask, those intense eyes betraying nothing.
"I...I can't," I stammer, my pride warring with my desperation. "It's too much, I—"
"Sky," Theo interjects gently, "Let us help you. Please."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on me. Part of me wants to run, to prove I can handle this on my own. But the larger part, the part that's terrified and exhausted, knows I need this lifeline.
"Okay," I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds. "Thank you."
As the words leave my lips, I feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Relief mingles with anxiety, gratitude with resentment. I'm leaning on them—on him—and it goes against everything I've taught myself about independence.
Austin's hand moves from my waist to my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You'll get through this. We'll help you," he says, and for a moment, I almost believe him.