Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
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The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Dr. Mitchell’s face as she delivered the news. “The stroke was caused by a clot that broke free during the AFib episode. We’ve placed Mr. Cartwright in a medically induced coma to give his brain time to heal and reduce the swelling.”
My hand tightened around Ford’s. He hadn’t let go. Not once since he took my hand at the Brewhouse. Not on the long ferry ride across the sound to the mainland. Not on the drive to the mainland hospital. Not now. And that contact was the only thing keeping me from falling completely apart as the doctor continued to talk.
My first instinct had been to pull away, to handle this the way I handled everything—alone. But for once, I couldn’t make myself do it. Couldn’t pretend I was fine. The thought of facing this without support terrified me more than accepting his help.
The medical terminology washed over me in waves. Tissue damage. Anticoagulants. Potential outcomes. I caught maybe one word in three. This was everything I’d been terrified of happening since the summer he’d been diagnosed all those years ago.
“When will you know if…” My voice cracked. I couldn’t finish the question.
“The next seventy-two hours are critical.” Dr. Mitchell’s expression softened. “I wish I could give you more definitive answers, but right now we’re monitoring and waiting to see how he responds to treatment.”
Ford’s thumb stroked across my knuckles. “What’s the best-case scenario?”
“If the swelling reduces and there’s minimal tissue damage, we can begin reducing sedation. But I need to be clear—even in the best case, your grandfather will have a long recovery ahead.”
I nodded mechanically, trying to process it all. Pop had always been my rock, the one constant in my life since I was eight years old. The thought of losing him left me reeling. How could there possibly be any kind of life without Pop? The Brewhouse wouldn’t be the same without him in that corner booth or pitching in behind the bar.
“Can I sit with him?”
“Of course. The nurse will take you to his room. Just remember, even in a coma, patients can often hear what’s happening around them. Talk to him. Let him know you’re there.”
Ford squeezed my hand. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
I shook my head. If he let me go, I’d crumble. “Stay. Please.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I can do this alone.”
The admission cost me. I’d spent so many years proving I didn’t need anyone, building walls to protect myself. But walls weren’t much use when your world was crumbling.
His eyes met mine, full of understanding and something deeper I wasn’t ready to examine. “Whatever you need, Bree. I’m here.”
The ICU nurse led us down a maze of sterile corridors that all looked the same. The antiseptic smell burned my nose, bringing back memories of the last time I’d been in a hospital. After the AFib attack that had earned Pop this diagnosis.
Ford’s solid presence at my side kept those memories from drowning me.
Room 412. The nurse pushed open the door, and my breath caught. Pop lay still as death in the hospital bed, tubes and wires connecting him to an array of beeping monitors. His weathered face looked sunken, gray. This wasn’t my Pop. My Pop was larger than life, always moving, always doing. Even after he’d officially “retired,” he never really stopped working.
Now he looked small. Fragile. Old.
My legs threatened to give out as we approached the bed. Ford’s arm slipped around my waist, steadying me.
With trembling fingers, I reached for Pop’s hand. His joints were knotted with arthritis from decades of working on boats and behind the bar, but his grip had always been strong. Now his hand lay limp in mine.
“Hey Pop.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “You really scared us back there. But you’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”
The steady beep of the heart monitor was my only answer.
“You can’t leave me, Pop. Who’s going to tell me I’m working too hard? Who’s going to share coffee with me in the morning and tell me stories about the old days?” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Who’s going to help me keep Monty in line when he tries to do something else outrageous with beer? I need you.”
I squeezed his hand, willing him to squeeze back. “You’re all I’ve got left. You’re the only one who’s never left me. You can’t start now.”
I don’t know how long we stayed. I don’t remember what else I said.
Eventually, the nurse came back. Her gentle touch on my arm pulled me from my daze. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over. You can come back first thing in the morning.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending. Leave? How could I leave him here alone?
“Come on.” Ford’s voice was soft near my ear. His hand remained steady at my waist as he guided me into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My legs felt like rubber. The weight of decisions I needed to make pressed down on my shoulders. I had to call Monty about covering the Brewhouse. Had to figure out where to stay tonight. Had to?—
My breath hitched. The walls of the corridor started closing in.
Ford’s arms came around me, solid and real. His chin rested on top of my head as I pressed my face into his chest. The salt and sandalwood scent of him wrapped around me like a security blanket.
God, I’d forgotten how safe he could make me feel. How he’d always been able to ground me when everything else spun out of control.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? I’d let myself believe in that safety once before. Let myself need him. And then he’d left.
My fingers curled into his shirt, anyway. Just for right now, I told myself. Just until I could think straight again. Just until I could stand on my own.
His heart beat steadily under my ear, and I wondered if he could feel mine trying to break free of my chest. If he knew how terrified I was—not just of losing Pop, but of falling back into old patterns. Of trusting. Of needing.
I’d always prided myself on being strong, on never needing anyone. But maybe real strength was knowing when to let someone help carry the load. Even if just for a night.
We stood there in that sterile hallway, neither of us speaking. Neither of us moving. His thumb traced circles on my back, and I fought the urge to melt further into his embrace.
Digging for some reserve of strength I didn’t know I had, I eased back far enough to look into his face. “Thank you for coming with me. For getting me here. But you should get home to Peyton.”
“Peyton is covered. Mom and Mimi have her. Right now, my only priority is you.”
My only priority is you. The words echoed through my head, seeming to gather heft and weight with each repetition.
God, how many times had I dreamed of hearing that? How many nights had I lain awake wishing he’d chosen me over the Navy? Over his brothers? Over anything?
But this wasn’t that. This was Ford being Ford. The good guy who always showed up when people needed him. Who always tried to do the right thing.
Except for that one time. That one devastating time when he believed doing the right thing had meant leaving.
I needed to remember that. Needed to hold on to that truth to keep from reading more into this moment than was really there. He had Peyton now. A daughter who needed him. Who deserved to be his priority.
This was just one night. One emergency. Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal, and I’d be handling things on my own again. The way I always had.
But right now… right now, he was here. His arms were around me, and I was too wrung out to pretend I didn’t need it.