Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
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The late afternoon sun slanted through the hospital windows as Ford and I made our way through the now-familiar corridors toward Pop’s room. It had taken so much longer to get here than I’d wanted. Peyton had begged to come along, those big eyes of hers doing their damnedest to break my resolve. But the doctors had been clear about limiting Pop’s contact with others while he was coming out of the coma, and I couldn’t risk anything setting back his recovery.
In the end, she’d stayed with Willa and Sawyer, a choice which had caught me by surprise until Ford explained that he’d arranged for them to keep Keeley, too. No question, my pup would enjoy a playdate with her best pal, and the prospect of romping with two dogs had brightened Peyton’s mood considerably.
My hand found Ford’s without conscious thought, our fingers lacing together. The contact steadied me, helped keep the wild hope in check. I knew this was far from the end of his recovery. It was just a tiny first step. I needed to remember that it was no guarantee he’d go back to being the Pop I remembered. But it was so hard not to jump ahead to when everything was okay again.
Ford’s thumb stroked along the back of my hand. “You’re practically vibrating.”
“I can’t help it.” The words tumbled out. “After everything that happened, just having him wake up means everything.” Because one of the fears that had been stalking me since his AFib attack was that he’d never wake up again. That I’d never get the chance to say goodbye.
Ford’s grip tightened. “I know.”
The comfort of his presence still felt new, like a gift I wasn’t quite sure I deserved. But I was grateful for it, especially now.
We rounded the corner to Pop’s floor, and I caught sight of his regular nurse, Sarah, coming out of his room. She broke into a smile. “Perfect timing. He’s been in and out, but more alert each time.”
My heart leapt. “Has he said anything?”
“Not yet, but he’s responding to commands—squeezing hands, wiggling toes. All good signs.”
I barely remembered to thank her before pulling Ford toward Pop’s room. The steady beep of monitors greeted us, along with the whoosh of the ventilator they’d kept him on while reducing his sedation.
Pop lay still against the white sheets, but some of the gray pallor had faded from his skin. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
I dropped into the chair beside his bed, keeping hold of Ford’s hand as I reached for Pop’s with my free one. “Hey Pop. I’m back.”
His fingers twitched against mine.
“Did you see that?” I twisted to look up at Ford, who nodded.
“Talk to him some more.”
“So Monty’s got this wild idea for spring break.” I stroked Pop’s hand, sharing the gossip like I always had. “He wants to do a pirate-themed promotion. Says we should dress up the staff. Peter’s already designed him this elaborate costume with a fancy tricorn hat.” The memory of Monty’s enthusiastic demonstration made me smile. “He was prancing around the bar in it the other day, making everyone call him Captain Montgomery.”
Pop’s fingers twitched again, and I swore I caught a hint of amusement around his mouth.
“Oh, and you should see what he wants the rest of us to wear. I told him there was no way I was putting on a corset, but he’s determined. Says we need historical accuracy.” I shook my head. “I reminded him we’re a microbrewery, not a renaissance faire.”
Ford chuckled beside me. “I’d pay good money to see that argument.”
“You missed the best part. He’s commissioned Peter to paint a new sign with a pirate ship on it. Claims we need proper ambiance.” I leaned closer to Pop. “But between you and me, I think he just wants an excuse to wear the hat full time.”
The corner of Pop’s mouth twitched upward.
“And get this—he’s already ordered these plastic doubloons to hand out as drink tokens. Special rum drinks, naturally. Says we’re going to make a fortune off the college kids for spring break.” I squeezed Pop’s hand. “I told him you’d probably have some opinions about historical accuracy yourself when you saw his getup.”
Pop’s lips moved, and though his voice was raspy and slurred, I caught, “No… swords. Insurance… nightmare.”
The laugh that burst from my throat was half sob. I squeezed his hand harder, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Hey there, Pop. Good nap?”
His eyelids fluttered, fighting to open against the harsh fluorescent lights. When they finally cracked, his gaze was unfocused, drifting around the room before settling vaguely in my direction.
“Wha…” He licked dry lips. “Where?”
“You’re in the hospital. Had a bit of an AFib episode.” I kept my tone light, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Scared the hell out of everyone at the Brewhouse.”
Ford’s hand settled on my shoulder, a quiet anchor as Pop processed this information with glacial slowness.
“How long?”
“About two weeks.” I stroked his hand, noting how his fingers curled weakly around mine. “The doctors had to keep you under while they got everything sorted.”
His brow furrowed. “Tired.”
“That’s okay. You just rest. I’ll be right here.”
Pop’s eyes started to drift closed, and I thought he’d fallen back asleep when they suddenly snapped open again. His gaze sharpened, focusing on where Ford’s hand was still linked with mine.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes moved between us. “About damned time,” he muttered, voice gravelly but clear.
Heat rushed to my face. Trust Pop to notice that particular development even through a fog of medication. But before I could stammer out any kind of response, his eyes had already slipped shut again, breathing evening out into the rhythm of sleep.
I sagged against Ford, relief making my knees weak. Pop had woken up. He’d spoken. He’d even managed to be a smartass about my love life. The tightness that had been living in my chest for two weeks finally began to ease.
Ford’s arm slid around my waist, supporting me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I swiped at the tears tracking down my cheeks. “Just… yeah.”
We sat with Pop for another hour, watching him drift in and out. Each time he woke, he seemed a little more present, though he didn’t manage more than a few words at a time.
Dr. Mitchell’s arrival pulled us into the hallway for an update.
She consulted her tablet. “The initial signs are very encouraging. He’s responsive, oriented, and showing good comprehension. His speech is a bit slurred, which is normal at this stage, but he’s able to form complete thoughts.”
“What’s next?” I asked.
“We’ll continue to monitor him closely as we decrease sedation. Once he’s more consistently awake, we can better assess what deficits we’re dealing with and develop a rehabilitation plan.” She looked up, her expression kind but serious. “I want to emphasize that we’re still very early in the process. It’s too soon to make any definitive predictions about recovery time or exactly where his baseline will be. But what we’re seeing so far gives us reason to be optimistic.”
I nodded, processing. “When can we bring others to see him?”
“Let’s give it another day or two, see how he does with extended periods of consciousness. Then we can start allowing brief visits from immediate family.”
Dr. Mitchell tucked her tablet under her arm. “I need to check on my other patients, but the nurses will page me if anything changes.” She touched my shoulder. “Try to get some rest yourself. You look exhausted.”
Not exactly flattering, given I’d actually been home and slept. But the sleep hadn’t been actual rest—just fitful tossing and turning, punctuated by anxiety-fueled nightmares. I managed a nod, holding myself together until she disappeared around the corner, her footsteps fading down the sterile hospital corridor. Then my legs gave out, my whole body trembling with exhaustion now that the wave of excitement had passed.
Ford caught me before I hit the floor, gathering me against his chest with those strong, steady arms. The dam broke. Two weeks of terror and stress and hoping poured out in great, heaving sobs I couldn’t control. I buried my face in his shirt, clutching handfuls of the fabric as the tears came, my whole body shaking with the force of my relief and fear and bone-deep weariness. That salt and sandalwood scent surrounded me as I finally let myself fall apart.
“I’ve got you.” His breath was warm against my scalp. “Let it out. He’s gonna be okay. You did everything right.”
My whole body shook, wracked with sobs I couldn’t contain. “I was so scared. When he collapsed, I thought…” I couldn’t finish, the words catching in my throat as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. The memory of Pop’s face going slack, his body crumpling, was still too raw.
“I know.” His arms tightened around me, one hand moving in slow, soothing circles against my back. “But you heard the doctor. He’s already being a smartass about us. That’s our Ed. He’s too damn stubborn to let this keep him down for long.”
A wet laugh escaped me. “We’re never going to hear the end of it.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Ford held me until the storm passed, until my breathing steadied and the tears slowed to occasional hiccups.
When I finally lifted my head, his shirt was soaked. “Sorry about that.”
He brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been holding that in for two weeks.”
“I had to stay strong. For Pop.”
“And now you can let go a little. He’s coming back to us.”
I sagged against him, suddenly bone weary. “Yeah. He is.”
Ford’s thumb traced along my jaw. “Let me take you to dinner. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry.” The words came automatically, though my stomach chose that moment to growl in protest.
“Yeah, that’s convincing.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Come on. We’ll grab a hotel for the night, get some proper food in you.”
“But Peyton?—”
“Is having the time of her life with Willa and Sawyer. She texted me pictures of the dogs earlier.” His phone appeared, showing Peyton sprawled on the floor between Roy and Keeley, her face split in a wide grin. “We can figure out longer term arrangements tomorrow, but for tonight, she’s good.”
I studied his face, searching for any hint of uncertainty. “You’re sure?”
“Bree.” His hands framed my face. “I know you’re used to taking care of everyone else. But let me take care of you for once. Okay?”
The tender concern in his voice undid me. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Good.” He grabbed our coats from the visitors’ chairs. “I know this great little Mexican place downtown. Real food, not hospital cafeteria mystery meat.”
“Sounds perfect.” I paused long enough to brush a kiss to Pop’s weathered cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”
Then I let Ford guide me toward the elevator.