Chapter 9
My wedding was weeks away, and everything was still so royally fucked.
I couldn’t pretend that watching Oak walk away from me didn’t have me in my feelings.
Why hadn’t I had the backbone to tell him that I was still going through with the wedding when he gave me the charm?
Maybe it was because I was afraid of what his reaction would be, and I was trying to dodge more drama.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t been able to stop messing with the moon charm he’d given me that evening that reminded me of our time at the cabin.
Or maybe it was because I didn’t want to hear him say all the right things that would talk me out of my decision.
What would be the point if we both knew we could never be together in the long run?
The sparkly dress still clung to my petite frame, feeling more like a straitjacket than a custom-made wedding gown.
Oak’s questions remained on repeat in my head as I started to redress into the two-piece sweatsuit I’d arrived in.
Who was taking care of me? Who was ensuring my happiness?
Was I still walking down the aisle because I was in love with Pat or just doing it for Poppy?
I felt like DMX asking the Lord to give me a sign.
Not like a metaphorical one that could be interpreted a few hundred different ways.
I needed one that either said “run, bitch” or “stay.” Simple as that.
Amid hanging and zipping up the dress in its protective bag, Pat called.
“Hey.” I greeted him gently.
“Lex, Poppy’s being rushed to the hospital. They think he had a massive stroke.”
From the tremble in his voice, I could tell he was scared. In the blink of an eye, so was I.
“Oh my God! W-what hospital?” I stammered, heartbeat racing.
“Northwestern.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on standby right now, trying to catch the next flight out of New York. But if I’m not on one in the next hour, I’ll find a car, and I’m hitting the road.”
I knew how desperately he wanted to see his grandfather, but I was also aware that the roads were crazy and he didn’t need to be driving under so much duress.
“Please be safe, Pat. I don’t want you on the roads right now with all this on your mind. I’m going to head over there now, and I’ll keep you posted, okay?”
“Thank you, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Of course.”
“I swear, nothing is more important to me right now than family, and you’re my family, Lex.”
I nodded gently before ending the call, too busy trying to swallow the lump in my throat to respond immediately.
He was right. We were weeks away from becoming family in the eyes of the law, so I knew I had to be there for him.
I wanted to. I knew all too well how it felt to lose a loved one.
At some point, all of us had to deal with the grief packaged with the pain of losing someone we loved.
Death was inevitable. At least it would give me an excuse to push Oak to the back of my mind.
“I know,” I finally said.
“I love you,” he acknowledged.
I swallowed hard before responding. “I love you too.”
I sped all the way to the hospital, doing at least ten miles over the posted speed limit the entire way.
After swinging into the first available parking spot I could find, I hopped out of the car and darted inside.
I stepped inside Poppy’s hospital room in the ICU as the door closed behind me.
The faint scent of my perfume that still clung to my skin had commingled with the antiseptic smell inside the room.
I immediately locked eyes with Pat’s parents, Cynthia and Jonathan, before my lowered gaze roamed over to the bed where Poppy lay still, as if he were asleep.
Cynthia sat in the worn armchair by her father’s bedside.
The metal rails were up and locked in place, keeping his tired body safe.
I eased over to the left side of his bed and gently reached over the railing to touch his hand.
His hand was lukewarm as I gave it a subtle squeeze, but he remained motionless.
Transparent tubes stretched from the wall to his bedside and underneath his nostrils, connecting him to the beeping monitors that measured how his body was handling everything internally.
“Thank you for coming, Alexis,” Pat’s mother finally managed to choke out. “I know Pat will be so happy that you’re here.”
I dipped my chin. “Of course. Has anyone come in to give an update?”
Pat’s stepfather chimed in while still gently rubbing his wife’s back. “As I assume you know, Pat’s grandfather suffered a massive stroke, but he has a DNI on file, so the doctors were not able to intubate him. So, they’ve given him drugs to keep him comfortable until . . .”
I swallowed hard, knowing what he was going to say without him having to finish his sentence. “D-did they say how long he has?”
His eyes traveled over Poppy as he slowly lowered and shook his head. “They’ve advised us to say our goodbyes. Pat doesn’t know about the DNI, so we’re hoping Poppy holds on until he arrives.”
“We didn’t want him to be even more worried while traveling,” Cynthia acknowledged.
A hard sigh deflated my chest, as I’d hoped and prayed for better news all the way to the hospital.
I averted my teary gaze from them and over to the small flat-screen TV on the wall playing old westerns.
I’d do anything to suppress the tears I felt building up behind my eyes.
My eyes continued to ping-pong around the intimate room as I eased over to the window, with its open blinds letting the natural light peek through.
“Any update on Pat?” Cynthia quizzed.
I glanced back over my shoulder at her. “He texted me as I was parking and said he was boarding a flight. He should be here within a couple of hours.”
My update brought a slight smile to her face as she breathed out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good.”
The room fell silent for a few beats. The only constant sound was the beeping of the monitors every few seconds.
“I think he’s ready,” Cynthia announced, her voice soft as a whisper but steady, like she truly believed what she was saying.
“Don’t say that, baby,” Pat’s stepfather interjected.
“No. I mean it. I think he’s ready to be with my mother again. Ready to see his family members who went on long before him. He’s fought such a good fight. He really has. All I want is for Pat to get to say his goodbyes before—”
The rest of the sentence caught in her throat, but we all knew what she was going to say. But nobody wanted to be the one to do it. As if not speaking it out loud would somehow change the outcome.
We spent the next couple of hours in silence, taking turns sitting next to Poppy and stroking his hand until Pat arrived and I met him in the lobby. We immediately hugged. When I pulled away from him, I noticed his tired, bloodshot eyes.
“How was your flight?” I quizzed. “Were you able to try and get any rest?”
“None,” he answered. “Too nervous. How are things in there? Any change? How are my parents?”
“Everyone is okay. Quiet. In their heads, y’know? They’ve been waiting to see you.”
“I don’t know if I can go in there,” he admitted, voice shaky.
“I’ll be right there with you,” I confirmed, slipping my hand in his. “Let’s go.”
We entered Poppy’s private hospital room, and Pat’s feet froze halfway through the door as if he’d hit some sort of invisible wall. I gently tugged at his arm while ushering him deeper inside.
“H-hey, Mom,” Pat said softly, making sure to keep his gaze away from Poppy.
Pat’s mother slowly turned her head toward us and gave him a sluggish smile. “Hi, baby.”
He let go of my hand and somehow regained the knowledge of movement, hurrying over to hug her and allowing her to sob in his arms for a few seconds.
He let his lips brush against her cheek, and the strained look in his eyes told me he was trying to keep himself from falling apart in front of everyone.
“They want us to say our goodbyes. He has a DNI on file, baby. So, if his heart stops . . .”
“I don’t want him to go, Mama. I love him too much,” Pat confessed. He slammed his eyes shut as tears eased down his cheeks. She reached up to brush a teardrop and stroked the side of his face.
“He’s ready, Pat. He put money aside for this years ago. His funeral arrangements have already been taken care of. All that’s left is for the Lord to call him home.”
Pat nodded while wiping his teary eyes with the back of his hand.
He sniffled as his steps minced over to Poppy’s bedside before he slowly folded his body into the chair.
He rested his hands over his grandfather’s and bowed his head.
I couldn’t tell if he was praying or crying, but at that moment, nothing else mattered to me but being there for him. For all of them.
“I’m here, Poppy. You can go now. It’s okay,” Pat whispered to him.
The four of us stood there in silence, listening to his heart monitor beep until it stopped and went flat a few minutes later.
I closed my eyes as silent tears raced down my face.
And just like that, Poppy was gone. I didn’t expect to have such an immediate emotional reaction to everything.
I thought I’d be more like the anchor—holding everyone down through their storms of grief—but instead, I was in the corner, blubbering and fighting my own grief demons.
Somehow, I managed to make my way to Pat and pull him into my arms. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in the crook of my neck while I cradled the back of his head like a newborn baby.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered in his ear.
Pat got to his feet after a few minutes, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as if he were trying to hold back more tears.
I brushed a teardrop from his cheek before cupping his face in my palms and looking into his misty eyes.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this. ”
“Together?”
“Together,” I answered.