Chapter 36
Hallie
Accepting help is its own kind of strength.
~ Riera Cass
I’m climbing into my van when a text from Greyson pings on my phone.
Ace: My parents are still here. I can’t call you. Just want you to know I want to talk to you today—alone, preferably.
I answer him right away.
Hallie: I want to talk to you too. I’m on my way to the hospital.
Ace: I’ll see you when you get here.
I pocket my cell.
I want to talk to you can mean a lot of things—but at least he wants to talk.
I make my way through town, my grip on the steering wheel loosening and my shoulders easing the closer I get to the hospital.
When I walk into Greyson’s room, his head pivots in my direction and he smiles at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I look him over, then I glance at his parents and back at him. “You got a cast.”
“I did. And those beauties.”
I look toward the corner where he’s pointing. A pair of crutches are propped up against the wall.
“Good morning, Hallie,” Greyson’s mom says. Her smile is soft and welcoming.
“Hi,” I wave at her and Greyson’s dad.
The nurse enters the room.
Greyson’s parents look at the nurse. Greyson looks at his parents and then me. He shrugs.
Not here. We’ll get time later. Maybe at his house.
“Well, it’s your lucky day, Mr. Stone,” the nurse says. “The doctor came through early for his rounds today. He’s going to meet with you briefly and then I’ll arrange your chariot.” She pauses. “Wheelchair sounds so blasé.”
His mom laughs lightly.
Greyson gives the nurse a smile that looks forced—at least to me it does.
A few minutes later, the doctor comes into the room.
I step closer to the side of Greyson’s bed while he looks over the chart.
“Everything looks good,” the doctor says.
“X-rays show a clear image of the fracture. If I were going to prescribe a break, I’d say you did a pretty good job of keeping it clean.
You’ve got prescriptions called in downstairs.
You can pick those up on your way out. Just keep weight off of your injured leg.
Elevate as much as possible. Keep an eye out for swelling, pain or numbness.
You’ll follow up with an orthopedic doctor in a week.
We’d like to see you baby this for the first four to seven days.
” He looks up at Greyson. “Any questions?”
“Can I attend a little league game this afternoon?”
The doctor chuckles. “I’d skip this one. Give yourself a chance to rest and heal. A clean break doesn’t mean you should be doing jumping jacks the day I send you home.”
Greyson nods.
The doctor excuses himself, wishing Greyson a speedy recovery.
“Will’s going to FaceTime the game for you,” I remind Greyson, in case he forgot. “He’s got a friend coming to film the whole thing.”
He nods again.
Watching through a phone’s not the same as coaching, or even being in the stands, but it’s better than nothing.
“Your dad and I can go for you,” Greyson’s mom offers.
“And film?” Greyson chuckles.
“What do you mean?” His mom laughs. “Are you saying I’m not up to the task?”
“You said it, not me,” Greyson says, looking at his mom with an affection that makes my heart squeeze.
“Well, maybe we’ll go anyway,” his dad says.
“That would be nice,” Greyson says. “You’d enjoy it. The girls are doing great. And you could see Hallie’s daughter, Mia. She’s quite the player.”
The player you love, I think. Does he remember saying that?
The nurse comes back in, pushing a wheelchair. “Your chariot, Mr. Stone.”
Greyson pivots from the bed and plops into the chair in one fluid motion.
“Wow,” the nurse says. “Impressive. Just be careful.”
Greyson nods, glancing at me.
“Are you one of those patients who doesn’t follow orders?” I ask him, daring to tease him in our usual way.
“I follow orders,” he says, smirking at me.
“He’s a terrible patient,” his mother says with fondness. “Hates showing any weakness. Always has.”
“I don’t like being a burden,” Greyson corrects her.
“You’re not a burden,” I assure him.
Greyson’s eyes connect with mine, like he’s trying to tell me something he can’t say here.
I hold his gaze, thinking, You’re the farthest thing from a burden. I hope he can read my thoughts.
“I’m going to release your brakes,” the nurse says.
“I’ve got the crutches,” his dad says. “Hallie, do you want to grab a few of those flower arrangements?”
“Can we just leave them as a thank you to the nurses?” Greyson asks.
“Why, isn’t that sweet?” his mom says.
Greyson turns to the woman pushing his wheelchair. “Make sure you get one.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stone.” She looks at him like she swallowed the heart-eye emoji.
I get it. Even before I knew he was Ace, he had that effect on me.
In the parking lot, we separate. Greyson transfers into his parents’ car, and our eyes lock once more before I walk to my van. Then I follow them out to Greyson’s property.
An unfamiliar car is in the driveway when we pull in.
“Whose car is that?” I ask, walking over to Greyson’s parents’ car.
“Mrs. Kinkaid’s,” Greyson says.
My face must show my lack of recognition because he adds, “Zach’s mom.”
“I haven’t seen Lindsey in forever,” Mrs. Stone says.
“Now, how are we getting you up those stairs?” Greyson’s dad asks.
Greyson grabs the crutches and propels himself up to the front door, shouting into the house, “Mrs. Kinkaid!”
“He’s not going to take it easy, is he?” I ask Mrs. Stone as we catch up to Greyson.
She sighs. “He’ll do his version of easy.”
We step inside Greyson’s house.
“Hello?” A woman in her sixties rounds the corner from the kitchen. “Oh! Greyson. You’re home.”
“Yes, Goldilocks. The bear has returned. Did you eat all my porridge?”
She laughs warmly, her eyes taking in Greyson’s parents and landing on me.
“Jean Ann!” Mrs. Kinkaid says with a smile to Greyson’s mom. “It’s been a coon’s age. And Jack, it’s good to see you.”
“Lindsey, how have you been?” Greyson’s mom crosses the room, pulling Zach’s mom into a hug.
When they separate, Mrs. Kinkaid looks at me. “You must be Hallie. I’m Lindsey Kinkaid, Zach’s mom.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I tell her. “I met Zach briefly in Germany.”
Mrs. Stone’s face twists in confusion, but Mrs. Kinkaid smiles. “I know. Greyson told me.”
He told her about me.
Greyson smiles a real, full smile. He’s the happiest I’ve seen him since before the fire.
“May I give you a hug?” Mrs. Kinkaid asks.
“Of course,” I say.
She crosses the room and pulls me into her arms. “I’m just so glad to finally meet you in person.”
“Same here,” I tell her.
She backs up. “I was just fillin’ the fridge with things. Looks like someone beat me to it, though.”
“That would be us,” Mrs. Stone says. “I should’ve known the town would rally.”
“We always do,” she says.
I glance at Greyson. He’s situating himself on the couch.
“Do you need a pillow?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Can you grab me that one?” He points to a pillow on one of his side chairs.
I walk over and grab a few throw pillows, propping one behind his back first.
My hand lands on his shoulder, guiding him forward so I can position the pillow just right.
He tilts his head up and our eyes lock, that familiar tug pulling me toward him.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask in a soft voice, meant for him alone.
“I’m good, Hallie. Thanks.” He lifts his hand and rests it over mine. In a whisper, he asks, “When do you think we’ll get a minute to ourselves?”
I smile down at him. “Your guess is as good as mine.” I glance toward the kitchen. “I’m going to grab some bigger pillows from upstairs to put under your leg. Okay?”
“So, you’re playing nurse now?” he asks, an almost flirty grin on his face.
I glance at his parents and Mrs. Kinkaid. They’re standing in the archway between the living room and kitchen, catching up with one another.
“Believe me, you don’t want me as a nurse. You’re the EMT in this relationship.”
“You know I’ve always wanted you, Hallie.” His answer hits me straight in the heart.
The three parents walk into the kitchen, but they’re still right there. This isn’t the time for a heart-to-heart.
Greyson’s mom shouts out to us. “You’ve got enough casseroles in here to feed you for the rest of spring!”
He shakes his head.
“People love you,” I say, as if it isn’t obvious.
“It’s what this town does.”
“And they’re doing it for you.”
Greyson nods, barely acknowledging the truth. People love him. He matters to this community.
I run upstairs, grab a few pillows, and come back down. I’m carefully adjusting Greyson’s leg when his parents come out and join us, each of them taking a seat in one of the side chairs.
Mrs. Kinkaid stops, resting her hand on the back of the couch and looking down at Greyson. “I’m just a few minutes away. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back later this evening to check in on you.”
Greyson opens his mouth, probably to tell her she doesn’t need to come back, but she cuts him off. “Don’t tell me not to come back here, Greyson. I’ll be back and that’s that. I won’t settle unless I check in on you.”
“Come back this evening,” he tells her, seeming to resign himself to the fact that he’s going to have people coming and going for a while.
Or maybe it’s her. She gets a pass in his life because of Zach.
I catch Greyson’s eyes and smile over at him. He’s always doing that—giving himself up for others.
“Thank you, Lindsey,” Mrs. Stone says. “I rest so much easier knowing you’re here in town looking after him.”
“You know he’s like my third son. It’s no trouble,” she says easily. “Besides, he’s usually the one taking care of me. It’s about time the tables turned and he lets me do something for him.”
Mr. Stone tells Greyson, “I guess we’ll go see a little league game. Do you need anything else before we get out of your hair?”
“I’m good, Dad. Thanks,” Greyson says.
His mom stands and leans in to hug Greyson. “Love you, son. We’ll come up next weekend unless you need us sooner.”
“I’ve got what I need,” he tells her.
Greyson pushes off the couch, lowering himself so he’s flat on his back.