Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
W hitney’s hands shook as she walked down the hospital hallway toward her father’s room. It had been hours since he’d been back there, and she wanted to see him with her own two eyes. Her nerves were as frayed as they had ever been. She’d barely been able to relax since the moment she found him on the floor of the diner.
By the time she reached the door, she had to pause for a moment just to collect herself.
A nurse exited the room, holding a tablet. “You must be Whitney. Your dad’s awake and stable. You can go in.”
“Thank you so much,” Whitney said.
Pushing the door open, she saw her father sitting in the hospital bed, his face pale, his usually robust demeanor so subdued. The sight made her throat tighten. Coop, the man who had always seemed larger than life, suddenly looked so small.
“Hey, Daddy,” she said, stepping inside.
He turned his head toward her. “Hey, kiddo.” His voice was hoarse, but the gruffness she knew was still there.
She pulled up a chair beside his bed and sat down. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“They say it was a hypertensive crisis,” she said. “Your blood pressure went through the roof, and they’re keeping you here to monitor it.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, doctor’s been lecturing me about it all morning, said I’ve been living like a ticking time bomb. Guess he’s not wrong. They’ve been warning me about this for a long time.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Daddy, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard, and with the diner and the stress, it was bound to catch up with you. They also told me you’ve known about your type two diabetes for over a year now, and you haven’t taken any medication for it.”
He sighed heavily and looked at her. “I didn’t want you to worry. You have enough on your plate without me adding to it. These are just old people problems.”
She leaned forward. “You’re my dad. Of course, I’m gonna worry about you. But you not telling me doesn’t make it go away. It just makes it worse, and then I find you on the floor.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head.
“Now tell me about this diabetes. You’ve known for a while—over a year. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m a nurse! You didn’t do anything about it—no treatment, no medication.”
“I didn’t want to deal with it,” he said, his voice defensive. “I figured if I ignored it, it’d go away. I didn’t want to take more pills or change how I ate. The diner’s my life, Whitney. It’s who I am.”
“Daddy, this isn’t just about the diner. This is your life, your real, actual life. You’re more than the diner. If you don’t start taking your health seriously, you’re gonna end up in the hospital again—or worse—and I can’t take that. You’re all I have.”
He was silent for a long moment, his jaw tightening, his shoulders slumped. “I know,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I know. I was lying there on that floor before you found me. It scared me, Whitney. I thought about your mama and how I promised her I’d take care of you, and now here I am, a dang fool who can’t even take care of himself.”
The mention of her mother made Whitney’s chest ache. She placed her hand over his. “We both miss her every day, but she wouldn’t want us to live like this—hurting, scared, not talking to each other.”
“You’re right, she wouldn’t. She’d tell me to quit being a stubborn old goat and start listening to my daughter.”
Whitney smiled, tears slipping down her cheeks. “She sure would, Daddy. I need you to listen to me now. I know we’ve been at odds lately, but every single thing I’m doing—the wellness studio, wellness night—it’s not just for strangers. It’s for people like you, people who need help taking control of their health before it’s too late.”
He was quiet, looking down at their hands. “How did it go? Wellness night, I mean. Did folks show up?”
She hesitated, surprised by the question. “It went really well. A lot of people came. We talked about yoga, nutrition, mindfulness. Tate made some amazing snacks that people really loved. I even helped some folks check their blood pressure and talked about managing stress. Meanwhile, I didn’t know my own father was across the street, lying on the floor.”
“Sounds like you made a difference.”
“I think I did. And I want to help you, too. You don’t have to do this alone. I can show you how to eat better, manage your blood sugar, and reduce stress. But you have to let me. You have to stop feeling like you know everything and I know nothing.”
He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and regret. “Boy, I’ve been a real pain, haven’t I?”
She chuckled. “You’ve been the stubborn old mule, just like you said, but I love you anyway.”
He gave a small smile, the first genuine one she’d seen on him in weeks. “I don’t deserve you, kid, but I am proud of you, even if I don’t always understand your dreams. You’ve got your mama’s fire in you.”
“Thank you, Daddy. That means more than you know.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them finally easing. Whitney glanced at the door as it opened, and Tate stepped inside, holding two cups of coffee.
“I figured you could use a little liquid energy,” he said, handing one to Whitney. He nodded at Coop. “Good to see you awake, Coop.”
Coop grunted but nodded back. “Thanks for looking out for her tonight.”
Tate smiled. “Well, that’s no trouble at all. She’s worth it. And she can look out for herself pretty good.”
Whitney felt her cheeks flush as she took the coffee. She looked at her father, who was watching the interaction with one raised eyebrow—the same one he used to use on her when she dated in high school and came home a little too late.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Tate said, stepping toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, and I hope you feel better soon, Coop.”
Whitney watched him go, then turned back to her father, who was smirking.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, leaning back against the pillows. “Just thinking maybe that fellow’s not so bad after all.”
Whitney rolled her eyes and smiled.
* * *
W hitney turned the burner off and looked at the contents of the saucepan in front of her. The plain grits looked anything but appetizing, and the hard-boiled egg that she’d carefully peeled sat on the side of the plate like some kind of afterthought. She sighed, knowing this was not the kind of breakfast her father would have chosen, but after the scare at the hospital, this was the reality he was going to have to face.
She carried the tray carefully, making her way through the house to his bedroom. He was propped up against a mound of pillows, flipping through the TV channels with a sour expression. She knew her father—he would much rather be at work right now than letting Wanda run the restaurant.
The sight of him tugged at her heart. He looked older and more worn than she’d ever seen him.
“Morning, Daddy,” she said.
“Morning,” he said, grunting.
“I made you breakfast.”
She set the tray down on his lap.
“What in God’s green earth is this?” he said, looking at it with disdain.
“Grits and a boiled egg,” Whitney said. “Simple, healthy, and exactly what the doctor recommended.”
“Where’s the butter and the bacon? This doesn’t even look like real food,” he said, poking at the grits.
Whitney folded her arms. “The butter and bacon are what got you here in the first place. You’re going to have to make some big changes, Daddy. No more fried everything and drowning everything else in gravy. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”
He scowled but didn’t argue anymore. Instead, he speared the egg with his fork and took a bite. He chewed slowly, making a face like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of vinegar.
“Lord, this is a pitiful thing, Whitney.”
She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but you’ve got to give it a chance. Your body needs to heal. It needs some real nutrition, not just daily doses of grease and salt.”
She was about to launch into another plea for him to take his health seriously when she heard a knock at the front door. She stood quickly, relieved to have an excuse to leave the room for a minute.
“I’ll get it,” she said, heading down the hall as if Coop was going to get it anyway.
The doctors had told her to watch him for a few days and ensure his health. She wouldn’t be able to do this forever. She had a job, after all, and she was planning to open her wellness studio. But right now, it was all about her father.
When she opened the door, Tate stood on the porch, holding a covered dish. His smile was warm, but his presence immediately set her nerves on edge.
“Tate, what in the world are you doing here?” she asked, stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind her.
“I heard your dad came home this morning. I wanted to bring him something—something he might actually eat.”
“This is not a good time,” Whitney groaned. “You know how he feels about you, and the last thing I need is for him to get all stressed out again.”
Tate’s expression softened. “Whitney, I’m not going to start trouble with your dad. I just want to help. Trust me, this food won’t upset him. It might even convince him that eating healthy isn’t so bad.”
She hesitated, looking over her shoulder toward the house. “I don’t know. He’s already in a mood this morning.”
Tate stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Please, Whit, just let me try. This is important to me—and to him. After what I went through with my grandma, I can’t just sit by and do nothing. This is my second chance. Let me help him.”
Her shoulders slumped. She knew how much this meant to Tate, and she also knew her father needed all the help he could get, even if he didn’t want any of it.
“Fine,” she said. “Wait here.”
She walked back to Coop’s room, bracing herself for his reaction. He looked up as she walked in, his fork hanging above the untouched grits.
“Who was it?”
“Tate,” she said, her voice careful.
“What does he want?”
“He brought you some food,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. “Healthy food. He wants to show you that eating better does not have to mean eating plain grits for the rest of your life.”
Coop’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, I don’t need charity from him.”
“It’s not charity,” Whitney said firmly. “He cares, Daddy. Whether you believe it or not, he does, and he wants to help. And I think you should let him. So can you please just let him drop it off and be civil?”
He stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Fine, but don’t expect me to roll out a welcome mat. I’m only doing this because I would eat anything other than these grits right now.”
Whitney went back to the door and gestured for Tate to come in.
“Hey, Coop,” Tate said, nodding respectfully. “Good to see you home. Hope you’re feeling a little better.”
Coop grunted, his arms crossed over his chest.
Tate ignored the frosty reception and set the dish on the bedside table. “So, I made you a vegetable quiche. It’s dairy-free, gluten-free, and packed with protein. I think you’ll like it.”
Coop raised his eyebrow. “Dairy-free and gluten-free? So something that rabbits would eat.”
Whitney gave him a warning look, but Tate just smiled. “Give it a try. If you hate it, I promise I’ll never bring you anything again. Deal?”
Coop sighed and reluctantly picked up the fork. He cut a small piece of the quiche and put it in his mouth. For a moment, Whitney couldn’t read his expression. Then, it softened slightly.
“Well?” Whitney prompted.
“It’s not bad,” Coop admitted.
Tate grinned. “Well, I’ll take that as a big win.”
Whitney thanked Tate and then followed him to the door, stepping outside with him for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I think that actually meant something to him, but he would never admit it.”
“I’m glad,” Tate said.
On impulse, Whitney stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug.
“You’re a good man, Tate Morgan,” she said, pulling back.
He smiled down at her. “And you’re an incredible woman, Whitney Cooper. Your dad’s lucky to have you.”
He winked at her and then walked down the steps toward his truck. Whitney felt lighter than she had in the last few days. Maybe her father was turning the corner.
* * *
M adeline stood in the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs filling the air. She flipped a piece of French toast in the pan and glanced at the clock, realizing she was hovering over Brady like a mother hen. She didn’t care. After everything that had happened, the thought of Brady being hungry or needing anything at all was unbearable.
She’d never felt this way about anybody. This was probably the closest she had come to mothering someone, even if it was her own boyfriend.
With a tray full of breakfast—eggs, bacon, French toast, and a steaming cup of coffee—she made her way to the living room where Brady was propped up in his recliner. His injured leg was stretched out, wrapped tightly in a bandage with a soft quilt draped over him. He was flipping through the TV channels with the remote, looking far too relaxed for somebody who had almost died just 24 hours ago.
Well, maybe that was a little dramatic, but that was how she saw it.
“Breakfast is served,” she announced, putting the tray on a rolling table and situating it in front of him.
He looked up and smiled. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. I could have just had some cereal.”
“Cereal? After everything you’ve been through? Not a chance,” Madeline said, sitting down in the chair next to him.
“You know, I’m not an invalid. I can still function, Madeline.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “You just got out of the hospital. Humor me, okay?”
He laughed, picking up the fork and taking a bite of the eggs. “Well, I’m not going to complain because these are perfect.”
Madeline leaned back against the chair and watched him eat. He seemed so calm, so completely unaffected by the fact that he had saved someone’s life just the night before. She couldn’t shake the image of him lying in the hospital bed, pale and in pain, or the fear that had clawed at her chest when she got the phone call.
“Need anything else?” she asked, fidgeting with the edge of the quilt.
“Madeline, you’ve already done enough. You’ve been up since early this morning. You even fed Gilbert. Sit down and relax for a minute, okay?”
“I am relaxing,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.
“No, you’re hovering,” he said with a smirk. “You’re treating me like I’m going to keel over at any second. It’s making me a little nervous.”
She started to open her mouth in protest, but the words caught in her throat. She looked away, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to spill over.
“Hey,” Brady said softly, setting down the fork and reaching for her hand. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head, blinking quickly. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”
“Madeline, talk to me.”
She took a shaky breath and looked at him. “I was so scared, Brady. When I got that call, when they told me you’d been hurt, I didn’t know if you were going to be okay. I didn’t know if I was going to show up at the hospital and find out you’d passed away. I didn’t know if I was going to lose you.”
His face softened, and he squeezed her hand. “I’m fine, Madeline. I’m right here.”
“I know, but I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing you. I know you love being a firefighter, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to not worry every single time you go out on a call now.”
He reached over and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Madeline, I get it. I do. I hate that this scared you so much, but you have to know this is who I am. I like to help people. I like to be there when they need me. It’s in my blood. I can’t just walk away from that.”
She covered his hand with hers, leaning into his touch. “I know that, and I love that about you, and I would never ask you to stop. But that doesn’t make it any easier. You’re my whole world. I can’t imagine my life without you, Brady. I just need you to know that I’m always going to be worried, and I’m always going to hover.”
He pulled her onto the arm of the recliner and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest and let the tears fall freely while his hand stroked her hair.
“I’m not going anywhere, Madeline. I promise you I’ll be careful. I’ll do everything I can to stay safe, but I need you to trust me. I came home this time, and I’ll come home every other time, so can you trust me?”
She nodded against his chest. “I can try.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
They sat like that for a while, with the TV murmuring in the background, and for the first time since the accident, Madeline felt a little bit of peace.
Eventually, Brady leaned back, tilting her face to look at him. “No more tears, okay? I’m going to be fine. You’re going to be stuck with me for a long time—until I’m old and ugly and fat from these French toast breakfasts.”
She smiled through her tears. “Well, good, because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
“Deal,” he said with a grin, pulling her in for a kiss.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her head on his shoulder, her finger tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
“Now, are you going to let me finish this amazing breakfast, or are you going to keep fussing over me?” Brady asked.
“Fine, I guess I’ll let you eat—for now.”
“Good,” he said, picking up the fork again. “Because I don’t want to waste a single bite.”