Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
You already know she’s the love of my life
Reid
By the time I get to the hospital, it’s late enough that the parking lot is half-empty, and early enough that the sunrise hasn’t touched the edges of the sky.
I’m not sure how I got here.
I remember the plane, the gate delay. My bag slung over my shoulder, and the feeling of Logan’s hand gripping mine, hard and brief, before I boarded. I remember texting Carina.
Me: On my way.
Me: Tell me he’s okay.
Me: Tell me he’s still here.
Now my legs move as though they remember more than I do. Past the front desk, past the security guard who recognizes me but says nothing. I take the elevator up three floors, turn down a hallway I shouldn’t know, and walk straight toward the door the nurse directed me to.
It’s open just enough for the light to spill out in a narrow, golden arc. I reach for it—and hesitate. My hand hovers on the frame, and I take a breath.
When I open it, the room is quiet.
The monitors are on, but not screaming. Just blinking, a continuous pulse of artificial rhythm and low sound. It feels like the kind of quiet that’s only loud when you’re praying to hear something more.
Harry’s lying in the bed, still and impossibly small beneath the thin hospital blanket. His hands are folded on top of his chest, rough and familiar with a tiny bit of garden dirt under his nails. I know every scar on them, every freckle.
I know how they used to throw a ball with me in the backyard. How they gripped my shoulder when I was first drafted. How they built a treehouse with me that he swore would still be there long after both of us were gone.
Now they’re not moving, not even a twitch.
Carina is seated beside him, her clothing wrinkled and hair pulled back like she scraped it quickly off her face hours ago, and hasn’t thought about it since. Her hand rests gently on his arm, and her head turns when she hears me.
Her face is pale and raw, but there’s no panic there—just a quiet grief. Calm through the storm.
She stands, and my eyes fall to her bump, which is tight against her top.
“Hey,” she whispers, stepping toward me. Her voice breaks on the word, but she doesn’t flinch. “You made it.”
I nod, but I can’t speak. My throat’s thick with salt and glass.
She steps closer, and her hands come to my chest, grounding me. She doesn’t pull me in or force anything, but I step forward anyway, burying my face into the crook of her neck, my arms wrapping around her waist like I’ll fall apart if I don’t.
And she holds me.
When I finally speak, it’s a cracked whisper against her skin.
“What happened?”
She exhales slowly. “A stroke. The nurse said he was in the garden when it hit. Collapsed on the path outside the tool shed. His neighbor found him maybe half an hour later and called the ambulance immediately, but…”
My stomach caves in. “But what?”
“There’s no brain activity.” Her voice is gentle. Careful, like she’s speaking to a frightened animal.
I pull back slightly, just enough to see her eyes. “You’re sure?”
She nods once. “They’ve run the tests. Reflexes, pupillary response, EEG. Everything’s… quiet.”
I flinch at the word.
Quiet.
Harry was never quiet.
Even when he lost his voice for a while last year with a chest infection, he’d bang his cane on the floor and make his point anyway. He was always moving, always whistling, always yelling at the birds who stole from the feeder.
I stare at him now, and the stillness is unbearable.
“I wasn’t here,” I choke out. “He always said I was late for everything, and now—fuck, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
She presses a hand to my jaw, anchoring me. “Reid.”
My name in her voice is soft and warm and grounding.
“You’re here now.”
“I should’ve called more.”
“You called every week.”
“I should’ve told him—fuck.” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “I should’ve told him how much he meant to me. One more time, just once more.”
Carina doesn’t correct me.
She steps closer, brushing her thumb along the edge of my cheekbone. “Did you know,” she says gently, “that the last sense to go is hearing?”
I blink through the sting.
She hums with a nod. “He might not be conscious, and he might not be able to move. But his brain—somewhere inside it—might still register sound. It’s one of the last things the body lets go of.”
I look back at Harry. Look at the shape of him beneath the sheets. The slope of his shoulder, the curve of his wrist. The wisps of gray hair combed back neatly, probably by Carina.
She takes my hand and strokes it softly.
“If you want to,” she murmurs, “you could talk to him now. Let that be the last thing he hears. His favorite grandson, right here, telling stupid jokes and talking shit.”
My throat tightens. “You think he’d want that?”
“I think he’d expect nothing less.”
Something inside me cracks.
I nod once, then step forward on shaking legs, pulling the chair closer, and sit down beside the bed. Dragging it close enough that my knee touches the frame, I take his hand in mine, coarse and cold, and I hold on like it’ll anchor me.
“Hey, old man,” I whisper, my voice already breaking. “I made it. Took my sweet time, huh? You always said I’d be late to my own funeral—guess the joke’s on you this time.”
My chest trembles, but I suck in a breath.
“Storm’s undefeated so far, and the home opener’s next week. I know you were planning to yell at the refs from your recliner again, so I’ll have to do it for you.”
I laugh once.
It’s not a laugh at all.
“I won’t do it as well as you… You always saved the real venom for the third period.”
I pause, studying the grooves in his face. The deep lines at the corners of his eyes that only deepened each time he laughed. He looks peaceful, like he’s just resting his eyes for a minute.
“Hey… when you see Delly,” I murmur, voice dropping, “tell her I finally fixed the loose step on the treehouse.”
My throat tightens.
“Tell her I’m sorry it took me so long to bring someone home, but I think she’ll like her. She bosses everyone around, and she doesn’t let me get away with shit… And you already know she’s the love of my life, because you guessed it months ago.”
Behind me, I feel Carina shift. Hear the quiet hitch of her breath. I don’t turn around, but I know she’s crying now. Holding herself together for me the way she always does.
“Tell her she’s pregnant,” I add quietly. “And we’re having a baby girl.”
A soft, broken sound slips out from me, and my vision blurs, but I don’t wipe it away.
“You and Delly… you were the best things I ever had,” I whisper. “You raised me right, even when I was a stubborn asshole. Especially then.”
My voice cracks completely.
“I love you. I hope you knew that. I hope I told you enough times. I hope you felt it even when I was quiet, because it wasn’t that I didn’t feel it. It was because I didn’t know how to carry that much love without dropping it.”
I exhale, then lean closer, thumb brushing over the back of his hand.
The machines beep steadily, and Carina moves to stand behind me, placing one hand on my back and pressing her fingers in slow, even circles, like she knows I’m seconds from falling apart.
And I do.
I squeeze Harry’s hand and bow my forehead against his knuckles. Then I let my shoulders shake, and the tears fall with the weight of my grief.
Because I wasn’t ready. I’ll never be ready.
And now I’m the one being held.