Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following Wednesday, Zoe cracked open the door, toothbrush still in hand, and blinked at the sight of John on her porch, holding a takeout tray with two coffees and a brown paper bag.
He looked annoyingly put together for this early in the morning—jeans, fleece pullover, hair still damp from a shower.
“Morning,” he said, lifting the tray. “Brought you a sausage-and-cheese from Muddy Boots and your usual coffee. Heavy cream, one sugar.”
She stared at him for a beat, amused. “You do realize most people text before showing up unannounced?”
“I’m not most people.” He grinned. “And I didn’t think you’d mind.”
She gave a half laugh around the toothbrush. “Come in.”
A few minutes later, she joined him, barefoot, on the porch swing, still in her joggers and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days. Her wet hair was piled in a messy twist, and she’d only just remembered to wipe the toothpaste foam from the corner of her mouth.
John handed her the coffee and sandwich like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was. She realized with a flicker of awe how easily they’d slipped into each other’s rhythms.
They sat in comfortable quiet, the swing gently creaking beneath them. The air smelled of dew and turning leaves, the kind of morning that felt borrowed from a poem.
“I talked to the nurse coordinator yesterday,” Zoe said after a few bites. “Dad’s surgery is scheduled for six thirty tomorrow morning. They want us at the hospital by five.”
He glanced over, his brow softening. “That’s early.”
“I’ll be there by four thirty. No way I’m risking traffic or delays.” She sipped her coffee. “We’re all going. Me, River and Raime. Mom’s a wreck, though she’s pretending not to be.”
“I could come,” John offered carefully. “I mean, if you want me there. If you’d rather keep it just family, I completely get that, too.”
She turned her head to look at him, serious now. “I want you there. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t.”
His fingers grazed her knee, a light brush, like he was making sure the moment was real. “Then I’ll be there. Whatever you need.”
Zoe nodded, her voice quiet. “I thought maybe…you could stay tonight? It’s easier if we leave together in the morning. Plus, I…” Her voice trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. He was already nodding.
“I’d like that.”
They fell into silence again, the kind that said everything without needing to fill the space. She reached over and slid her hand into his, her coffee cup warming her other hand.
Outside, the world stirred with quiet motion—squirrels darting along the fence, a neighbor’s screen door creaking open—but on the porch, it was just them.
And somehow, despite the worry about tomorrow, Zoe felt steadier.
Because he’d be there with her.
That night, the porch light cast a soft halo across the front steps as John climbed them, overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He knocked once, but the door opened before his hand had fully dropped.
Zoe stood in leggings and a soft T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him as if the weight of tomorrow had pressed pause on everything else.
A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. She stepped aside to let him in.
The house was quiet, the kind of still that came not with peace, but with nerves too tangled for sleep. A candle flickered on the console table, something faintly herbal grounding the air. His gaze drifted to the couch, then back to her.
“I wasn’t sure where you’d want me.”
Zoe reached for his hand, fingers threading through his. “With me,” she said simply. “If that’s okay.”
He nodded, his thumb brushing gently across hers. “Of course.”
They walked together down the hall. In the bedroom, John set his bag on the floor, then turned and pulled her into his arms. She trembled slightly against him, and he tightened his hold, moving his hand in slow, soothing strokes up and down her back.
“I keep thinking I’m fine,” she murmured against his chest. “Then I’ll remember something, like how Dad always joked about ‘walking it off’ when something hurt, and suddenly I’m teary because this…this isn’t something he can walk off.”
John pressed a kiss to her hair. She didn’t seem to notice.
“I know it’s just an arthroscopic procedure,” she went on, “but it’s still surgery. It’s still a risk. And I keep wishing I could fix it, even though I know I can’t.”
“You don’t have to fix anything,” he said softly. “You just have to be there. That’s enough.”
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in silence that comforted rather than filled.
Eventually, they moved to the bed. Zoe let out a slow sigh as they settled in, and John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They didn’t speak much after that, just let the hush gather around them like a blanket.
Later, when she turned into him and whispered, “Will you hold me?” it wasn’t with urgency.
He knew what she needed. Comfort. Trust. Love.
And it was something he would gladly give her.
Thursday morning arrived with a heavy stillness Zoe couldn’t shake. She and John had driven to Sturgeon Bay before sunrise, the quiet between them filled with unspoken hope and worry.
The day of her dad’s surgery had finally arrived.
Though repairing his torn meniscus and ligament was an outpatient procedure, it didn’t feel minor to Zoe.
Not when she walked into the pre-op room and saw him lying in that stark, white bed with an IV taped to his hand and wires snaking out from beneath the gown.
The sight of Ryder Goodhue—her strong, steady dad—looking so small beneath the thin cotton blankets hit her like a sucker punch. She blinked fast, fighting the sudden sting in her eyes.
Raime had just given their father a fierce hug, and her little sister’s wide, watery eyes said everything Zoe couldn’t. If she started crying now, she might not stop. It would turn into a flood. And she didn’t want her dad seeing her like that. Not today.
John, standing silently at her side, gave her hand a quiet squeeze. Steady. Grounding. She leaned into that touch for a moment, then stepped forward.
Her father’s gaze met hers, warm and calm, as if he were the one reassuring her.
“I love you,” Zoe managed, her voice catching despite her best effort.
“I love you, too, sweetie.” Ryder’s smile was reassuring, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. This is just a tune-up.”
They both knew better—any surgery carried risk—but this was what had to be done. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered.
“Six months,” River said from across the room, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. “My friend had this exact procedure. He was back playing basketball in six months.”
Ryder chuckled. “I’m aiming lower. Just want to ditch the crutches and get back to the shop without everyone fussing over me.”
“We don’t want you rushing anything,” Trinity said, reaching for his hand. Her voice was calm, but the way her fingers gripped his told a deeper truth.
A nurse reappeared, clipboard in hand, and moments later, they were wheeling her father away. Zoe stood frozen, watching the hallway until the doors eased shut behind him.
“They said it’ll take at least an hour. Maybe two,” Trinity said, drawing in a breath. “The kids and I are going to grab something in the cafeteria. Do you two want to join us?”
Zoe shook her head before she could stop herself. The thought of food turned her stomach. “We grabbed something earlier.”
Her gaze flicked to John, who gave a small shrug, wordless support written across his face.
“I think we’ll take a walk,” Zoe said. “Just around the block to clear our heads. We’ll be back in forty-five minutes, but if you hear anything before then—”
“I’ll call you,” Trinity promised, then stepped forward to wrap Zoe in a hug. “He’ll be okay,” she whispered into her daughter’s hair.
Zoe clenched her jaw, blinking hard.
When they pulled apart, her eyes were dry again. She managed a small, brave smile. “He’s going to be just fine.”
Then she turned to John and held out a hand. “Walk with me?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Anywhere you want,” he said, threading his fingers through hers.
The hospital doors slid open with a whisper, and the scent of antiseptic gave way to fresh air tinged with the crispness of early autumn.
Leaves rustled overhead as Zoe and John stepped onto the paved path that circled the side of the building.
A breeze lifted her hair and tugged at the hem of her jacket.
They didn’t speak at first. The quiet was companionable, broken only by the crunch of their steps and the rustle of trees. After the emotional weight of the morning, it felt good just to breathe.
“I hate hospitals,” Zoe said finally, her voice quiet. “I know no one loves them, but I hate them. The smell, the lighting, the way time seems to slow down.”
John glanced over but didn’t interrupt.
“I think it’s the helplessness,” she added. “You sit there, you wait, and there’s nothing you can do. Just…hope and pray and try not to imagine everything that could go wrong.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice was low, steady. “If you’re scared, you can say it out loud.”
She stopped walking and looked at him, her throat tightening.
“I am,” she admitted. “I know it’s a common procedure. I know it’s supposed to be routine. But he’s my dad. The idea of something happening to him…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
John stepped closer, his expression open and calm. “You know what I saw in that room?”
She blinked at him.
“I saw a man who loves his family so much, he kept smiling even though he was clearly nervous. And I saw a woman who kissed his forehead like it was the most important thing she’d ever done. That kind of love? That’s the safest place anyone could go into surgery from.”
Zoe exhaled slowly. The tightness in her chest began to loosen, like a knot slowly coming undone.
“You’re good at this, you know that?” she said, managing a small smile.
“Only with you.”
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and just like that, the world steadied a little more.
They resumed walking, hand in hand, the wind curling around them. Golden leaves fell in lazy spirals, catching the light.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“For being here. For knowing what to say. For not making me feel silly for being scared.”
John gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re not silly, Zoe. You’re human. And you love your dad. That’s a good thing. A beautiful thing.”
As they rounded the last bend, the hospital came back into view. Still sterile. Still solemn. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite so heavy now.
Not with him beside her.
The automatic doors whooshed open again as Zoe and John stepped back into the hospital.
The warmth inside felt heavier now, tinged with that distinctive mix of industrial soap and recycled air.
But after the fresh air and steady reassurance of John’s presence, it didn’t press quite as hard on her chest.
They made their way down the corridor, shoes squeaking softly on the glossy tile. The surgical waiting room was tucked into a quieter wing, away from the main lobby, and the soft murmur of a muted television filled the space as they stepped inside.
It wasn’t crowded, just a handful of people spaced out across the rows of chairs, heads bent over phones or magazines, expressions tight with waiting. Zoe bypassed the nearest open seats and headed for the row by the window, the one where the light filtered in, soft and golden.
John followed without question and sat beside her. For a moment, they both stared out the window, where the wind sent yellow leaves tumbling across the hospital lawn like tiny dancers.
“I don’t know why having you here makes it feel easier,” Zoe said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
John didn’t answer right away. He reached over, lacing his fingers through hers again. His palm was warm, steady. “Because I want to be here,” he said. “Not just for this. For all of it. Whatever comes next.”
Zoe looked down at their joined hands. She hadn’t imagined how quickly her life would shift, how someone could walk in, unexpected and unassuming, and become a part of her world so seamlessly. And yet, here he was. Sitting beside her in a hospital waiting room. No pretenses. No pressure.
Just here.
With her.
A nurse walked past, and Zoe instinctively glanced up, her heart skipping the way it always did when someone in scrubs approached. But the woman kept walking.
“How long’s it been?” John asked gently.
Zoe checked the time. “Almost forty minutes.” She exhaled. “Any second now, my mom will walk through that door and give us the update.”
“Or we’ll hear an intercom call and both jump like we’ve had five espressos,” John added with a crooked smile.
Zoe smiled back. “You’re not wrong.”
They sat like that for a while, their shoulders brushing, silence hanging easily between them. Not the heavy kind of silence that came with worry, but the kind that made room for breath. For hope. For togetherness.
And when the door finally opened and Trinity stepped in, her eyes found Zoe’s first, and she smiled.
“Everything went well,” she said softly. “He’s in recovery now. Still groggy, but the doctor said it went exactly as planned.”
Zoe released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and stood. The hug she gave her mom was tighter this time, full of everything she hadn’t wanted to say aloud.
When she pulled back, John was already rising. Trinity looked at him, then at Zoe, a glint of understanding in her gaze.
“You can come back,” she said. “One or two at a time.”
Zoe nodded, and when her mother disappeared down the hall again, she turned to John.
“I’ll go back with Raime and River,” Zoe said, touching John’s arm. “But after that, you should come, too. He’ll want to see you.”
John nodded. “I’ll be right here.” He squeezed her hand. “Tell him I’m glad everything went well.”
Zoe smiled—really smiled—and as she leaned into him for just a moment before turning toward the hallway, she realized something with startling clarity.
He wasn’t just here for this.
He was becoming a part of it all.
Of her life.
And maybe, just maybe, of her future, too.