Chapter 5
GILLIAN
I barely registered the ambulance ride. Every bump in the road made my heart lurch as I watched Doc’s face—pale but stubbornly alert, eyes drifting between me and the surrounding equipment.
Diego and his partner worked with practiced efficiency, checking vitals, murmuring medical shorthand that blurred into white noise.
I kept staring at Doc’s left hand, how it lay slightly curled and motionless while his right still fidgeted.
The hospital’s emergency entrance appeared too quickly and not fast enough. Red light splashed across the concrete as Diego threw open the back doors. The night air hit my face like a wash of warm breath compared to the ambulance’s sterile chill.
“Suspected TIA, BP one-sixty over ninety,” Diego called out as the waiting ER team approached. “Onset approximately forty minutes ago.”
I scrambled out behind them as they unloaded Doc with smooth precision. The wheels of the gurney hit the pavement with a metallic click that sent a shiver through me.
“This is silly.” Doc’s voice was clearer than it had been at the bar. “I just need to sit down for a minute.”
Relief surged through me at his coherence, but I didn’t dare trust it. I’d seen too many medical dramas to believe anything but what the doctors would tell us.
Inside, the Emergency Department hummed with controlled chaos.
Monitors beeped in irregular patterns. A woman cried softly behind a thin curtain.
Someone called for a crash cart down another hallway.
Everywhere, people moved with that particular urgency that meant lives hung in the balance, yet no one was running.
I followed the gurney as far as they let me, the heels of my boots clicking against the linoleum. My fingers brushed Doc’s arm once before a nurse with kind eyes but a firm voice said, “You’ll need to wait here, miss. We’ll take good care of him.”
“I’m his granddaughter,” I said, as if that might grant me passage.
The nurse nodded. “The doctor will be out to speak with you soon.”
They wheeled Doc through a set of double doors that swung shut with a soft whoosh. I stared at those doors, willing them to open again.
The image of Doc collapsed on the floor played on repeat in my mind. That gray face. His puzzled expression. The slur of his voice as he’d tried to speak.
I forced myself to take a deep breath. Then another. He’s here. He’s alive. The best people are helping him right now.
Someone stepped up beside me. I turned my head, expecting to see a doctor or a nurse ready to pepper me with questions about Doc’s medical history.
But it was Diego.
“He’s in good hands here.” That low voice was more soothing than it should have been. “Dr. Maxwell is an excellent neurologist.”
I tried to find words. Any words. My law degree, my experience with corporate negotiations—all that eloquence deserted me now.
“Thank you.” My voice cracked on the second syllable.
It wasn’t only Doc’s condition tying my stomach in knots. Shame burned beneath my skin. The last time Diego and I had spoken face to face had been the summer before law school. The summer I’d let myself believe—for a few stolen weeks—that I might choose a different path.
But when August came, I’d gone to Chicago as planned. And instead of telling him honestly that I couldn’t do long-distance while tackling my first year, I’d... faded away. Stopped answering texts. Sent shorter and shorter emails. Made excuses not to come home on breaks.
I’d been a coward. And here he was, being kind to me.
“Can I get you anything?” His voice filled the silence. “Water? Coffee? The cafeteria’s not great, but—”
“I’m okay.”
He nodded, and took a half-step closer. “Doc’s tough. Toughest guy I know.”
My throat tightened. “Yeah.”
Diego lifted his hand, hesitating before he moved toward me. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought he might touch my arm, or pull me into a hug. God, I wanted that—needed it—the solid reassurance of human contact.
But his hand stopped, hovering in the space between us before dropping back to his side.
Our eyes met again. His were still the same warm brown, deep enough to fall into. They held questions I didn’t know how to answer, kindness I didn’t deserve.
“It’s good to see you, Gill,” he said softly.
“I—“ The word hung in the air. I what? I’m sorry? I missed you? I think about you more than I should?
A sharp buzz cut through the moment. Diego glanced down at his radio as a voice crackled through.
“Rivera, we’ve got another call. Four minutes.”
He looked back at me, conflict written across his face. “I have to go.”
“Of course.” I nodded mechanically.
He hesitated, one foot already turned toward the exit. The radio buzzed again.
I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, maybe. Or relief. Then he was striding away, those broad shoulders disappearing through the automatic doors.
I watched until he was gone, his familiar silhouette disappearing completely from view, before sinking into the nearest waiting room chair.
The molded plastic was cold and unforgiving through my jeans, offering no comfort whatsoever.
The harsh fluorescent lighting cast everything in an unflattering, sickly pallor that made the beige walls look even more institutional and sterile.
Around me, other people waited in their own private agonies, each lost in their particular version of hospital purgatory.
An elderly couple sat three chairs down, their weathered hands intertwined, whispering to each other in voices too low to catch.
The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and every few moments she’d reach up to dab at them with a tissue pulled from her purse.
Across the room, a young mother bounced a feverish child on her lap, the little boy’s flushed cheeks pressed against her shoulder as she murmured soothing words.
Near the vending machines, a man in a rumpled business suit paced back and forth with mechanical precision, his phone pressed so tightly to his ear that his knuckles had gone white.
And me, sitting alone in this sea of worry and waiting, wrestling with my fears for Doc’s condition while the ghost of a summer romance I’d never properly laid to rest seemed to hover in the antiseptic air around me.
Diego’s warm brown eyes, the way he’d almost reached for me, the careful distance he’d maintained—it all swirled together with my anxiety about Doc, creating a knot of emotion in my chest that felt impossible to untangle.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Digging it out, I saw Lucy’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” I answered, my voice still rough with emotion.
“Oh, my God. How’s Doc?” Lucy’s words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
Momentarily thrown, I blinked. “How did you even know? We just got to the hospital.”
A short, humorless laugh came through the line. “Small town. Two people texted me already. Pepper called from the bar right after the ambulance left, and Mrs. Kovalchik saw the ambulance when she was driving past and recognized Doc being loaded in.”
Of course. In Huckleberry Creek, news traveled faster than emergency vehicles.
“They’re still examining him.” I glanced toward the impenetrable double doors. “I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“Are you okay?” The genuine concern in Lucy’s voice made my throat tighten. “Do you want me to come?”
Relief washed over me so powerfully I almost gasped. The thought of facing this alone suddenly seemed unbearable.
“God, yes. Please.” The words escaped before I could pretend to be strong.
“I’ll be there as quick as I can. Cord will stay with Liam.”
Gratitude swelled in my chest, making my eyes sting. “Thank you.”
We disconnected, and I found myself staring at my phone screen. I should call my parents. They would want to know. But the thought of explaining everything, of managing their reactions on top of my own fears, felt overwhelming. Later. I’d call them after I knew more.
I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly against the harsh fluorescent lights. The waiting room’s sounds washed over me—muffled conversations, the occasional electronic ping, a child’s restless whimpers.
Twenty minutes later, the automatic doors swooshed open, and Lucy came barreling through, her hair windblown and her eyes wide with concern. She spotted me immediately and rushed over, dropping into the chair beside me and pulling me into a fierce hug.
“What happened?” She kept her hands on my shoulders as she pulled back.
I took a shaky breath. “He collapsed at work. One minute he was fine—teasing me about my corporate job—and the next, he just went down. His speech was slurred, and he couldn’t seem to stand up.”
Lucy’s expression grew more serious. “What are they saying?”
“The paramedics think it’s a TIA or a stroke.” I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t even know what a TIA is.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me to google it. My brain, usually so analytical, had simply frozen, fixating instead on Doc’s pale face and Diego’s concerned eyes.
“The doctors will figure it out. Have you eaten something?”
“Yeah.” I’d picked at some fries earlier at the bar, between carting trays and checking work emails. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t think I could manage anything else.
Lucy nodded. “Sit. You need a warm beverage. I’ll get something.”
I didn’t really want that either, but my bestie was of a mind that all major everything required a warm beverage to face it, so I didn’t argue as she scurried off.
Lucy returned with two styrofoam cups of what generously might be called coffee. It was the color of dishwater and smelled vaguely of burnt plastic.
“Apparently the good coffee cart closes at nine,” she explained, grimacing as she took a sip. “This is... well, it’s hot. That’s about all I can say for it.”
I wrapped my hands around the cup anyway, grateful for something to do besides stare at the doors and check my phone. The warmth seeped into my palms.
“You’re staying at Doc’s, right?” Lucy asked.
I nodded. “For a couple of weeks. I’m working remotely.” The thought of my laptop waiting back at the bar, with all those changes still needing to be made on the contract, made my stomach clench. I’d have to call my boss and explain... something. I couldn’t think about that now.
Lucy squeezed my arm. “It’ll be okay. Doc’s too ornery to let something like this keep him down.”
I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I hope you’re right.”
We lapsed into silence, sipping the terrible coffee. The minutes crawled by, each one stretching longer than the last. I checked my watch so often my neck started to hurt from the constant downward tilt.
Finally, a tall man in a white coat approached, clipboard in hand. “Family of Vernon Holliday?”
I jumped to my feet. “Yes. I’m his granddaughter.”
“I’m Dr. Maxwell, the neurologist on call.” He extended his hand, which I shook automatically. “The tests are back. Your grandfather experienced what we call a transient ischemic attack, or TIA. Essentially, a mini-stroke. The good news is his symptoms have resolved completely.”
Relief washed over me, but something in the doctor’s expression held me back from celebrating.
“But?” I prompted.
“But this was a warning,” he said gravely. “TIAs often precede major strokes. They’re like the body’s way of signaling that something’s wrong.”
My throat tightened. “What does this mean exactly?”
“It means changes need to happen immediately. No more stress, no more late nights. He needs to slow down, or the next one might be the real thing.” Dr. Maxwell’s tone was gentle but firm. “And at his age, a major stroke would be devastating.”
The words landed like a weight in my gut. If Doc couldn’t continue to run the saloon, what would happen to it? That place was his life—had been for nearly twenty years. It was more than a business; it was his identity.
“Can I see him?” My voice came out smaller than I’d intended.
“Of course. He’s awake and stable. Follow me.”
Lucy and I trailed behind Dr. Maxwell through the double doors and down a corridor lined with exam rooms. He led us to a curtained-off area where Doc sat propped up in a hospital bed, hooked to a monitor. The sight of him—smaller somehow, despite his color having returned—made my heart twist.
“Well, look who’s here.” Doc’s voice was stronger than I expected. “Come to check on the old man?” His gaze slid to Lucy. “And brought me another pretty visitor, too. Hey, Lucy.”
She flashed him a smile. “Hey, Doc.”
“Guess you’re not bulletproof after all”. The traitorous wobble to my voice undermined the attempted joke.
Doc waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. I got a little lightheaded is all.”
Dr. Maxwell cleared his throat. “It’s definitely not nothing. I was telling your granddaughter, you can’t keep doing this. The late nights, the stress, it’s all gotta stop. You need to slow down, or next time you won’t be so lucky.”
I watched Doc’s face harden into that familiar stubborn expression I’d seen a thousand times. Before he could argue, I stepped closer to the bed.
“I’ll step in at the bar until you’re ready.” The words came out before I’d fully thought them through. I had no idea how I was going to juggle that with my actual job, but that was a problem for later.
Doc studied my face, clearly wanting to protest. But whatever he saw in my eyes made him reconsider.
“Okay, fine,” he conceded with a sigh. He turned to Dr. Maxwell. “When can I get out of here?”