50. Josie
FIFTY
JOSIE
“Take it slow,” I tell Pop as I stand in the entryway of my childhood home.
“Yes, slowly,” the nurse gently tells Pop as she guides him through the front door.
Tyson is right behind him, one hand hovering at his back, ready to catch him if he so much as shifts the wrong way.
I can’t help but smile.
Tyson hasn’t left his side.
He hasn’t left mine either. It’s been a little over a month since Pop’s stroke, and the entire time, Tyson has stood by us.
Pop moves slower than I’ve ever seen him move.
Each step he takes is measured and deliberate, like his body is relearning something it used to do without thinking.
My chest tightens at the sight. We didn’t know if he’d walk again, but he’s fought hard to move the way he is right now, and I’m so proud of him for that.
Things might be a little different from what they were before, but he’s here. That’s what matters.
“We’re here, Mr. Russell,” the second nurse adds as they help him further inside.
To bring Pop home, we had to hire around-the-clock nurses to aid in his care, something I’m incredibly grateful we’re in the position to be able to afford.
At first, the doctors wanted Pop to continue his recovery at a facility, but he wouldn’t have any of that.
He worked as hard as possible to be able to return to his home.
“This way,” I tell the nurses, already moving ahead of them.
I lead them down the hallway to Pop’s bedroom on the first floor.
We’ve had to make some changes to the house to make it safe and usable for Pop now that walking is much harder for him, but the house is finally accessible enough for him to come home.
We get Pop settled into bed. They adjust the pillows and explain what medications and routines he’ll be on and what they’ll be helping with.
I nod along and try to absorb what I can, but I can’t help it…my focus keeps returning to Pop, to the rise and fall of his chest. To the fact that I didn’t lose him. My chest tightens at the sight of him in the bed, still fragile but here. That’s what matters. That he made it home.
One of the nurses settles into a chair in the corner while the other places a small tray of supplies beside the bed.
It’s subtle, but it is still another reminder of how much has changed. This isn’t just his room anymore. He’s being watched and taken care of.
Eventually, the craziness of the day settles down. One of the nurses—Patty—remains in the room. She moves quietly in the background, giving us space to soak in Pop’s arrival but never fully leaving.
The door to his room was left open, and as I look around, I realize the house doesn’t feel private the way it used to. It’s his house—my house—but it’s something different too.
I have to remind myself that no matter what’s changed with Pop, and that he still has a long road to recovery left, he made it home. That’s what counts.
I move my attention to Pop. They had to swap out his old bed for this new one that looks eerily similar to the ones at the hospital.
“You’re home, Pop,” I tell him, closing the distance and grabbing his hand.
He gives me a weak smile. “Home,” he rasps.
Walking’s come easier for Pop than talking has.
While he’s able to get some words out, the doctors say it might take some time for him to speak the way he used to.
Luckily, I have all the time in the world to give Pop.
And until he can get back to the same teasing he used to, I’ll be the one to talk enough for both of us.
“Get some rest,” I tell him, bringing his frail hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Pop nods before closing his eyes. I know the bustle of today must’ve exhausted him. We tried bringing him home in his wheelchair, but he was adamant about walking into the house. He did a great job doing so, but I know now he must be incredibly exhausted by it all.
I turn to leave the room, finding Tyson leaning against the wall by the door. He’s been there the entire time, watching me in the same way he has for weeks now. Like he’s making sure I’m okay—that I’m still holding it together. He’s always watching, ready to step in when I need him.
I step out the door, my hand immediately finding his as we walk through the home I grew up in. I wish the first time he got to visit this house was for a weekly dinner with Pop; instead, his first time visiting the house was late one night after we spent the day at the hospital with Pop.
We walk hand in hand all the way to my childhood bedroom. Like we’ve done countless times the last couple of weeks, we crawl into bed, our bodies finding each other’s immediately.
I pull the blanket over both of us, trapping us under the sheets together in a world that’s just ours, like I used to do as a kid when life got too overwhelming. Nan would sometimes join me under the covers as a reminder that I don’t have to handle things alone.
And now, Tyson does it.
My rock this last month. He’s been my constant.
Mine.
“Hi,” I whisper, reaching across the mattress and placing my hand on his cheek. We both probably look silly lying under the covers completely clothed. I don’t care what it looks like to anyone else. Right now, I’m soaking in being in the bubble of comfort with Tyson.
Tyson smiles. “Hi,” he responds, pressing a kiss to my palm.
I run my thumb along his bottom lip, savoring the moment with him.
He’s barely left my side throughout all of this, and still, sometimes, I can’t believe he’s here.
He’s always been here. Through the countless meetings with doctors, trying to come up with a care plan for Pop.
Through the nights of me not being able to sleep because of being worried about Pop.
Through the times when I tried to distract myself by writing the book that was due.
He’s stepped up in a way I never expected him to.
Taking care of Mouse. Bringing food to the hospital for me and Scarlett, who has also been by my side through all of this, and making sure we eat.
Buying jugs of the Hamptons Honey Latte so I didn’t have to miss out on my favorite coffee.
Through the big and the little things, he’s been here, and I wish I could put into words how much it means to me to have had him by my side through all of it.
“Guess what,” I mutter as my fingertips trail over his skin.
His blue gaze runs over my face. “What?”
“They loved the book,” I say quietly, relief running through me at the words. With everything that happened with Pop, I had no idea if I’d be able to turn the book in or not—or if it’d be any good—but I heard back from my editor this morning.
“Yeah?” Tyson asks, his lips turning up into a smile.
I nod. “Yep. My editor loved it. Says it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. Even Eli made a comment on how the entire marketing team loves it.”
Pride is written all over his features as he cups my face in both his hands. “I’m not surprised at all. I knew you’d write the best damn book out there—” He pauses for a moment before winking.“—with just a little bit of inspiration.”
“You didn’t even read it,” I point out before letting out a small laugh.
“I didn’t need to,” he responds easily, not thinking twice about the words that leave his mouth. “I know you.”
My chest squeezes at his words because he does know me. He knows me more than anyone ever has—or ever will.
“I do think it’s the best book I’ve ever written,” I admit softly. It feels weird to say the words out loud, but it’s true. I’m so damn proud of how the book turned out, no matter what it took to get it there.
“I bet it is,” he murmurs.
I nod because I realize I don’t just think it…I know it’s the best book I’ve written, by a landslide.
It’s because I stopped holding back. I let myself feel things—real things. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and put myself in a position to be hurt so I could really feel what it was like to care for someone the way you write about in romance books.
And it’s because of Tyson.
Because of the Hamptons.
Because I was able to find myself and my love for writing love stories again.
I move my hand to his chest, pressing it right against the spot where his heart beats. His skin is warm under my touch, the thrum of his heartbeat thumping against my fingertips. I don’t know how escaping to the Hamptons led to me finding the man lying next to me, but I’m so happy it did.
What started out as me trespassing onto his lawn to chase after my cat has transpired into something so much more. Something beautiful and ours.
I thought he’d help inspire me for the summer and show me what passion was like, and we’d leave it at that.
But I can’t leave anything when it comes to him.
Even when we were still getting to know one another, and everything happened with Pop, Tyson never once faltered in being by my side. He’s proven that he’s here to stay, that he isn’t going anywhere.
He’s healed wounds I didn’t even realize existed.
After losing my parents and then my grandmother, I think I’ve been scared of letting myself love someone.
When you love people, you give them the power to hurt you—whether intentional or unintentional.
I didn’t think I could handle the hurt again, but then Tyson came along.
And I realized that some things were worth the risk. He’s worth the risk. He always has been.
Because I’m in love with him. He owns my heart, and I’ve known from the moment he dropped everything to get me on a jet when Pop had his stroke, but I didn’t want to say it with everything going on. I wanted both of us to be able to hold on to the words when I said them.
And now feels like the perfect time to finally say them out loud.
Tyson’s eyes stare into mine as his own face takes on a thoughtful expression.
“Ty,” I begin.
“Josie, I—” he says at the same time.
We both stop, a small breath of laughter leaving us. The sound is soft and quiet under the covers.
“You first,” I whisper, wanting to know what he was going to say.
His eyes don’t leave mine. Not for a single second. Something in my chest tightens at the intense way he looks at me. It’s almost like he’s been holding on to something just as tightly as I have, waiting for just the right moment to finally say it out loud.
“I’m in love with you,” he says, his words confident. He says them slowly, but there’s a slight rasp to his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. His words are steady and certain, like he’s known the feeling for a while and has just been waiting for the right moment to express it.
My breath catches, and even though I was planning on saying the exact same thing to him, I can’t get words out.
“I didn’t plan on this happening,” he continues. “I really didn’t think I’d ever give up control enough to get here.” His lips twitch slightly, but it’s not his usual smirk. It’s softer and real—full of love. “But somewhere along the way, you changed that. You changed me.”
My chest aches—the good kind—at his words. I curl my fingers around the fabric of his shirt and pull his body even closer. Emotion builds in my throat, thick and overwhelming in the best kind of way.
“I’m in love with you too,” I say, the words feeling good leaving my mouth. It feels right to finally say them out loud to him. “I think I have been for a while,” I add on. “I just didn’t want to say it when it felt like everything else was falling apart.”
His thumb continues to caress my cheek as his face breaks into the widest smile.
“You stayed,” I go on. “Through all of it, you didn’t ever make me feel like I had to handle any of this on my own.”
“You never have to handle anything alone again, Josie,” he gets out before pressing his forehead to mine. Our breath mixes together in the small space between us, the moment absolutely perfect.
“This isn’t just inspiration anymore, Ty,” I tell him. “This is everything. You’re everything to me.”
His lips find mine under the covers. His mouth is right where it belongs—against mine.
The kiss is slow and steady, but it feels different than all the ones before. Knowing how he feels—knowing how we both feel—changes everything.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but we stay like that, our mouths against each other’s under the covers, for a while. The world outside might still be uncertain, but underneath the covers with him, knowing we’ll face it all together, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it has before.
Because we’re not facing it alone. We have each other.
“I love you, Josephine Russell,” Tyson announces, his mouth leaving mine only long enough to get the words out.
“I love you, Tyson Bishop,” I say back to him, looking forward to a lifetime of being able to tell him those exact words. I want to say them so much that he gets sick of them.
As if he can read my mind, Tyson groans as his hands press harder into my skin. “God, I’ll never grow tired of hearing you say that. I love you so much, Josie. So fucking much.”
Something warm spreads through my chest, steady and certain in a way that makes everything else fade. Because I believe him. I’ve always believed him, even when I barely knew him.
We kiss a little more, our hands exploring each other’s bodies as we’re desperate for more of each other.
The covers stay pulled over us as I get lost in Tyson, letting him bring me the peace he always has, since I met him.
When I first got to the Hamptons, I never could’ve expected to find love. All I wanted to do was finish writing a book—and for it to be a good one. Instead, I found the love of my life and wrote the best book of my life.
This summer didn’t go exactly as I intended, but for the first time, I’m glad things didn’t go according to plan.
Because everything that happened—every unexpected turn—led me here. To this. To him.
And this time, I’m not trying to rewrite the ending.
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Because, long story short, it was all worth it in the end.