Chapter 39
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
EMMETT
Wind tugs at Aspen’s hair the same way it has since we left Timberline Peak. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting against her thigh like that alone can keep me steady.
The roads unwind in front of us, each curve dragging us closer to the biggest risk I’ve taken in a long-ass time.
I trust Connie. She’d text me if there was a major change in my grandma’s lucidity.
That’s what’s tightening my chest—not knowing what version of my grandma waits for us. And wanting Aspen to meet the woman who raised me instead of the disease that’s slowly stealing her away.
I check my phone at the stop sign. No message.
Aspen stays quiet, just slides her hand over mine and threads our fingers, silently reminding me that we’re in this together.
My foot finds the gas again and the Jeep hums forward, tires whispering over gravel. The town thins the farther we go—storefronts giving way to wider spaces. Weathered ranch gates bear names of families who’ve owned the land for decades.
Too many are defunct and derelict.
“Most people wouldn’t stay someplace that held this many bad memories,” Aspen says quietly, watching another abandoned ranch disappear behind us.
“Probably.”
“So why didn’t you?”
My jaw tightens. “Because leaving felt too much like escaping it.”
A few more minutes of nothing before newer houses pop up and then the nursing home.
It looks like you’d expect. One story, beige siding, faded blue trim that used to match the Wyoming sky. A flag snaps halfheartedly in the breeze out front.
It’s a nice place, but it’s not somewhere anyone looks forward to living or visiting.
I ease into the lot and cut the engine, and suddenly everything feels too quiet for how loud my head is.
For a minute, I just stare through the windshield, trying to get my head on straight before we go inside.
Beside me, Aspen waits me out without pushing.
Which only makes this harder. Makes it damn near impossible not to want things I’ve spent years convincing myself I don’t need.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Aspen says softly, like she’s afraid I’ll take her up on it.
For the first time since we left the overlook I really look at her.
She’s stunning.
Wind-tangled hair. Misty eyes. And bracing for impact.
“I am,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. I bring her knuckles to my mouth, closing my eyes for a second as I press a kiss there.
Then I step out of the Jeep and walk around to her side before she can get out herself.
She lifts a brow but lets me help her down anyway. She still does most of the work, afraid to reinjure me.
The walk across the dusty parking lot is too short. Before I have a chance to flee, we’re inside. It smells like grass and disinfectant. Something I never understood until Connie explained it’s actually nonenal. Basically aging skin.
A nurse I don’t recognize pushes a wheelchair past us, humming.
Aspen pauses beside me, waiting to follow my lead. I nod to the hallway that leads to our right. It’s the memory care wing.
“Follow me,” I say.
There’s no chance that she’d leave my side but the words feel like an anchor and I need that more than I care to admit.
We get to a set of locked doors and a reception desk, all meant to keep the residents safe. The receptionist smiles at me warmly.
“We’re here to see Monica Slate.”
“Lovely. See’ll be so excited to see you. They just finished lunch—she should be in her room or the living room. There was a rather wild game of spades going on when I was down there a little while ago.”
“Great,” I deadpan.
“So, we’re hoping for her room.”
“Does it make me an asshole if I hope it’s her room?”
She snickers. “Let’s hope she won early and quit while she was ahead.”
“It’s hot when you’re logical.”
Aspen snorts. “You think everything I do is hot.”
“Pretty much.”
When we pass the living room and I don’t spot her, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“It’s your lucky day,” Aspen says.
“It’s still early.”
Anything could change, but I don’t say that out loud. Honestly, I could use the reminder myself.
“It’s okay if this doesn’t go the way we want it to. We’ll take it one thing at a time,” she reminds me.
“Room thirty-six,” I say pointing down the hall. “It’s near the end.”
If I was going to take her from her home, the least I could do was make sure she had the best view in the building.
Aspen takes the lead and I could kiss her for it. I’ve never been this nervous to visit before. Not even when I know she’s not lucid.
Halfway down the hall, my chest starts doing that thing again. My breathing is tight, shallow, like my lungs forgot how to work properly. I slow without meaning to, tugging on Aspen’s arms because our hands are still joined.
“Do you need a minute?”
I take stock, the panic is there but it hasn’t taken control. Maybe if I keep moving I can evade it.
“No,” I say, taking the lead when we start again.
When we reach the end of the hallway, the door is cracked, sunlight spilling out onto the floor in a pale stripe. That’s a good sign. I stop just short of it, my hand still wrapped around Aspen’s. My pulse knocks against my ribs hard enough I’m surprised she can’t hear it.
Because once I push that door—
Aspen meets my eyes.
Not nervous. Not pitying.
One look gives me all the confidence I need.
Whatever version of my grandma is in there, Aspen’s about to meet her.
I exhale once, slow and controlled.
Then I reach for the door.