There hadn’t been any fight in him when we’d broken up, I’d thought.
But . . . had I been wrong?
He’d gotten Preston to come to the hospital and attempt to apologize, so maybe he was fighting for us, just in a different way. Did he have a plan? He was smart and calculating, and right now I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
I stared at him in the doorway, beautifully backlit by the bright hallway, and ached for him to come inside the room. I was desperate for him to storm over to my bedside, scoop me up in his arms, and set his mouth on mine, like he couldn’t tolerate another moment without kissing me.
But Greg and I both knew wishing for things didn’t make them happen.
His words were hushed, only for me. “I miss you.”
The pain I felt wasn’t where his scalpel had cut me open. It was buried deeper inside. “I miss you too.”
He took one hesitant step across the threshold of my room. “I’m working on it. On him.”
I swallowed a breath. He’d said he wasn’t giving up, and the way he looked at me now, I knew he meant on everything. This man was driven, and he wasn’t going to quit when facing an obstacle.
My pulse leaped with hope.
When his phone chimed, disappointment created a deep crease in Greg’s forehead. He glanced at the screen, then back to me. “It’s the second time they’ve paged me.”
I nodded and pulled the blanket tighter around my waist, mustering the bravest face I could, hoping he’d understand my meaning. “Okay. Go do what you need to.”
Polly, our one-eyed cat, didn’t care for Tripod. In fact, she was old and ornery, and didn’t like anyone except my mom and me. It was late afternoon as my mom helped me into my bed, and both the dog and cat paced my room like two boxers preparing to go at each other.
But they weren’t interested in fighting, only in staking their spot beside me. As soon as I was settled, propped up on some pillows, Polly leapt up on the bed. She curled into a tight ball beside my hip. Her ears went back when the dog also jumped on board. He wasn’t small or graceful, and I grimaced as the bed rocked.
“Tripod, no!” My mom clapped her hands to try to shoo the dog off, but Tripod flattened himself against me, his head in my lap. He gave my mom the deepest puppy dog eyes he possessed, and she sighed. He was stubborn and spoiled, and when it came to my mom, he always got his way.
“He’s fine,” I said.
I would have laughed, but my incisions were tender. I’d discovered coughing, sneezing, and laughter were things to avoid right now. I put my hand on his head, and his tail thumped hard against the mattress. Polly’s ears went back again, perturbed, but she didn’t abandon her spot.
“You need anything else?” my mom asked.
“No.” I lifted the TV remote in one hand and my phone in the other. “I’m all set.” I gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. I feel like we were there forever. I hope your garden’s okay.” She hadn’t even mentioned it while we were cooped up in the hospital.
She laughed and waved a hand, brushing off my comment. “They’re plants. I’m sure they’re fine.”
“But thanks for staying with me.”
She gave me a weird smile, like I was being silly. “That’s what mothers do.” She faked seriousness. “But, honey, do that to me again and you’ll be in big trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise, no more appendicitis for me.”
Her gaze dropped to my wrist. “Want me to cut the bracelets off?”
“Oh.” I eyed the plastic hospital ID bracelets clasped to my right wrist. My name, date of birth, and Dr. Lowe were printed on it. A small part of me didn’t want to take it off yet, but then I thought I was being ridiculous. “Yes, please.”
She left and returned with a pair of scissors, and I held still while she cut the bands off.
“I’m in love with Dr. Lowe,” I said abruptly.
My mom paused, arched one eyebrow, and set the bands on my nightstand. “Oh, Cassidy, I know. I figured that out watching you two in recovery.”
Oh no.
I sank back against my pillows as dread filled my chest. Had I told him I loved him, again, this time while she was in the room? And had he stayed silent a second time? “What did I do?”
“You looked at him.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“You looked at him the same way I used to look at your father.” Her expression was flat. “Men like him are a lot of heartache.”
I pulled my face into a scowl. “He’s not like my father.”
Once again, I got the look like I was being silly. Or maybe naïve. “He’s certainly old enough to be, isn’t he? Plus, a man who walks out on his son only cares about himself.”