“I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
I tilt my head. “You know?”
He rubs my back in slow circles. “Grams wanted me to be here when she told you. I drove through the night and accidentally left my charging cable at the cabin so I couldn’t check in sooner. When you weren’t at the apartment, I assumed you were already here,” he explains, his voice heavy with regret.
It eases the knot in my chest, knowing he wasn’t deliberately ignoring my calls and that he rushed to get back, understanding how much I would need him here.
“Florence is gone, and she’s not coming back,” I cry into his chest.
Heath runs a hand through my hair. “I know, hellcat, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t try to calm me down or fix things. He simply holds me close while my tears soak his shirt. After a few minutes, the rain picks up, so he scoops me into his arms and carries me toward the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I whisper between sniffles.
“Home.”
“What about Grams and my car?”
“I’ll call Walker to pick it up once we get home, and I’ll have Birdie and Briar come with him so they can keep your grandma company for a bit. I’m sure Ma will head over too, once she hears the news.” He opens the passenger door of his truck and sets me inside.
I’m stunned at how fast he’s come up with solutions for everything. He must be exhausted from driving all night, yet he’s stepped up in ways I never expected, and it melts the loneliness that had been weighing on me just moments ago.
I slide my hand along the stubble on Heath’s jaw. “Thank you for coming.”
“For you? Always,” he vows, kissing my temple.
The loss of Florence is crippling, but as Heath gets in the truck and pulls onto the road, the gentle hum of the engine lulls me back to sleep. I welcome the reprieve from the sharp ache settling in my bones, knowing I’ll be all right now that he’s here.
In Sickness And In Health
Charlie’s CGM app starts pinging on the way to our apartment, and by the time we arrive, the alerts are firing off repeatedly. The tone escalates from a warning chime to a sharp, urgent beeping that has my stomach in knots. Her levels have been low many times since we’ve lived together, but she’s usually already treating it by now.
As I carry her up the stairs, I notice she’s pale and clammy, her hands trembling around my neck.
“Heath,” she says, barely audible. “I don’t feel so good.”
Her head lolls against my chest, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are glassy and unfocused. She’s crashing hard.
“Hang in there, hellcat. I’ve got you,” I promise, setting her on the couch in the living room.
I rush to the kitchen, pull her glucose tabs from the cabinet, and pour a glass of orange juice before hurrying back to her side. She’s slumped against the couch, and I sit beside her, pressing a tablet to her lips.
“This will make you feel better,” I say encouragingly as she chews it.
I rest my hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze as I patiently wait for her to finish each tablet I give her. Once she’s finished, I slide my arm around her and support her neck as I bring the glass of orange juice to her mouth.
My chest aches at the sight of her so vulnerable, when my Charlie is normally spirited and full of fire. I’m humbled that she trusts me enough in this state to take care of her and be the strength she needs until she’s ready to stand on her own again.
“Take small sips,” I warn as she coughs after gulping it down too fast. She immediately listens, drawing back to drink more slowly. “There we go.” I brush her damp hair off her forehead.
I continue giving her juice until the glass is empty, relieved when the color finally returns to her cheeks, and the violent trembling in her hands eases into a faint shiver. When I check the CGM app, I’m relieved to see her blood sugar starting to climb.
Confident that the worst is behind her, I scoop her into my arms and carry her to our bedroom.
Charlie holds my shoulders for balance as I remove her clothes and pull one of my T-shirts over her head before tucking her into bed with several pillows propped up behind her.
She rests her head against them and looks up at me. “Thank you, Heath. I’m sorry I let my blood sugar get out of control.” Her face falls as she swallows hard. “After I got the news about Florence, I didn’t think to eat or to check my app before lying down.”
