Page 104 of Long Story Short

I don’t wait for anything else. I turn and rush toward the elevators, needing to see Pop.

I can feel Tyson right behind me as I get one step closer to seeing the person who means most to me in the world.

The elevator ride is almost unbearable. It takes too long. It’s too slow and too quiet, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

As we go up, Tyson takes my hand in his and gives me a reassuring squeeze. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t think there’s anything to really say.

Finally, there’s a soft chime, and I’m out of the doors before they have time to fully slide open.

My gaze travels over each of the room numbers, feeling like I’ll never make it to his room. The numbers almost blur together as I rush down the hallway. My heart pounds against my chest with every step. My chest is so tight it feels like I can’t even breathe.

“Right there,” Tyson says from behind me, pointing out Pop’s room.

He gives my hand another squeeze as we stop in front of the door. I falter for just a moment, terrified of what I’m going to find on the other side.

“I’ll be right out here,” Tyson tells me, his tone reassuring. I nod before pushing the door open, unable to be away from Pop for another moment.

The first thing that hits me as I step inside is how quiet the room is. It’s too quiet. Pop hates the quiet. He’s always got the TV on, watching some kind of Western movie or some kind of game. He’d hate how silent the room is right now.

My breath catches when my gaze lands on Pop.

The first thing I notice is how small he looks in the bed. His skin is paler than it was when I saw him last week. His eyes are closed, and as I take a step closer, I let out a small breath of relief when I see the rising and falling of his chest. It seems slow, but it’s something.

He’s alive. He’s here.

There are wires attached to him. Monitors are everywhere, and I don’t understand what any of it means.

“Pop?” I whisper. My voice sounds too loud in the stillness of his room.

He looks too fragile. He doesn’t respond to me. He doesn’t move.

Something inside me drops. I hate hospitals. I remember all the time spent here with Nan, and I hate being in the same position all over again with Pop.

I rush to his bedside, my hand immediately reaching for his. His skin looks too pale against mine. And I hate how limp his hand is in mine.

“Pop,” I repeat, a little louder this time, even with my voice breaking. “I’m here.”

No response.

The constant beep of the monitor fills the silence where his voice should be.

My vision blurs as tears spill down my cheeks before I can even stop them.

“He’s just resting,” I whisper to myself, hoping that if I say the words, they’ll be true. “He’s just resting…right?” My voice cracks on the last word.

A strong hand finds the small of my back.

I didn’t even hear him step into the room.

“He’s here and breathing,” Tyson assures me, his voice quiet but sure.

All I can do is nod, but breathing doesn’t feel like enough. Is it enough? It seems like the machines are doing the breathing for him.

None of this feels like him.

My world.

The man who teases me, tells me stories, who’s always been larger than life. Now, he’s fragile.