“Fair enough.” Rowan wondered if he’d been this naturally optimistic in the Navy.
While Nash did whatever post-flight check stuff was necessary to his plane, Rowan took the time to make herself a little more presentable. Her clothes had dried stiff and uncomfortable. As the stuff in her duffel was also damp, there wasn’t much she could do about that, but she tamed her hair into a braid and slapped on a little makeup to cover up the bruising under her eyes. Her mom and grandfather hadn’t seen her since Reyes’s death. At least not since she’d gotten out of the hospital herself. She didn’t want them worrying.
Half an hour later, she strode through the utilitarian hallways of Wachoxee County Hospital, Nash by her side. Her mother had texted that they were on the third floor, Room 318. Eager to see for herself that Robert was okay, and itching to work off some of the nervous energy, she bypassed the elevator in favor of the fire stairs. Nash followed without comment. When they reached the third floor landing, he grabbed her hand. “Hold up a sec.”
Startled by the touch, she looked back at him. “What?”
“Take a minute to breathe. You don’t want to go in there looking like the devil’s on your heels.”
“I need to see for myself that he’s okay.” Because while they were en route from the airport, she’d been imagining him taking a turn for the worse.
“I know. But just go with it. Deep breaths.”
Impatient, and realizing he wasn’t going to let her out of this stairwell until she listened to him, Rowan matched her breath to his, sucking in deep lungfuls of air on a count of four and exhaling on a count of eight as she focused on his warm brown eyes. In and out. In and out. Oddly, she felt some of the rough edges smooth a bit.
“There. That’s better.” His lips curved.
“Thanks.” Rowan realized he hadn’t let go of her hand about the same time he did. They both looked down at their tangle of fingers for a moment. Then he released her and tugged open the door.
Their wet shoes squeaked on the industrial tile floor, sounding too loud in the otherwise muted environment of the hospital. Turning the corner, she saw her mom and grandfather standing with a white-coated doctor and broke into a run.
“Is he all right?”
Granddad reached out an arm and pulled her into his side. “My granddaughter, Rowan. This is Dr. Evers.”
The doctor, a fifty-something man with a salt-and-pepper beard and one of those medical do-rags over his hair, offered a kind smile. “Mr. Curry came through surgery just fine. I was just letting your family know what he’s going to need these next few weeks.”
“Is he awake?”
“Groggy and a little muzzy-headed, but that’s to be expected. You can see him in a little bit. As I was saying. He’ll definitely need someone staying with him at home for the next couple of weeks. No driving for four to six weeks. The motion of turning the wheel will pull at his incision. He’s encouraged to move around, not too fast, but building up to more activity as he feels up to it. He can still do light chores, but no lifting anything heavier than five to seven pounds.”
“How long until he’s back to normal?” Mom asked.
“Barring complications, he’ll be back to more independence in six weeks. It’ll be two to three months before he’s really back to normal.”
Granddad frowned. “Do you have recommendations for a home health service? Neither of us is able to take off work that long.”
Rowan jumped in. “I’ll do it.” When her mom and grandfather stared at her, she just shrugged. “I have the time, and there’s nothing more important to me than his recovery.”
They exchanged a worried look, and she knew she hadn’t done as good as job as she’d hoped with the makeup. Thank God they only knew Reyes had been killed and not the rest of it. Forcing a lightness she didn’t feel, Rowan smiled. “Besides, I’m the only one of us as tough as he is.”
“I can certainly help.”
Nash. None of them had noticed when he’d joined them.
Rowan’s mother immediately wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you so much for going to get Rowan.”
“Of course. No sense having a pilot in your pocket if you don’t take advantage when you need it.”
His good-humored smile flashed, and Rowan was beyond grateful that he’d offered his services to get her here. She turned her attention back to the doctor. “Can we see him?”
“For just a little while. He’ll need to rest. I’ll pull together some materials on everything you need to know about his post-op care, the things you need to do to prepare for him to come home in a few days.”
“How long will he need to stay here?” Granddad asked.
“Three to eight days, depending.”
Which meant she’d be here for probably three weeks at the very least. Dr. Powers would approve. And maybe she was right, at least a little. Maybe the time away from Houston, away from the department and the looks of distrust, the muttered remarks, and the veiled threats would be good for her. Maybe she’d finally have a chance to properly grieve for her partner and figure out what to do next. And when nothing happened here, Dr. Powers would be forced to acknowledge that the problem was inside the department, not Rowan’s head.
Rowan left her parents talking to the doctor and slipped into the room. Her great uncle was hooked up to all kinds of monitors. The sight of him in that hospital bed, his pallor gray, oxygen tubes draping a face that seemed to have aged ten years since she saw him last, was a sucker punch to the gut. He’d always been such a vital, bigger than life figure. Now, for the first time in her life, he looked old. It scared the shit out of her.
“Roo?”
At the sound of his childhood nickname for her, Rowan moved toward the bed to take his hand, plastering a cheerful smile on her face. “Hey there, Unk.”
He studied her through heavy eyes. “You look like shit.”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “Back atcha. You scared everybody.”
“Lotta fuss over nothing.”
“It was a bit more than nothing. But you’re gonna be fine, now. I’m gonna see to it.”
“Are you now?”
“Yep. You’re looking at your new roommate, old man.”
“Roommate or warden?”
“Maybe a little of both.” Because she didn’t know where else she could touch him without hurting anything, she brought their joined hands to her cheek. “Don’t be a grumpy cuss. Let me take care of you for once.”
He heaved a put upon sigh. “Fine, but I get control of the remote.”
That was her Uncle Robert. This time the smile was genuine. “I can work with that.”
Nash wheeled his truck into his driveway. After this week’s hop and skip to Atlanta, his bank account would be fat enough to stay put for a few days. He wanted a change of clothes, a beer, and to check in on his new neighbor. He’d hated leaving town right after getting her settled. Not that Rowan was exactly asking for his help. But he’d worried about her while he was away. Other than a daily text update on Robert’s progress, she’d been incommunicado since he dropped her off from the hospital. Was she home or was she still in Lawley for her daily pilgrimage?