Page 14 of The One Who Risked it All

Lincoln puffed out his chest. “I can be super quiet, Miss Carla. Like a ninja!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Excellent ninja skills will definitely come in handy. Now, let’s get ready. Do you have those cards you made for your Papa?”

As the boys scampered off to fetch their handmade creations, I took a deep breath. This visit was going to be tricky. I’d be lyingif I said I wasn’t nervous about potentially running into Harold Wells. The old feud between our families still cast a long shadow, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react to seeing me there.

We piled into the minivan, the boys chattering excitedly in the backseat. After the twenty-minute drive to Greencastle, we pulled into the parking lot. “Okay, ninjas,” I said, turning to face the boys, “remember our mission. Quiet and respectful, right?”

They nodded solemnly, and I felt a surge of affection for my best friend’s kids.

As we made our way to the correct area, I spotted a familiar figure in the waiting room. Mrs. Wells sat in a chair, her face lined with worry. The moment she saw her grandsons, though, her expression brightened.

“There are my brave boys,” she said, opening her arms.

Alex and Lincoln hesitated, glancing around at the unfamiliar environment. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they rushed forward into their grandmother’s embrace. Joey followed their lead, quickly scampering toward her.

“Mimi!” Lincoln exclaimed, then quickly lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “We’re being quiet ninjas for Papa.”

Mrs. Wells laughed softly, her eyes meeting mine over the boys’ heads. I saw a flicker of surprise, then gratitude.

Alex pulled back, his face serious as only an eight-year-old can be. “We made cards for Papa,” he announced, proudly holding up his colorful creation. “To help him feel better.”

I watched as Mrs. Wells’ eyes filled with tears. “Oh, sweethearts,” she murmured, pulling them close again. “Papa will love these. They’ll make him feel so much better.”

As I stood there, watching this tender family moment, I felt like an intruder. But I also felt a warmth spreading through my chest. Despite everything – the family feud, the complicated history with Eli – I was glad I could be here for these boys.

Maybe some bridges were worth rebuilding, no matter how long they’d been broken. Could the bridge between our families ever be restored?

Just then, I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. My heart skipped a beat as Eli appeared, his firefighter’s uniform replaced with a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans. His dark eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

“Uncle Eli!” the boys chorused, their faces lighting up.

Eli ruffled their hair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Hey, kiddos. You being good for Carla?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “They’ve been perfect gentlemen.”

Eli’s gaze locked with mine, a silent conversation passing between us. Gratitude, uncertainty, and something else I couldn’t quite name flickered across his face. My breath caught in my throat.

“Boys,” he said, breaking our eye contact, “want to go see Papa now?”

As they nodded eagerly, Eli turned to me with an apologetic smile. “Carla, I... uh, I think it might be best if...”

“If I wait here,” I finished for him, forcing a smile. “No problem. I’ve got some emails to catch up on anyway.”

Eli’s shoulders sagged with relief, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmured. “For everything.”

As they walked away, I sank into a nearby chair, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Part of me understood why I couldn’t go in – Harold Wells’ prejudice against my family was no secret. But another part of me felt a sharp sting of exclusion.

This wasn’t about me. The man was in the hospital, for heaven’s sake. I could sit in the corner and wait so he didn’t get upset.

But as I sat there, surrounded by the hushed sounds of the waiting room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would always be on the outside looking in.

CHAPTER 6

Elijah

Ileaned against the doorframe, watching my nephews swarm around Papa’s hospital bed like excited puppies. Alex, the oldest at eight, was showing off his LEGO shirt, while six-year-old Lincoln regaled Papa with a dramatic retelling of his favorite episode of Spiderman. Joey, not to be outdone, was attempting to climb onto the bed to get closer to the action.

“Easy there, buddy,” I said, stepping forward to scoop up Joey before he could jostle any of Papa’s tubes or wires. “Let’s give Papa some breathing room, okay?”

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