Page 63 of No Going Back
It felt like it took forever to reach the hospital. When they finally arrived, he pulled right up to the doors Amelie’s doctor directed them to, threw the truck into park and jumped out, helping Troy get Amelie unloaded and into the waiting wheelchair.
“I’ll park the truck and be right in.” He turned, ready to get through the process as fast as possible.
“You go home.” Troy glanced at his wife as a nurse wheeled her inside. “I’ll call you when we know something.” Then he was gone, rushing into the hospital, leaving Griffin standing alone.
Alone with an amount of pain he had no right to feel and no idea how to handle.
It wasn’t old and aged enough to offer the distance he needed to shove it away like he had so many others. It wasn’t one he could turn away from or ignore. It was consuming. Terrifying.
Overwhelming.
And it left him desperate to see the only face that could help him survive this.
TWENTY-THREE
DIANNA
DIANNA DROPPED DOWN onto the couch, setting the last basket of laundry at her feet as the rain outside picked up, pelting her roof and her windows. Normally, this would be a perfectly cozy way to spend her Sunday evening, sipping a cup of tea, watching one of the many shows she didn’t have time to keep up with while folding socks.
But the storm outside was starting to worry her. Not because she was concerned about the power going out, or flooding, or how it might affect her in general. She was worried because right about now Griffin should be driving home from Cross Creek, navigating narrow country roads in the downpour.
She checked the time again, glancing out the front window before forcing her butt back to the couch. She’d spent the day rotating clothes and sheets through the washer and dryer while vacuuming, dusting, and scrubbing toilets. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was necessary. And they were things she would rather not have to do when she could be spending time with Griffin instead, so she was taking full advantage of the time he spent with Troy.
But that was usually finished by now, and the fact that Griffin wasn’t home was starting to make her antsy.
She did her best to focus on the television, sorting through her whites as drama unfolded between the characters of Bridgerton and the smell of the pot roast she had in the oven started wafting in.
Griffin had probably already eaten, but it would be perfectly good reheated tomorrow after work, and great to make sandwiches with later in the week. She’d also gone to the grocery store and was set up with simple meals for the rest of the weekdays so Griffin could have a good dinner each night since she was pretty sure he didn’t eat much during the day.
Was she going back to old ways by taking care of him?
Probably. And a few weeks ago she might have shamed herself for it. Might have tried to tell herself it was the wrong thing to do. That she was ushering the past in so it could repeat itself.
But this was who she was. Food was how she showed she cared, just like it was how her grandmother did. And, like the body type they shared, labeling it as wrong just because someone else used it against her wasn’t okay. Liking to cook for the people she cared about wasn’t bad, just like her thick thighs and soft belly weren’t bad.
They were just her. Who she was and who she would always be.
The realization was liberating, releasing another layer of guilt and self-deprecation, freeing her up to focus on more important things. Things like the storm that seemed to amp up a little more with each passing second.
Dianna tossed the final pair of socks into the basket and stood up, glaring out at the downpour. No doubt it was responsible for Griffin being later than normal. She snagged the basket from the floor and carried it back to her bedroom, putting everything away before setting the empty basket on top of the washer in the hall laundry closet. Then she went to check on her pot roast, lifting the lid and breathing the scent of roasting meat deep into her lungs. She’d just replaced the lid and slid the pot back into place when a flash of lightning made her jump. The lights flickered as a huge crack of thunder shook the house.
Dianna glared up at the fixture over her head. “You better not go out. If this roast is ruined I will—”
A solid metalthunkdragged her attention to the front of the house. It sounded an awful lot like a heavy car door slamming and had her rushing through the living room. She yanked open the door, hoping it would help provide Griffin a speedy entry and spare him from being soaked.
But Griffin didn’t seem to be concerned about the torrents falling from the sky. His steps were slow, almost like his feet were too heavy to lift, as he crossed their yards. By the time he reached the base of her steps, his hair was plastered flat to his head and his clothes clung to his skin.
But she barely noticed any of it, because the look on his face had her stomach twisting in knots. “Griffin?” She rushed out onto the porch, her bare feet moving across the damp planks as she hurried toward him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes suddenly found focus and snapped to her face, expression full of devastation as he started to move, taking the steps two at a time before wrapping her in his arms and pulling her tight against him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in deep, heaving gulps.
She held him close, the twisting in her stomach winding so tight she almost felt sick.
Griffin’s arms squeezed tighter, to the point it was hard to breathe. “Amelie started to bleed.” The words were broken and soft. Like it took all he had to push them free. “It was everywhere.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “I didn’t know what to do.” His hand came to cradle the back of her head, fingers digging into her hair like he couldn’t hold her close enough. “She can’t lose him, Di.”
She wanted to tell him it would all be fine. That the baby he so wanted would be born happy and healthy. But that would just be something to pacify him. Something to help placate and push down all the fears and feelings he was struggling to navigate.
Dianna leaned back, barely managing to get enough space between them so she could press her forehead to his as she offered up the only truth she knew. “This might not go the way you want it to, but I promise we will get through it.”
