Page 140 of The Games We Play
I cried, and he didn’t pull away. He didn’t try to fix it. He juststayed. Solid. Steady. There.
I wasn’t sure how long we stood there like that—me breaking, him holding.
Eventually, I leaned back, still wrapped in his arms.
“Do you need me to stay?” he asked gently.
I shook my head. “No. I’ll be okay.”
He studied me for a second before nodding.
“Call me the second you leave here, got it?”
“Got it,” I replied.
Mac kissed me before slowly backing away. He walked until he reached the stairwell, where he paused, gave me a final wave, and disappeared.
I stood there for a few moments, arms crossed around my middle, holding the weight of everything.
Then I turned and made my way back into the room, where Sandy still lay.
“That one’s special,” Sandy rasped, her voice laced with affection despite the grogginess, the second I walked through the door.
“He is.”
Retaking my seat, I leaned in, touching her hand on the bed.
“What happened?” I asked softly, studying her face as if I might find the answer written in the lines etched around her eyes.
“I don’t know,” Sandy admitted, her voice weak but steady. “One minute I was upright, the next I was… horizontal.”
I tried to smile, but it faltered. Her version of the story matched Mac’s he’d sent over text—there were no answers, no clarity. Just an empty space where the truth should’ve been.
“You scared me,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat as I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. I couldn’t meet her eyes, not with the emotion tightening my chest. A tear slipped free and dropped silently onto the stiff white hospital blanket.
Seeing her like this—fragile, tethered to oxygen, her strength dimmed—shattered something in me. My mind couldn’t stop running through the what-ifs. What if Mac hadn’t gone? What if she hadn’t woken up? The thought alone gutted me.
“I’m okay, sweetie,” Sandy murmured, giving my hand a light squeeze, pulling me back from the edge. “But I think it’s time this old lady throws in the towel.”
My head snapped up, brows pinching together. I couldn’t imagine this town without that flower shop. Couldn’t imagine Sandy without it.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she beat me to it.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this on my own anymore,” she said gently. “It’s too much. Too much to manage at my age.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded, even though it hurt to hear. I understood more than she probably realized. Running the store solo, barely getting help except during holidays, it had taken its toll. She’d kept the business, and herself, alive after losing her husband, pouring everything she had into it.
But even the strongest women have limits.
Even Sandy.
Her fall wasn’t just a slip—it was a sign. A warning that it was time to let go of something she’d held onto for too long. And as much as it twisted my heart, I’d rather lose the flower shop than lose her.
“Our bodies need rest at some point,” I said softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “What does that mean for Petal Pusher?”
She sighed, her chest rising and falling in a slow inhale. “I don’t know what the future looks like yet. But for now? I think it’s okay to take a few days off.”
I nodded again. That part, at least, we could agree on. She needed time to heal, to think, to justbe.
