He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Becs. When she wasn’t there, I thought she was—”

“Stop,” I mouth again. “Please.” I’m begging now, my head moving from side to side.

“I’m sorry. I’m making it worse.” His hands rise to circle my wrists, holding me to him as his eyes drift shut. I watch his shoulders rise and fall while he takes a few calming breaths. He looks up, his eyes clear, his cheeks flushed. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “You?” I mouth.

He exhales loudly. “I am now.” His lips twitch with a smile, though I know he’s trying to hide it. “Hi. You look good. I mean… you know… under the circumstances and all.”

I return his smile.

“Was the flight and the car and everything okay?”

I stare, unblinking, and wonder how almost two and a half years have passed since we’ve been a we, yet the feelings are still there, still filling my heart and making it weak.

He releases my wrists to cup my jaw, his thumb skimming my bottom lip. “I’m glad you’re here, Becs.”

His voice, his touch, his entire presence has my heart hammering in my chest. I drop my hands and turn away quickly to look straight ahead, hoping he can’t read my reaction to him. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but I ignore him and reach for my phone.

Do you know anything?

He runs his hand through his hair, watching me with a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. “The nurse came in about half an hour ago and said that they were probably going to run some tests for dementia. I guess it’s common for people your grams’s age and considering how the police found her…”

With another nod and another breath, I type, So, we just wait for results?

“I guess.”

His breath is hot and heavy on my neck as he leans over me, reading as I type, Where’s Tommy?

“My mom met us here and took him back to her place.”

A solid minute passes, neither of us saying a word, even when my mind is racing with them.

He breaks the silence. “I hate this place so much.”

The hospital?

“Yeah… it just reminds me of Tommy and my dad and you. It’s so fucking miserable.”

I frown.

He smiles. It’s a sad one, though, one caused by pure pain and heartache. His hand runs down my arm, toward my fingers, where they lace through mine, gripping gently as he pulls it to his mouth. He releases a shaky exhale, right before his lips, soft and wet, make contact with my skin. He kisses me once and then settles our joined hands on his lap. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, eyes focused on our hands. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A nurse calls Grams’s name, cutting off my response, and Josh and I stand, our hands still connected. We make our way over to her. “How is she?” Josh asks her.

“She’s physically stable. There’s a little build-up in her lungs, most likely from walking around in the cold.”

Josh’s grip on my hand loosens. “So that’s good, right?”

“That’s just based on the initial tests,” the nurse says. “We need to admit her for a few days.”

Now my hand squeezes his and he looks down at the phone in my hand. Days?

“This is her granddaughter Becca Owens,” Josh tells the nurse. “Do you know when it might be possible to see her?”

“She’s back in her room, but she’s still a little out of it.” The nurse looks at what I assume is Grams’s chart. “Does she have any other family?”

I let go of Josh’s hand and start typing on my phone. I messaged Dad when I was waiting for the plane. He’s going to fly in as soon as possible but it might take a day or so.

Josh lifts his gaze to the nurse. “Just her son, but he works offshore so he might take a couple days. We can take care of her until then, right?”

The nurse nods, but her eyes are on me, squinted and confused.

“Becca’s speech impaired,” Josh informs her, bouncing on his toes, his patience fading. “Can we see her now?”

“Sure.” The nurse speaks to me this time. “I just… I feel like I should warn you that she may not react to you as you’d expect. She may not be the grandmother you know, and she may not remember certain things. And at this stage, it’s best if you don’t force her.”

*     *     *

Grams is lying on her side sleeping peacefully, the covers bunched under her chin. The monitors beep, a steady rhythm echoing off the walls of the small, sterile room. Josh takes my hand and leads me toward her bed. We stand side by side, looking down at her for seconds, minutes, hours. I have no idea. Josh squeezes my hand, and I look up at him. “She looks so tiny,” he whispers.