Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

No sooner do I hear him say the word “crisis” when a car roars around the corner and screeches to a halt next to us.

“Watch out,” he says, pushing me up onto the grass, as far from the street as possible. But the driver isn’t drunk. Linda leans out of the driver side window. “There you are!”

As soon as I see her, I know something has gone terribly wrong.

“Linda. Where’s Grams?” My voice trembles in anticipation of bad news.

“Sweetie, your Grams had a stroke. I’ve been looking for you all over town, and you’re not answering your phone, neither of you.”

I don’t have time for guilt because panic suffuses my entire being. “Where is she, Linda?”

“Get in; she’s at Memorial.”

I turn to Garrett, “You can go home and wait for us there.”

Fortunately, he sees right through my crazy talk. “Absolutely not. I’m coming with you.”

He gets into the back of the Jeep with me, and Linda floors it across town. He holds my hand for the short drive. Although I’m floating through a dark, menacing dream for the next several minutes until I’m able to see Grams, I feel him every step of the way. He’s right next to me.

At the hospital, Garrett signs papers, helping me do what needs to be done. He tethers me as I float to Grams’ room like I’m outside of my body, and holds the door as I go inside.

It’s only then that I grip his hand tight for comfort. Grams’ eyes are closed, she’s hooked up to several machines, and most distressingly, a ventilator helps her breathe. She looks so helpless.

“Oh my god, Grams. I’m so sorry.”

I look up to ask Linda a question, and I see half a dozen other women there. It must be the entire Bunco group.

“One minute, she was fine, rolling the dice and talking smack like she always does. She said she wasn’t feeling great, so she only drank one gin and tonic. Everyone thought that was weird because, you know, she usually gets pretty tipsy on Bunco nights. Suddenly, she started talking gibberish, and one side of her face looked a little funny. Then, Martha, who used to be a nurse, said, ‘Linda, Betty’s having a stroke,’ and so I called 9-1-1, and they came and got her. She was talking the whole time, just really quiet, not at all like her normal self. She looked confused like she didn’t recognize me.”

I put my hand up because I can’t hear anymore.

Garrett sees my distress, and I hear him say something about finding me a chair to sit in, but then a woman in a white coat comes in out of nowhere and starts asking me questions.

“Are you her daughter?”

“Granddaughter.”

The woman in the white coat introduces herself as Dr. Palmer.

“Why don’t we go and talk in the hallway.”

“It’s okay; you can say whatever it is in front of her friends.”

The doctor places her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry to tell you, your grandmother has had a stroke. We’re still assessing the situation, but she may need surgery.”

Dr. Palmer explains what the next steps are and assures me she’s in good hands.

“I want her transferred to…where’s the nearest city…Northwestern. Chicago. Right away.”

The doctor nods. “I understand that, but I’m afraid a transfer under these circumstances would be too hard on her.”

Linda approaches me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sweetie, she’s gonna be okay. My mom had the same thing happen, and she did just fine here. Go home and get some rest, huh?”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not; I’m staying here.”

Garrett pulls a recliner over to Grams’ bedside and asks the group if there’s anything they need.

“Actually,” the doctor cuts in, “We only allow two visitors at a time, so we, unfortunately, will have to ask some of you to go home. No visitors at all after 10 p.m. except for family.”

One by one, Grams’ friends hug me and offer encouraging words, but I feel numb. I thank them and then sit next to Grams and hold her hand. There’s an IV, and I can already see a bruise forming.

“I’m staying here tonight, don’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Garrett says quietly.

“You can go home; there’s no reason for you to stay.”

Garrett doesn’t reply to this except to ask if there’s anything I need. “No, nothing I need. Thank you.”

He leaves, and I fully expect him to not come back until morning. But he’s back in 20 minutes with a blanket, a pillow, bottled water, and my toiletry bag.

When I see him lay everything out, I can’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling. Impressed that he found my toiletry bag. Touched that, he thought to bring a blanket and a pillow. Slightly curious how he got past the nurse’s station since he’s not family.

“How’d you get back in?”

He lifts one shoulder. “I’m cute. And they all get free raw honey from me.”

A laugh escapes me. It’s an exhausted laugh, but it’s something. I am surprised at how good that feels even though my Grams is fighting for her life right in front of me.

“And there’s something else,” he says. “She asked me to be her emergency contact. My name is on some of the forms. It’s not a big deal, but it has its perks.”

I smile at him in wonder, thinking there must be an end to all the kind things he does. If there is an end, I don’t see it. “Thank you, Garrett. You didn’t have to come back, but thank you.”

He scrapes a heavy, cushioned chair up next to the recliner where I sit. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you company.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. Oh, I almost forgot.” He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out my planner and my favorite pen. I gasp.

“What?”

“I figure we can work on Grams’ business plan while we wait for her to improve. It can’t hurt, and it’ll keep you focused on her