Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
By day five, Papa is bouncing back. When he wakes up for the morning he seems aware and with us. His eyes find me immediately. “There you are,” he says, voice raspy but clear.
Relief hits me so hard my knees go weak. “I’m here,” I say, laughing and crying at the same time. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
He studies my face, then glances around the room, confusion flickering briefly before settling. “Did I miss my birthday?” he asks confusion in his gaze.
Josie steps forward first, smiling warmly. “Hey Papa. It’s Josie. Been too long since I’ve been home. Missed you, Papa.”
He squints at her, then nods like his brain is catching up. Recognition comes through and he smiles showing off the few teeth he has left. “Pretty baby. Looks like your Nanny.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes shining. Raff introduces himself next, steady and respectful. Justice climbs onto the bed carefully, chattering about his sister until Grandpa chuckles weakly.
Then it’s Miles’s turn. I hesitate for half a heartbeat before taking his hand and leading him forward. “And this is Miles,” I say softly.
Grandpa looks at him for a long moment. Longer than is comfortable. His gaze sharpens in a way I haven’t seen in years.
“Well,” he says finally. “You don’t look like trouble.”
Miles smiles faintly. “I try not to be, sir.” I stifle back the laugh inside watching this badass biker make sure and be polite to my southern rooted grandfather.
Grandpa huffs. Then he looks at me.
And smiles. A real smile. Full and peaceful.
“I can die in peace now,” he whispers calmly to know one in particular, “knowing someone will take care of my girls.”
My breath catches painfully in my chest. “Papa,” I gasp feeling the weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“I’m not dying today,” he adds, waving a hand weakly. “Don’t get dramatic.”
Everyone laughs, tension breaking like a snapped string. But later, when it’s just the two of us, his hand curled around mine, his voice soft and lucid, he says it again, but differently. “I worried about you,” he admits. “About what would happen when I’m gone.”
My throat tightens. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He squeezes my fingers. “I know. But someday. Danae, we all gotta a day we leave this world. And I needed to know you’d be okay.”
I swallow hard. “I’m okay, Papa. I have you.”
“I see that, but I’m an old man,” he states. “You gotta build something. For yourself. That man, I can see it.”
Tears slide down my cheeks unchecked. “I didn’t plan it.”
He smiles gently. “The best things never are.” We sit together quietly until he falls back asleep, his aging body resting and healing from another bout of pneumonia.
A few days later, he comes home. We set him up in his bed, oxygen tank humming softly beside him now, the house filled with voices and movement and life. It feels fuller than it has since I was a child.
Later in the night, when everyone is finally asleep, Miles sits beside me on the couch, my head resting against his shoulder.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say quietly.
He looks down at me. “I know.” But he doesn’t move. For the first time in a long time, I let myself imagine a future that isn’t just survival.
And it doesn’t scare me.
In fact, it sort of feels like hope.
Eleven
Miles
Arkansas feels different after being here for a bit. Not prettier. Not softer. Just quieter in a way that presses in on you instead of spreading out. The land doesn’t roll like North Carolina hills. It stretches. Flat, stubborn, endless. Like it’s daring you to blink first. It’s not home, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
I stand on Danae’s porch with a cup of hot coffee cooling in my hands inhaling the fresh air. The house smells like antiseptic and old wood and something faintly sweet—whatever Josie baked last night after the kids finally went down.
Behind me, the house creaks as if it’s alive. Like it’s breathing around us.
Her grandpa has settled in without missing a bit, unbothered by all the extra people invading his home. It’s obvious in interacting with him how much family means to him. The moment Josie, Danae, or the kids enter the room his entire face lights up. He needs a lot. His care is demanding. He can’t help it. But being here, experiencing it first hand, Danae’s life is here with him.
That thought settles heavy in my chest. Not fear, exactly. Responsibility. I didn’t come here planning to shoulder any of this, but here I am, boots by the door, bike parked out front like I belong.
I don’t know when that happened.
Inside, Danae moves quietly, the way people do when they are in their own safe space, their element as it were. She hasn’t said much this morning. Just kissed my shoulder when she passed me, fingers curling into my shirt like she needed to make sure I was real.