Page 46 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

I push open the door to Grandpa’s room, a paper bag of contraband snacks tucked under one arm and the day’s newspaper clutched in the other.

It’s too quiet. There’s no hum of the radio, no dramatic commentary about scores or whatever manager “needs to be sacked by morning.” Just stillness.

And the first thought that comes to mind is that maybe this is it.

Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

Then I see the rise and fall of his chest, and relief slams into me like a sucker punch.

Still breathing. Still here.

The nurse warned me he was extra tired today. She told me not to worry and said it like that ever stopped me before.

“Hey, old man.” I raise the bag like an offering. “Brought you illegal substances and tabloid trash. It’s a party.”

He stirs as his eyelids flutter. That same weathered face slowly turns toward me, gaze a little dimmer but still sharp enough to clock the donut holes I’m holding .

“You act like I’m some invalid,” he croaks, the rasp in his voice worse than last week.

I grin and drop into the chair beside his bed. “Well, you are in a nursing home.”

“You watch that smart mouth.” His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk and just forgot how.

I set the bag on his side table and pull out the magazine. “I also brought your secret shame. Celeb gossip.”

“I read for the sports.”

“You read for the drama.”

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t even reach for it, and just lies there, head barely tilted toward me, and my stomach knots.

He looks…wrong.

Too pale. Too still. And under all that usual crusty charm, I can see the tightness around his mouth. The kind that means he’s in pain but doesn’t want to admit it.

“You hurting?” I ask.

His eyes close for a second too long. “They changed my meds. They make me feel like I’m walking underwater.”

I glance at the tray. New bottles. Neat little labels. But I know better. This isn’t just drowsiness. This is something deeper.

I reach over and rest my hand on his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“You look wiped out.”

“Don’t fuss.”

He always says that, but he doesn’t pull away this time, and that’s how I know it’s worse than he’s letting on.

I move behind him, adjusting the pillows like I’ve done a hundred times. He winces. It’s barely a hiss, but it makes my chest cave in.

“That hurt?”

He waves a hand like he’s swatting a fly. “Don’t start playing nurse.”

I don’t listen. I go into the bathroom, run a cloth under cool water, and wring it out. When I come back, he peeks at me like he’s expecting a lecture.

“What now?”

“Let me help,” I say, sitting again.

I dab the cloth to his forehead. He sighs, and I swear his whole body sinks an inch into the bed.

My hand moves slowly, brushing the cloth across his temples. He reaches up now and then, touching my wrist. Not to stop me, but to connect.

“You come all this way to watch me nap?”

“I missed your ugly mug.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, you know that?”

His mouth quirks, but his eyes are soft now, and damp at the corners. It guts me.

“How’s Rosie? Is she still babbling those half-words?”

“She’s started stringing syllables together,” I say, lips curling in a genuine smile. “She’s been asking for her Pop.”

A flicker of pride lights in his eyes, but the grin he tries for doesn’t quite reach full strength. “Guess I’m memorable to the kid.” He squeezes my hand lightly. “I’m proud of you, you know. I haven’t told you that in a while.”

He tells me all the time.

“I’m not doing anything special. Most days I’m winging it.”

He shakes his head, that subtle fatherly patience in place. “You’re living your life, kid. Not letting everything weigh you down.” A shadow crosses his features, and he turns his head away. “Wish your old man could see it that way.”

My lips thin. Dad’s a topic I’d rather not open. “We’re not talking about him right now.”

Grandpa doesn’t protest. “How’s Wes?”

The question catches me off guard.

“He’s good. Working a lot. Still trying to do everything himself.”

Grandpa hums. A beat later, he opens one eye, just enough to side-eye me before closing it again. “He’s falling in love with you, you know.”

I choke on air. “Grandpa!”

“Oh, stop it. He is. I talked with him.” Yeah, a talk neither of them will tell me about. “That man doesn’t just appreciate what you do, Lena. He admires you, respects you. I always know a man on the tip of falling.”

My heart hammers.

“He’s a good man.” There’s no hesitation. No teasing. Just the truth.

“He is,” I agree as he reaches for my hand again. “You’re not dying on me today, are you?”

He tries to laugh. It comes out as more of a wheeze.

“Not today,” he says. “But someday.”

I blink fast to fight the burn behind my eyes.

“My house,” he tells me, voice suddenly sharper. “It’s yours.”

“What?”

“I left some money to your brothers and sister. They’ll be taken care of. But everything else—the house, the rest of the money—it’s for you.”

My whole chest goes tight. “Don’t talk like that. ”

“Listen,” he says, fingers wrapping tightly around mine, stronger than I thought he could still manage.

“You’ve spent your whole life putting out fires for everyone else.

Taking care of people. Giving parts of yourself away without ever asking for anything in return.

” His breath catches. So does mine. “When I go, I want to leave you with something that gives you choices. A way to figure out what you want. Not what anyone else expects.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Grandpa—”

“I know you love being a nanny to that little girl. I see it. You’re like your mother in all the best ways.

You’ve got her heart.” His voice trembles.

“But I also know you’ve never really stopped feeling lost. You’ve never truly picked something for yourself.

I’m not telling you to give them up.” I know he means Wes and Rosie.

“I don’t think you could, but find something for yourself along the way.

Go and do that master’s you spoke about before. ”

I wipe my cheek. The tears have officially mutinied.

“When you figure it out,” he goes on, “sell the house. Use the money. Build something you love. A business. A life. A future. I don’t know. Something that makes you smile.”

I shake my head, brushing tears off my jaw. “I don’t want your house or your money. I want you.”

“I know, baby girl.” His voice is thick now, barely a whisper. “But if I can’t be here forever, at least I can leave something behind that matters.”

He’s quiet for a while after that. His breathing evens out, but his grip never loosens on my hand.

I sit there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, willing him to keep doing it.

Because I’m not ready .

I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

But if this is his way of preparing me, of loving me the only way he knows how, then I’m listening.

I’m holding on.

He eventually dozes off with my hand in his, so I slip free to let him rest and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Don’t you dare scare me, old man. I’m not ready to lose you.”

He doesn’t wake up. He just exhales a slow, uneven breath.

He’ll be okay. He has to be.

In the hallway, I pull a nurse aside and ask her to call me if anything changes, promising that I’ll be back first thing in the morning.

Still, something weighs heavily on my chest as I walk to my car, like I’m leaving too much behind.

There’s a text from Wes when I check my phone.

Wes: How’d your visit with Frank go?

My eyes sting with sudden tears because I don’t know how to answer him. I want to bury my face in his chest, let him hold me until this fear recedes, but I can’t do that right now.

I type a quick reply instead.

Me: He doesn’t seem like himself. I want to stay, but he won’t sleep properly with me there. He keeps waking up to make conversation with me.

Wes: Rest will do him good. You need some too. You need me for anything?

Me: Thanks, but I’m good. On my way home.

Wes: I thought you had stuff to do at your apartment tonight?

Me: I do. I said I’m on my way home.

Wes: That’s not your home, Lena.

My heart almost stumbles out of my chest, but there’s another text before I can reply.

Wes: When you’re done, hurry your ass back to your real home.

Oh God, I didn’t need this today. My emotions are already all over the place. Now I’m really going to cry.

Me: Missing me?

I do it more to tease him, but his reply stops me cold.

Wes: Always.