Page 26 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)

Chapter Eighteen

Nova

M om whisks into my hospital room. “How did this happen?” She directs her question at Holt, who continues to brood in the corner, looking far more upset than he should be.

“I’m fine, Mom. It’s just a few bumps and a bruised rib or two. They gave me some light pain meds. I’ll be back to normal after a few days of rest.”

“It’s my fault,” Holt says, standing from his chair and making his way over to my mom, who crosses her arms over her chest.

“Explain,” she demands.

I jump in, not wanting Mom to blame Holt for any of this.

“Holt was showing me and Aunt Birdie something out in the woods. Titan took off after a squirrel, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t go too far.

He fell down a ravine, and I wasn’t able to stop fast enough to not take the tumble myself.

Now we’re here.” I shrug, feeling the scratchy material of my hospital gown.

Mom leans forward and brushes the flyaway hairs off my forehead. “As long as you’re okay.” She leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek, something I don’t remember her doing for over a decade.

Emotion wells in my chest.

She pulls me gently in for a hug and whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. We just got you back; I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

My throat thickens. Those are the words I’ve craved hearing from her countless times before. I’ve wanted her to admit she missed me while I was gone, but she’s ignored my act of rebellion up until now.

Please Lord, let this be the start of true healing.

There’s a rustling in the hallway before Dad’s intimidating form fills the doorway. Mom shuffles back a few steps, her face turning into an expression of shock.

“Is she okay? What happened?” Dad asks, working his way into the room.“I got a voicemail from Birdie saying Nova had been hurt and was brought to the hospital.”

I’m too stunned to speak. The concern in his voice is more genuine than I’ve ever heard.

“I fell down a ravine and got some bumps and bruises. They said I’m lucky I didn’t break anything or hit my head harder.

You guys really didn’t need to come all the way here.

It sounds like the voicemail was more dramatic than it needed to be.

She didn’t even need to call you. I’ll be discharged soon. I’m fine.”

Dad stares at me for a long moment, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time. He doesn’t look through me like he did when he slammed the door in my face or stormed out of the restaurant. He scans my face as if he’s checking to see if I really am all right.

“She’ll be fine, Kent,” Mom snaps. “Not that you would even care. I’m shocked you even came.”

“Of course I came, Amanda!” Dad shouts. “She’s my daughter, and I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Mom stands and settles her hands on her hips, straightening her spine as if she’s ready to go into battle. “Well, it would be the first time you’ve shown concern for our little girl!”

His face goes red and his eyes turn lethal, as if a single look could incinerate Mom on the spot. “How dare you insinuate I don’t care about my child?”

Holt steps between my parents and places a hand on either of their shoulders. “Let’s not do this here.”

Dad shrugs out of Holt’s hand. “Don’t speak to me as if I’m a child.”

“Well, you’re acting like one!” Mom says.

I rub my temples, trying and failing to fight back my growing headache.

Their voices rise again.

“Guys!” I throw my hands up in the air and then let them drop to the mattress. “Please. Not here.” Pain shoots through my body at the action, though if it’s from the tumble or the upper body workout from pulling myself and Titan from the ravine, I don’t know.

Mom’s face softens, and she makes her way back over to me, gently stroking my face, giving me a comfort I don’t ever remember receiving from her as a child.

The last time I was in a hospital with her, she was more concerned with the scars my injuries would leave behind.

This feels a lot more like genuine care.

“I’m sorry, daughter mine. You’re right.” She strokes my hair where my hidden scar hides. The way her eyes turn glassy, I wonder if she’s also remembering the last time we were here. Almost as if she snaps out of her momentary stupor, she adds, “This isn’t the place for fighting.”

“You two have fought enough anyway. I am so sick of it. My entire life—” I stop myself. Maybe I should try and take the words back, but I won’t. Their fighting is one of the reasons I left and it’s time they know it.

Holt drags a chair over and sits on my other side, giving me the impression that we’re becoming a united front against my parents.

“You’re right.” Dad hangs his head, and I can’t stop my sharp gasp. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes shift over to Holt, checking to see if my dad just said what I think he said or if maybe it was a hallucination. But the expression on Holt’s face makes me realize the words were actually spoken and not just a figment of my hopeful imagination.

Dad walks over to another chair and sits down, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, gripping his head in both hands.

Mom is the one to break the silence. “What did you just say?”

Dad slowly lifts his head. “I said I’m sorry.”

Mom blinks at him in what I assume is surprise.“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those two words.”

When Dad’s eyes close, I speak up. “Mom.” She looks at me, and I shake my head. “Don’t push it,” I mouth.

She dips her chin in understanding. “I’m sorry too, Kent.”

Dad looks over at her cautiously. “You are?”

“I am,” Mom says before tilting her head up.

Something shifts in my dad’s expression.

“Not just for now but for what you saw at the restaurant. I know it looked bad, and it may have developed into something worse if it continued, but I stopped it. I broke things off with Trevor.”

My heart pounds so hard I’m sure it shows on my heart monitor.

“So you two never…”

Mom vehemently shakes her head. “No.”

Dad’s shoulders relax, and my parents stare at each other for a long minute. Neither one breaks eye contact. There’s no derision or hostility in either of their eyes, but there is something tender. Almost sweet.

I glance over at Holt, who appears to be as dumbfounded as me.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Dad asks Mom, sounding shy.

Mom’s lips lift in a soft smile. “I’d like that.” Her attention swivels to me. “Once we talk to the doctor about what Nova needs.”

Mom stands and motions for Dad to come take her spot by me. He does.

“You’ll move home and I’ll provide everything you need,” Dad tells me. He awkwardly runs his hand down my arm, and something warm and hopeful fills my chest.

For the first time in my life, Dad is showing concern for me.

He’s being affectionate in a way that shows love.

And not just because he wants something from me or is putting on a show to look like a doting father.

But because he is looking out for my well-being.

The mere thought has tears spilling down my cheeks.

It’s painful and healing all at the same time.

Dad looks down at me, his eyes searching mine, before a lone tear spills down his cheek. Then he grabs my hand and kisses it just below my IV.

“I’m going to be better. Do better for you.

My little star, sorry doesn't even come close to how I feel right now. But I’ll start with that.

I’m sorry for all I put you through. I’m sorry you thought running away would make your life better.

And I’m sorry for the expectations I put on you to look and act perfect.

” Dad kisses my hand again, then curls my fingers into a fist and rests his head on it.

The strain this is putting on my IV is uncomfortable, but the minor discomfort is worth it for this moment of necessary emotional healing.

We sit like that for I don’t know how long. My focus is fully on Dad as the weight of this moment washes over me. The weight of expectations slides off me, and it feels as though I can take a deep breath for the first time in my life.

Eventually, an older nurse walks in and breaks the silence.

“Hi there, pumpkin. How are you feeling?” She doesn’t look at me but immediately checks over my vitals and my IV fluids.

As she focuses on me, sympathy fills her expression. “Are you in pain?” Something about her Southern accent is comforting.

“Not currently.”

Dad sits up, releasing my hand and wiping his face with a handkerchief he produces from inside his suit jacket.

Then he stands and does another unexpected thing—he walks over to Mom and puts his arm around her.

She startles at his sign of affection, but a smile tugs at her lips.

Holt’s expression mirrors my own—one of total shock.

I’m happy he’s here to witness this spectacle with me.

Mostly so I have proof that this is reality and not a dream.

“The doctor will be in shortly to update you on what to do over the next few days.” She nods to me, then to everyone else in the room.

“Sounds good,” I say.

After she leaves, Dad turns to Mom and asks, “Can I get you a—a bagel?” He stutters. Dad just stuttered for the first time in my life. He quickly clears his throat.“Or a coffee?”

“I’d like that,” Mom agrees.

Once my parents are out of the room and I can no longer hear their voices, I ask, “Did that just happen?”

“I think it did.” Holt stares at the closed door, looking as shocked as I feel.

“What’s happening?” I mutter mostly to myself.

“Apparently falling down a ravine is the key to bringing families together.”

I snicker. “Well, I can’t say I’m happy I was the one at the short end of the stick, but…” I look away from Holt’s gaze, too embarrassed to admit these naive desires aloud.

“You’re hopeful this is going to be a turning point for your parents,” he says for me. I once again thank God for putting Holt here with me.

My gaze snaps to his. Without consent, my eyes travel down the length of his scar before raising back up to meet his glass eye.

It reminds me of what a selfless man he is.

When my focus shifts to his other eye, an entirely new sensation overwhelms me.

One that doesn’t make sense and that I should never in a million years dwell on.

These warm and fuzzy feelings around Holt have to be superficial. He literally pulled me up out of a ravine the moment he could. This sensation just stems from all of that. Once the excitement wears off, these feelings will dissipate.

Never mind the attraction burning just beneath the surface. This is Holt. A war hero. While I’m the prodigal daughter with nothing to offer him.

Aunt Birdie’s cheerful humming greets my ears before the ball of sunshine herself shuffles through the door.I’m thankful for the distraction from my thoughts.

“How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Confused,” I answer honestly.

“Is it from the medication?” she asks, looking concerned.

“No, I’m just on saline right now. My parents are the ones who have me all twisted up.”

Her eyebrows rise and she sits in the place Dad recently vacated. “What do they have to do with this?”

“They were here. Then fought—not confusing but totally expected—then made up. And Dad just took Mom for coffee in the cafeteria.”

Her brows raise even higher. “Is that so?” Aunt Birdie looks away thoughtfully.

“I don’t want to get my hopes up, but…it seems at least a little bit promising.”

“It does,” Holt agrees.

The doctor comes in while staring down at his chart. Without looking up, he says, “I’m Dr. Hollinsbrook, and I have to say, Miss Price, it looks like you got lucky today.” He snaps the chart closed and looks at me. “It’s been a while.”

“I wouldn’t call falling down a ravine lucky,” Holt grits out through clenched teeth.

Dr. Hollinsbrook gives Holt a patronizing smile. “I understand that.”

“So what’s the verdict, doc?” Aunt Birdie asks.

The doctor looks at me. “Are you okay if I share this with them? ”

I motion nonchalantly with my hands. “Feel free. They were there for it.”

Dr. Hollinsbrook thumbs through my chart and keeps his focus on it as he speaks. “It looks like Nova has a few bruised ribs, and the cut on her leg was superficial enough to not need stitches.” He looks up and stares at me. “For what you experienced, these are minor things.”

Something comes to mind and I’m grateful Mom and Dad aren’t here like Mom originally suggested. I turn to Holt and Aunt Birdie. “Would you two mind stepping out for a second? I want to ask the doctor something a little more personal.”

Aunt Birdie nods, but Holt looks unsure.

“It will just be a second,” I try to reassure him.

“Okay,” he says before walking out and closing the door.

Dr. Hollinsbrook closes the file and leans casually against the wall.

“What can I do for you?”

“Do you know my blood type?”

He appears taken aback by my question but reopens my file and flips through the pages. “Not currently, but I can give you a few places where they can find that out for you.”

“Would you mind?” I ask.

“Of course.” Dr. Hollinsbrook pulls the pad and pen out of the side table, jots down a few lab names, tears the paper from the pad, and hands it to me. “There you are.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He pulls a small stack of papers out of the file and hands them to me, going through what I should and shouldn’t do as I recover.

Once he’s gone, a plan takes shape in my mind. It’s no small thing, and I know it’s something I need to pray about. But as each second ticks by, a feeling of rightness fills my chest.

Today is a turning point, and I won’t allow fear of the unknown to hold me back from jumping into something I feel in my very core is a part of God’s plan.