Page 44 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Rio

“DON’T MAKE THE SAME mistake I did at first with Angelo. At first, at second, at third—I lost count before I let myself take what I wanted and what he offered,” June said, standing next to me as we unboxed a new line of organic dental care products.

“You were afraid of your age gap.”

“I was scared that me being so much older would hold him back from going after everything he wanted.” She folded an empty carton and tossed it into the bin.

I sighed. “At least his dream was on this continent.”

“I’m just saying ...” She paused and we looked at each other.

I set down a stack of toothpaste boxes. “I’ve looked up flights,” I said quietly. “I want to go, be with him, support him. I just can’t help wondering what if ... what if standing in the middle of everything he worked so hard to get back, he discovers I’m not what he wants anymore?”

June looked at me for a long beat. “You ever think maybe you’re the one he wants this with ? The reason it’ll all mean something more? ”

The question hit me square in the heart. Because I trusted Owen, trusted his love—God, I did—but fear never cared about facts. And I should know that.

She held up a tube. “In the meantime, can I interest you in a botanical Himalayan charcoal whitening toothpaste?”

I let out a soft laugh and bumped her side with mine. “Only if it cures existential dread.”

Later that afternoon, Walter was the epitome of cantankerous—even by his usual standards.

“Traffic is a bear today. We have to leave fifteen minutes earlier if I want to have a lane to myself at the pool. And I want a lane to myself!” he declared the moment I stepped through the door.

“Listening to Chopper Marge again, are we? Traffic might be bad on the 101, but not inside Blueshore. We’ll get to the pool on time, I promise. And since when do you guys get your own lanes?” I dropped my bag on the counter and headed to the fridge for a cold soda.

“It’s a new suggestion someone brought to Finn, and he agreed to try it.”

“That ‘someone’ wouldn’t happen to be named Walter, would it?” I asked with a wink.

“Don’t be cheeky, Rio. Respect your elders.”

“I thought I was.”

He harrumphed under his breath.

“Okay, let me grab my charger, and we’ll go,” I said.

We were there first. Walter claimed his lane as soon as the children’s class climbed out of the pool, standing guard in the water before the rest of his class even arrived .

“I’ll wait outside,” I told Finn, who was high-fiving the kids as they passed him on their way out.

The days were getting shorter, the early evening sky burning deep orange.

I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. A new one from Ruby reminded me about our planned night out. Another, from Owen, was one I’d already read but found myself rereading now.

It contained only four words, but the weight of their meaning settled in my chest.

His messaging app status was off. I checked the time. Two a.m. London time.

Beneath his message, was my response. “I know.”

There was more—so much more—but I didn’t trust the distance for the rest of it. Some things needed to be said with your eyes, not just your thumbs.

After replying to Ruby, my mom called, and we fell into our usual quick update—a conversation that mostly revolved around my job, hers, Chloe and Emma’s latest shenanigans, Mom’s pottery and crocheting classes, her friends, her online Duran Duran fan club (California chapter), and, of course, her steady stream of unsolicited suggestions.

From food to dating, to new products, to shops I had to check out, her advice was endless, always wrapped in the same optimism she swore never steered her wrong. I knew she thought she was empowering me, but sometimes it felt like the complete opposite.

At least she wasn’t the ‘When are you getting married?’ type. My mother was the ‘I’m a liberated woman who raised a liberated daughter to do whatever she wants ... as long as she does it my way, because a sunshine outlook always leads to good things’ type.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” I said when the stream of advice kept flowing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone waving at me.

Finn’s son, Max, who sometimes assisted him, waved as he approached.

“Mom, I gotta go. Talk to you later,” I said, hanging up without waiting for a response.

“What is it?” I got up from the short wall I was sitting on and took a few steps forward.

“Walter, he’s not feeling well. My dad called an ambulance.”

I bolted toward the entrance.

Walter was lying on the pool’s stone deck in a puddle of water, and Finn was hovering over him. I could see Finn’s lips move—like he was speaking to Walter—right before I slid to my knees beside him.

“I’m okay, just a little weakness,” Walter said.

I let out a loud, relieved exhale.

“You nearly fainted,” Finn said. “Stay still until the ambulance gets here.” He turned back as one of the ladies touched his shoulder. “Thanks, Sylvia,” he said, taking a small portable defibrillator she handed him. “Just a precaution,” he said, looking at me.

“Rio, you look paler than I do,” Walter said, again trying to lift himself.

Both Finn and I held him down. “Please remain lying, Walter,” I reiterated .

His classmates gathered around us.

“Please give Walter some breathing space,” Finn called out.

They stepped back, murmuring, but curiosity soon reeled them in again. Some looked concerned, but others treated it as a spectacle.

A few moments later, they split aside to let two paramedics rush in.

“Now you’re here? Where were you when I complained about arthritis?” Walter said as the medics checked him and lifted him to a stretcher.

“You have some heartbeat irregularity that we want to check,” one of the men said.

“Nonsense. I swim to help my arthritis, not to star in a medical drama,” he continued complaining as they carried him outside.

“I’ll drop by later to see how he’s doing,” Finn said, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I walked outside with them.

“Can I ride with him?” I asked.

“You’re his daughter?” one of the paramedics asked.

“No, but I take care of him.”

“Immediate family only, I’m afraid. It’s a small vehicle, too crowded in there,” he apologized.

“That’s your tax dollars in action,” Walter muttered.

“I’ll drive behind you. Don’t worry, Walter.”

“Worried? Me? They should be worried. I can still audit people in my sleep. Did you do your taxes right, young man?” He eyed the paramedic on his left .

I smiled and squeezed his hand as they rolled him into the ambulance. He could act tough all he wanted, but I knew the marshmallow that lived inside him.

The ambulance pulled away quietly at first, and I followed close behind. Then, at the intersection that took us out of Blueshore, the siren blared to life, and my heart stuttered. The emergency. Walter was in there. Something was wrong.

My boxy little car’s small engine felt useless for the first time.

Too slow. Too ridiculous. As if it didn’t belong in a moment like this.

The memory of Owen folding himself into the driver seat flickered through my mind—his broad frame making my tiny car seem even more absurd.

A wave of something tight and suffocating rushed through me.

My hands were clammy, gripping the wheel too hard.

I couldn’t risk letting go to dial his number.

The last thing I needed was to become an emergency myself.

The siren kept wailing as we sped toward the nearest hospital in Wayford, and traffic was, as Walter had said, a bear.

When the ambulance finally stopped at the ER entrance, I pulled in behind it without thinking.

“I’ll move the car later, I just need to see my grandfather—that ambulance,” I blurted to the approaching parking attendant.

He gave me a quick once-over, then nodded, letting me through.

Just as I reached the back of the ambulance, the doors swung open. A team of four rushed forward from the ER, just as the stretcher rolled out to a cacophony of voices shouting out instructions and medical terms.

Walter wasn’t talking anymore.

They all rushed inside, and my voice got lost in the commotion. “What happened?” I yelled, but no one turned back.

I ran after them only to be stopped by a nurse. “I’m sorry, you can’t go in there. We’ll take good care of him.”

“But what happened? He was conscious when they put him in the ambulance.” I was still trying to get past her, not exactly shoving her, but she did have to put a firm hand on my shoulder to stop me from darting forward. Behind her, the ER doors swung shut, sealing Walter away.

“He experienced atrial fibrillation,” she said. “It can cause loss of consciousness. A doctor will come out as soon as we know more, but right now, we need to stabilize him.” Her voice softened. “Why don’t you sit down? Maybe have a cup of tea.”

I swallowed and nodded, even though tea was the last thing I wanted.

The waiting area was too bright, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I dropped into a plastic chair, trying to steady my breathing. My hands trembled as I fished my phone out of my back pocket and dialed.

Owen’s number went straight to voice mail.

Of course. It was the middle of the night in London.

I then shot him a text instead. “Call me when you get this. Walter’s in the hospital.”

I called Simon next .

“Oh, no,” he said when I told him what little I knew. “Could it be a heart attack?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Did you get ahold of Owen?”

“No answer.”

“I’ll try him,” Simon said. “Nicole is out of town at a conference so I’m with the kids. I’ll find a sitter, but I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“No, don’t, not yet,” I said quickly. “Let me find out more first. I’ll keep you posted.”

A voice interrupted me.

“Miss?”

Lifting my gaze, I found the parking attendant standing a few feet away.

“Your car,” he said apologetically.

“Simon, I’ll call you back. Don’t do anything yet. Just ... try calling Owen.”

Following the attendant, I muttered an apology and moved my car to the lot.