Page 46 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Owen

THE WAITING ROOM WAS nearly empty in the middle of the night, too quiet except for the hum of vending machines and the occasional beep of a distant monitor. The harsh fluorescent lighting made everything feel surreal, like I wasn’t fully here yet.

The reception desk was closed, a sign indicating a number to call for assistance. That surprised me—until I remembered I was in a small, rural hospital serving only a handful of towns.

I rushed toward the ward next to the ER and stopped at the nurses’ station. “Walter Wheaton?” My breath came fast. “I’m his grandson.”

The nurse gave me a brief update about what happened and the current status, then let me take a quick look inside his room.

He looked smaller somehow, almost fragile beneath the web of tubes and wires.

My gut twisted at the sight. This was Walter—strong, stubborn Walter.

The man who never slowed down, never backed down, was now lying there motionless, machines keeping him stable.

My throat clogged with love, concern, and the unbearable fear of losing him.

“Your sister is still here,” the nurse said.

I was back at the nurses’ station to let them know I’d be outside and to call me if anything changed.

“My sister?”

“A woman. Said she was his granddaughter.”

“She’s here?”

“She was in the waiting area about an hour ago.”

Rio’s messages had hit me the moment I turned my phone on after landing in San Francisco.

My heart had nearly stopped at the sight of them. I’d called her immediately, but she hadn’t answered.

I’d never driven as fast as I had from the airport to Wayford.

And now, out in the sterile smell of the waiting area, behind a column, stretched awkwardly across a row of gray plastic chairs, I found the love of my life. Asleep.

If fear had congealed my insides at the sight of Walter, seeing Rio melted it all away, warmth spreading through me like a flood breaking through ice.

I stepped closer, my palms humming with the need to touch her, to make sure she was really there. Weeks, days, and hours of longing coiled tight inside me, a pressure so intense it felt ready to break open.

But I held myself back. Carefully, I lifted her head from the folded jacket she had tucked underneath her, and eased it onto my thigh as I took the seat beside her, just watching, breathing her in .

Gently, I stroked the strands of hair where they cascaded over my jeans.

Rio shifted slightly, a small crease forming between her brows, so I pulled my hand back. Then she twisted at the waist, clearly uncomfortable from the unforgiving chairs.

Instinctively, I placed a hand on her back and rubbed soothing circles.

At first, she tensed, her shoulder lifting as if leaning into the touch. But then her eyes fluttered open, and she angled her head, blinking groggily at me.

I looked down, meeting her gaze with a soft smile.

She pushed herself upright. “Owen!”

I reached out, cupping the cheek closest to me now that she was a chair away. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think, Rio Mio?”

“No, I mean ... how did you get here so fast?” She leaned back slightly, and my hand slipped away. “It’s an eleven-hour flight, at least fourteen with security and everything. Then driving here ... you couldn’t have seen my message before ...”

“And you say you’re bad at math.” I smiled.

She still looked utterly confused. “Did you see Walter?”

“I did. No change, but the good news is that he’s stable, and his numbers look good.”

She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank God.”

“I tried calling you,” I said.

She pulled out her phone from her back pocket. “I was so tired.”

“Why didn’t you go home?” I asked gently.

“I couldn’t leave him here alone.”

A wave of overwhelming emotion crashed over me—stronger than anything I’d felt before, even for her, and I’d already thought I was at my limit. I’d never felt any of it before, so I didn’t have a name for it. I only knew that it started and ended with her. I just called it Rio .

There was so much I wanted to tell her. Why I was here. Why it wasn’t even a choice. But under the stark white hospital lights, the words felt flimsy, insignificant compared to the weight of what I felt.

So I didn’t speak. I just moved to the chair beside her, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her close.

She melted into me without hesitation, tucking her head under my chin, her arm crossing my chest, fingers curling around my bicep.

I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in, and held on.