Bad Boy’s Revenge(27)

This wasn’t happening. Not now.

“Is he okay? Is it his lungs?”

“He’s okay, Josie. He accidentally took too much of his medication.”

I stood too fast, knocking over my drink and the TV remote. I tripped over the coffee table in a search for my shoes. “I thought…don’t you handle his meds?”

“We oversee his medications, but Matt was capable of administering the prescriptions himself. He always handled it…you know him. But today he took a large amount of the wrong pills. He probably confused them because they’re in a new container.”

“Is he…?”

“He’s okay. A doctor was on-call and checked on him. We’ll watch him close tonight in case he needs a transfer to the hospital.”

I didn’t remember if I answered. I changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and rushed around the apartment, grabbing anything that might have helped the care facility. All the paperwork was already there though. I had nothing but a platter of cupcakes to offer.

Would Granddad even be awake to eat one?

I bolted to my car and sped to the care facility, racing my tears and the passing minutes. The nursing staff waited for me at the entrance—and even Tina Raynos, one of the meanest girls in my high school class, offered to park my car so I could rush inside.

Larry met me at the doorway to Granddad’s room. He gave me a hug.

“We’re out of the woods, but he’s probably going to be sleeping. Which is good—he was pretty cranky when we helped him.”

“Sounds like Granddad.” I wiped away another tear and offered Larry four very smooshed cupcakes. “Can I…?”

“Go on in.”

I nodded, but I didn’t move.

I wasn’t proud that I hesitated before approaching the bed. It was just…

The instant I saw him, life would change. Again.

It would be one of those moments we were helpless to stop, the kind of revelation that destroyed an already broken family. At least nothing could be worse than the first time I almost lost a loved one.

One year ago, I woke in the hospital after the fire and learned Granddad was hurt. The smoke had damaged his lungs, and the doctors weren’t sure of the full extent of his injuries. They had told me to wait and see.

So I did. I remembered stepping into his hospital room. Everyone warned me he’d look tiny in the bed. They were wrong. He had looked like my granddad. Not sick, not weak. Just…him, and I had no idea what to do or say or feel.

The memory still hurt. I had wanted to comfort him, but even that turned awkward and confusing. Our family and the doctors looked to me like I knew what we had to do, who to talk to, how to get the information I needed from the hospital and insurance and the police and fire marshals…

No one gave me the instructions for what to do when the child became the caretaker. Suddenly, I was taking more and more responsibilities away from Granddad so I could manage his health. The only advice I had from friends and family were the choices that infringed on Granddad’s privacy. The ones that hurt his pride. But it had to be done. I made those decisions, and I lost my grandfather.

Nobody deserved to be reduced to their ailments, but Granddad had nothing left. He hated being on oxygen. He couldn’t do the things he used to do, see the people he used to see, and most of our family was dead and buried long ago. How was I supposed to comfort a man who lost his best years and saw the remaining as a death sentence?

At least I had cupcakes this time. The Davis household prepared for the worst with baked goods now. It helped. At least our sorrows could go to our thighs and be worked off like everything else.

I forced a smile and went to his bedside.

He was asleep, which relieved me. Wasn’t sure what I’d say except the same things I said every time I visited. I love you. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? The platitudes lost their impact when he no longer loved himself. He never felt well, and I could give him nothing to help him through these hard times.

Admitting that he was sick was hard. Knowing I couldn’t give more help because we had no money that wasn’t tied to his gambling debts was even worse.

His oxygen pumped harder than usual—ten liters. It hissed too loud, and it’d be uncomfortable for him. Usually he sucked on cough drops since the oxygen made his throat scratchy. I forgot to buy him a new bag. Too much happening and not enough attention on the things that mattered.

Family.

The man who raised me.

The one who tried so hard to instill good values, morality, and kindness in me…even when he suffered from his own vices.

Well, it was changing. And this time I meant it. Every time his health deteriorated I swore I’d do something different—more visits, different doctors, a new plan. It never worked, but this time wasn’t like before. I let myself get distracted. Gave my heart to a man who cared so little for me he’d work for the bastard who caused Granddad’s illnesses.

He needed the money, Maddox said. Didn’t we all? Couldn’t selling my property buy better treatments for Granddad? Clearing his debts would let me rebuild my shop. A little luck could turn everything around.

“Granddad?” I took his hand. He felt cold, but he always did. Said he busted the nerves when he was shocked one too many times doing electrical work. “How are you doing?”

His eyes opened, hidden under bushy eyebrows that turned the same wispy white as the five o’clock shadow on his chin. He looked…paler. It was strange. I always thought our skin shared the same shade. Even my mother hadn’t been as dark—though I only remembered her from the pictures before the accident. They were lost in the fire too. Hell, I couldn’t imagine her or my dad now, even if I wanted to. It never mattered before, not when I had Granddad.

But how much longer would I have him?

“Jo-Jo, it’s late.” He opened his eyes. “You should be home.”

“It’s only nine, Granddad.”

“And if you want to live to a healthy age like me…” The joke was lost in a wracking cough that hurt my own lungs. He gave up on the smile too, waving his hand. “Go home. You don’t want to be here with an old man.”

“No old man here.” I reached for his water before he did, pouring him a glass. “Just a big baby. Let me help you.”

“I’m fine.”

“They said you took too many of your pills.”

His eyes closed again. “What do the doctors know?”

“Um. A lot. Like…that you took too much medication. If you want the nurses to help—”

“Stop worrying, Jo-Jo.” His words trailed off. “You need to let an old man rest. Can’t get any sleep around here.”

I leaned back in the chair, exhaling instead of yelling or crying or just rehashing the same conversation again and again. I looked away, but my gaze settled on the framed photograph on his nightstand.

Where did he find that?

“Granddad…” I reached for the picture, touching the faded image. “How did you get this?”

He didn’t answer. I swallowed, but my mouth was dry.

I hadn’t seen this picture since the fire. I didn’t think it survived.

Me. Him. Nana. At the shop. The ice cream cones stacked.

“Granddad.” I squeezed his hand. “I thought this was gone. How…”

He stirred, frowning at the frame. His shoulders shrugged. “Copy. Someone gave it to me.”

“Wow.” The tears returned. “I just…I haven’t seen a picture of Nana in so long. And the shop. Look at the shop.”

“Take it.” He waved me away. “And those papers on the dresser. Those are yours.”

I ducked away from the IV and took the folder. My stomach turned.

Last will and testament. Great.

“Granddad.”

“Yours.” He forced a smile. “Now go. I’m fine. Just an accident. Want to get some sleep.”

No arguing with him. He closed his eyes out of spite.

“Okay.” I held the frame to my chest. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”

I left my number at the nurses’ station, just to make sure they had a sticky note on their computer monitors in case something went wrong. With his will and paperwork in my arms, I felt more than a little paranoid.

Home wasn’t much better than the care facility. I pushed through my locked door and ignored another barrage of calls from Maddox.

The pitter-patter of rain tinked off the windows. It beat down harder as I struggled to find something to do to keep from thinking about Granddad. Dishes didn’t help. I already did most of my laundry. I didn’t need more cookies.

I made peanut brittle instead.

But my eyes returned to the stack of papers Granddad passed to me. His will. I hadn’t read it, didn’t even know what would still be relevant inside of it. Most of everything was lost in the fire, and what wasn’t was already sworn to his debts and medical care. I thumbed through the folder and started to read.

My feet thunked from the coffee table to the floor.

The signature and date had to be wrong. There was a mistake.

Granddad updated his will two days before the fire?

I flipped through the pages, searching for any reason he might have updated the document. I was probably making too much out of it though. The date meant nothing. Granddad was the superstitious one. I didn’t see anything in lotto numbers or dice rolls.