Rush nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I remember.” He helped him cap the bottle. “Figured you might be due for a new one.”
“How are the girls? Rachel still bossing everyone around?”
Rush’s mouth curved slightly. “She tries. She’s good. Sarah’s good too. They’re both good. They’re on a ski trip, but they’ll be here with me next week.”
“I remember,” Pop said, patting Rush’s hand. He turned to Lily. “He did right by those girls, you know. Raised them up steady when he was just a boy himself.” His eyes went a little wet at the corners. “His mom would’ve been proud of the man he is.”
Rush’s jaw clamped, but he gave Pop’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Pop said, but his eyes were distant now, slipping into the past. “I’m taking Joanie out to dinner tonight. Can you give me a shave?”
Rush’s throat worked, but he just nodded. “Yeah, Pop.” He didn’t look at Lily, but he answered her silent question. “Joanie’s Gram. She’s been gone almost ten years, but in Pop’s mind, she’s still right there,” he said quietly.
Lily nodded, but the lump in her throat kept her silent. She doubted Rush would’ve wanted anything from her anyway. He was practically humming with tension, even as his hands were gentle when he tucked the blanket more securely around Pop’s knees.
He pushed the wheelchair toward Pop’s room, holding the door with Lily following. When he held the door for her, her fingers brushed his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t hold on either. The small space between them suddenly felt wider than the room itself.
She sat in one of the two chairs while Rush settled Pop by the window then grabbed a shaving kit from the bathroom. He set it on the nightstand and lathered the brush, the motions automatic while Pop seemed to drift in and out of awareness.
“Hold still, Pop,” Rush murmured, gently guiding the razor across the white bristles. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with the clean scent of soap, but Lily didn’t mind this time. It smelled of caring now. Like devotion.
While Rush worked, he talked about his sisters, giving Pop updates about their lives, patiently reminding him every time he asked who he was, who the girls were, who Riggs belonged to.
And he avoided Lily’s eyes.
Rush finished the last careful stroke and wiped Pop’s chin. “There,” he said quietly. “A clean shave for Joanie.”
Pop’s eyes cleared for a moment. “You’re a good man, Rush. Better than you think.”
Rush’s throat bobbed. “Learned from the best, Pop.”
By the time the words were out, Pop’s eyes were closed again, already drifting again in a world where Rush didn’t exist.
Emotions welled up and clogged her throat.
When they got back into the Chevy a while later, Rush turned on the heater and blew on his hands while they waited for the cab to warm up. Lily sat angled toward him with her hands in her lap.
“Rush,” she said. When he turned to look at her, she leaned in to press a warm kiss to his cheek.
His shoulders stiffened before he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, eyes fixedstraight ahead.
“Thank you for bringing me to meet him,” she said anyway. “I can tell he thinks the world of you.”
“He was—is—the best,” Rush said simply.
The truck’s engine grumbled, but eventually heat pushed through the vents, filling the cab with warmth.
“Here,” she said, taking a wrapped box from her purse. “This is for you.”
She set the tiny box in his palm. He looked at it for a beat before peeling the paper back with those rough, careful fingers of his.
A cowboy-boot ornament rested in his hand, tan with a little Texas outline stitched along the side.
“I saw it at the Christmas market,” she said softly. “Thought it might remind you of home… wherever you land.”
She tried to smile as she said it, even though the words tasted bittersweet.
A faint shadow crossed his face as he ran his thumb over the painted outline. “Thank you,” he murmured. His hand came to rest on her knee, warm and solid.
