I nod slowly. “Alright.”
“Just hit the call button if he needs anything.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Sawyer sits in the chair in the corner, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You’re getting as prickly as me, old man,” she mutters.
He lets out a small snort. “I’m tired of bein’ here.”
She shoots him a sharp look. “You need to rest and let them take care of you, or you’ll be going in the ground instead of back to the ranch.”
From her tone, she’s threatening to put him in the ground herself if he doesn’t listen. I bite back a smile. I would never want to be on Sawyer’s bad side. She’s mildly terrifying when she’s riled up.
“I haven’t left this bed for more than using the bathroom and a measly walk down the hall and back in three days. I’m feeling a bit restless.”
“Well, they want you to rest, so follow the doctor’s orders.”
I squeeze Pops’ hand, and his eyes soften as they meet mine. “Pops, listen to Sawyer. The quicker you do what the doctors and nurses say, the sooner you’ll get back home.”
He grumbles noncommittally.
“You gave everyone quite a scare. If Wes hadn’t been there and recognized what was happening, you might not have gotten to the hospital in time.”
“Oh, poppycock.”
“Pops, please behave. If not for yourself, then do it for me. And for Wes.” My throat burns and my eyes turn glassy.
“Alright, alright. Stop lookin’ at me with those sad blue eyes.”
Sawyer snorts from the corner. “Is that what gets you to listen? I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
My lips tug up in a smile. “Thanks, Pops.” I lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.
There’s a quiet knock on the door. A woman with short blonde hair and a long white coat sweeps into the room, chart in hand.
“Vern, how are you feeling today?” she asks.
I give his hand a gentle squeeze to remind him to be nice.
“I’m tired and a little sore, but I feel fine.”
She hums. “Some tiredness and soreness is to be expected after bypass surgery. Now, I’m glad you two are here for this,” she says, eyes flicking to me and Sawyer.
I sit up straighter, and Sawyer shifts in her chair.
Dr. Berk flips open her chart. “Vern’s recovery is looking good, but it’s going to be awhile before he’s able to fully care for himself. I think he would benefit from staying at a skilled nursing facility while he gets his strength back before returning home. Once home, I recommend follow-up appointments with his physician, physical therapists, and a nutritionist.”
Pops’ bushy eyebrows fuse together in the middle of his forehead, looking like a giant caterpillar. He mutters something unintelligible, and Dr. Berk narrows her eyes. “He was advised to undergo some diet changes last time, which it seems he didn’t take too seriously.”
I swing my gaze toward Pops, who looks slightly abashed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sawyer’s glare is sharp as a knife.
Dr. Berk clears her throat. “I’m hoping with some family support and um, encouragement”—her eyes dart to Sawyer and she smirks—“you can make sure he makes all the changes needed, so he doesn’t end up back in my OR.”
I nod. “How long do you think his recovery will be after a surgery like this?”
“It’s hard to say for certain. My best estimation? At his age—three months or so, as long as he’s working hard with the physical therapist and nutritionist. The first six weeks will be the most challenging.”
