When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

56. Patrick

Chapter 56

Patrick

I pull up in front of Granny Sloane’s house, cutting the engine but staying in the car. Ever since Emmy said she’d come home, it’s as if my soul has exhaled. The barriers I’ve built around my heart, the walls that have kept me vigilant and isolated, are gone.

It’s a profound realization that I don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m surrounded by people who love me, who are willing to share the load, to stand beside me, and I can let go of some of this responsibility and enjoy being with Emmy without feeling guilty or like I’m letting someone down.

For a moment, everything is so intense I have to close my eyes, a dam breaking and flooding my entire body with years of suppressed fears and burdens. The release is both painful and healing, like the tightly wound coil inside me is starting to unwind, the tension slowly releasing.

There’s warmth, a sense of relief that I’ve longed for but never allowed myself to feel, a sensation that’s both agonizing and cathartic, a paradox of pain and comfort. And in that moment, I know the path forward leads to a good place, one where I can really be there for Emmy, giving myself fully to her in the way she deserves .

For a brief moment, I think about how the two of us could just run away together, hiking through the Pines with no destination in mind, no responsibilities. Just me, Emmy and the forest. I close my eyes and let the thought wash over me. I picture the towering trees, the scent of pine needles, the cool, crisp air filling my lungs. Her by my side.

Maybe one day.

I glance in the rearview mirror. There’s no sign of Emmy yet, but she should be close behind me. Opening the car door, a sound reaches me: a dog barking from inside the house. The skin at the back of my neck prickles. Something’s wrong.

Climbing out of the car, running to Granny Sloane’s front door, fumbling with the key until it unlocks. Stormy is standing on the other side of the door, barking furiously, a bundle of frantic energy leading me straight to the kitchen.

Time seems to slow, every heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears. The last time I found Granny Sloane when she had her stroke, it was like this. The same hurried walk up the hallway, the same eerie silence, the house too quiet, the same edge of panic in my voice as I call out, “Granny Sloane!”

There she is, slumped over at the kitchen table, her crossword in front of her, half done. Her hand lies on the table, inches from the cellphone Emmy gave her, like she was reaching for it.

Her face is slack, one side drooping significantly, her eyes closed. Loose tendrils of her silver hair hang limply around her face and the room is too quiet, the ticking of the kitchen clock the only sound.

“Granny Sloane!” Rushing to her side. My hands shake as I check her pulse, faint and thready. “No, no, no.” Grabbing my phone, dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice is an anchor through the haze of panic.

“It’s my grandmother. I think she’s had a stroke. Her pulse is weak, and she’s unresponsive. Please hurry.” My voice breaks as I rattle off Granny Sloane’s address.

“Stay calm, sir. Help is on the way.”

The operator stays on the line as I gently pick Granny Sloane up, sinking to the floor with her cradled in my arms. She seems so small, frail—different than the larger than life presence that’s always been there.

“Please, be okay. Please.” My voice is a raw whisper.

Stormy whines softly, circling us as if trying to help in his own way. The seconds stretch into an eternity as I hold her, rocking back and forth, willing her to stay with me. “You’re strong, Granny Sloane. You’ve got to pull through this.”

A car door slams. Emmy’s voice calling my name: “Patrick? Where are you?”

Her voice fades, drowned by the sirens growing louder.

“Emmy, I’m in here.”

A moment later she’s beside me, a look of horror on her face. Before she can speak, the front door bursts open, and Antonio hurries in, another paramedic behind him. They move quickly, taking Granny Sloane out of my arms and loading her onto the stretcher.

Antonio looks at me, his face full of professional calm, but his expression cracks wide open as he pulls me into a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

I nod numbly, following behind them as they carry her out, Emmy by my side. The world around me is distant, muffled. She bends down to ruffle Stormy’s fur as he barks at us, confused.

“We’ll be back soon, boy,” she says.

Closing the door, locking it, taking a deep breath before dialing Mom’s number. She picks up almost immediately.

“Patrick? Have you got Emmy?”

“Yes, I’ve got her, but I’m calling about something else. It’s Granny Sloane.” The words feel sharp and uncomfortable, tearing at my throat. “She had another stroke. The ambulance just picked her up. I’m on my way to the hospital.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before she starts crying. “Oh no… Oh, Patrick… Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.” I lean my head against the front door, everything draining out of me, all my fear and worry for Granny Sloane pooling at my feet, leaving me hollow and empty. Emmy beside me, her hand on my back, is the only thing holding me up.

“We’re just at the gallery. We’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Emmy drives us to the hospital and I’m on autopilot, the streets blurring past me. My cell rings, and I glance at the screen to see it’s the fire station. I switch it off, unable to deal with anything else right now. All I can think about is Granny Sloane, lying in that ambulance, fighting for her life.

When we reach the hospital, Antonio is waiting for us in the lobby, his expression grim. Nora and Mom are standing there too, both of them crying.

“She’s already in for an MRI to determine the cause of the stroke,” Antonio says. “Once that’s done, the doctor will come and speak to you.”

He hugs us all, kissing Nora on the side of her head, reminding me just how long we’ve all known one another, just how many tragedies we’ve seen together. His dark eyes lock on mine.

“Is there anything we could have done?” My heart stops as we hold one another’s gaze. “If we’d been there. Would it have made a difference?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s getting older and sometimes these things are unavoidable. I’m so sorry, buddy.”

“Thanks.” My voice is thick with emotion. He gives me a sympathetic nod before hurrying away, leaving me alone with Emmy, Mom and Nora.

We stand there in silence, the sterile smell of the hospital filling the air. I glance at Mom, who’s hugging Emmy, her face pale and tear-streaked. Nora is trying to be strong, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

Nora suggests we go to the waiting room, and I nod, unable to trust my voice. The four of us walk down the sterile, too-bright corridor in silence.

The waiting room is bare and filled with worry, white walls, and gray floors that gleam under too bright lights. There are rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs lined up against the walls, with magazines scattered haphazardly on a table in the corner and pamphlets on a display case on the wall. A small TV mounted on the wall plays a news broadcast on mute.

Emmy sits beside me. Takes my hand. Her blond hair is pulled back from her face, her large, expressive hazel eyes focused on me. We drink bad coffee and wait.

The waiting is the worst. And the awful, terrible monotony is only broken when first Liam, and then Riley, arrive.

Liam takes a seat next to Mom and just stares at the floor. Every so often he looks up, and as his gaze sweeps the room for the hundredth time, we lock eyes for a long moment, the air between us suddenly charged with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. The others watch us, quiet, waiting.

There’s so much between Liam and me, so many things we’ve both said recently, but what Mom said, and now Granny Sloane’s stroke, have put it all into perspective. All the bickering, the insults, it seems so unimportant, and for the first time in a long time, I offer him a smile. It’s brief, tinged with sadness, but it’s there.

He looks confused, then nods. I can sense a truce developing, like maybe we’ll find a way forward. The weight of our shared past hangs between us, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before now.

I’m still struggling with Mom’s radical acceptance of Liam and the risky things he’s drawn to. It’s hard to reconcile her calm with my instinctive need to protect, especially after everything we’ve been through. But it’s time I took a step back. Like Liam’s told me many times, I’m not his dad. I’m not Paddy. And maybe I shouldn’t try to be.

I take a deep breath and glance at Emmy, who offers a soft, encouraging smile, and then at Mom, whose eyes are brimming with something that looks like hope.

“I’m glad you’re here, brother,” I finally say, my gaze resting on Liam once more.

His expression softens, and he gives me another small nod. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. It’s a start. Despite our differences, despite the mistakes we’ve both made, we’re family. We’re the O’Connors. We’ll always find a way to come back to each other.

We lapse into silence again until a doctor we know steps into the waiting room and finds us, his face somber. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he says gently. “I’m very sorry.”

We follow him down the corridor to Granny Sloane’s room, me holding Emmy’s hand so tightly. The doctor suggests we go in a couple at a time so we can say goodbye. The surreality of it all makes me feel like I’m watching a movie about someone else’s life.

Mom and Nora enter first with the doctor, and return after a few minutes, the doctor speaking in a low voice to Mom before heading away from us down the corridor. Mom’s eyes are red-rimmed, her hands trembling as she holds a tissue, and Nora cries openly, while Liam and Riley go in to see Granny Sloane.

Nora wipes her eyes on her sleeve and then looks at me. “Granny Sloane is awake, but they don’t know how much time she has left.”

“That can’t be right.” My voice cracks. “She can’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mom says, her face filled with sorrow.

My body goes rigid, every muscle tensing as if I’m about to punch a wall or scream.

“Hey,” Emmy whispers, “I’m here with you.”

I close my eyes, taking a shaky breath, gradually relaxing under her touch. When I open my eyes again, they’re raw and stinging, and a tear slides down my cheek, roughly rubbed away before it reaches my chin.

The door opens, and Riley and Liam step out. Both of them look devastated, their faces pale and eyes red from crying. Riley wears a somber, almost defeated expression, and Liam looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

I release Emmy’s hand and step forward to give Riley a hug, holding my little sister tightly, trying to absorb some of her pain, before releasing her.

“Let’s go see her,” I say to Emmy, my voice steadier.

“Do you want to see her alone?” she asks softly.

“No, I want you there, too,” I reply. “I need you there.”

“Of course.” She squeezes my hand.

We walk into the room together. Granny Sloane lies in the bed, looking so frail, her once vibrant presence diminished. Her head rests against the pillow, her eyes closed, the lines on her face made deeper by the harsh fluorescent lighting. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors is the only sound.

I can sense it in every corner of the room: death is near.