Page 112 of The Love Playbook

The nurse pauses by a room at the end of the hall, giving the solid oak a small rap with her knuckles before pushing it open.

Inhaling, I square my shoulders, preparing myself for whatever waits inside.

“She’ll be okay,” Chris whispers, his voice steady, an anchor to my drifting thoughts.

I offer him a tight smile as his pale-blue gaze meets mine, searching for reassurance that I’m okay. But all I can do is nod as I step into the room, the door creaking as it swings further on its hinges.

The scent of disinfectant stings my nostrils and the sight of her lying in a hospital bed, her leg propped up in a brace, steals my breath. A vicious bruise runs along her temple, and her eyes are distant, glazed, and unfocused. “Mom?” I step closer, my voice trembling as her hazel gaze slowly lifts.

“Charlotte . . .” She blinks in recognition, her voice a hoarse rasp as she says, “I told them not to bother you, but they said I can’t drive.”

I shake my head, hating she thinks she’s a burden, even though I’ve thought it myself. “I’m here, Mom. I’m here,” I repeat as I sink down into the chair beside her bed.

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine, noting the cool skin beneath my fingers as regret worms its way into my heart. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I had commuted instead of insisting on living on campus, I would’ve been there. I could’ve prevented . . . whatever this is.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Mom, what the heck happened? Are you okay?”

Before she can answer, a tall man in a white coat steps into the room, his expression serious save for the small smile he offers. “Charlotte, I’m Dr. Reynolds. You’re her daughter?”

“Yes.” I straighten, preparing myself for the news. “What happened?”

“Apparently, she’d been having problems sleeping?”

I nod, though my gaze darts to my mother, then back. If she’s been having problems sleeping, that’s news to me. Usually when she’s in one of her episodes, all she does is sleep.

“Well, it looks like she took a larger dose of her sleeping medication than recommended, which resulted in some confusion and grogginess. She got out of bed and was headed down the stairs when she lost her balance and fell.” He pauses, and I close my eyes, wondering if this is more than a case of accidental overdose. After a moment, I blink them back open, and listen closely to his next words. “After running some tests, we’ve determined that she tore a ligament in her knee, but fortunately, there’s no need for surgery. It’s a significant strain, though, and she’ll need some time to recover, plus some physical therapy in the coming weeks to ensure she heals up properly.”

A wave of relief washes over me. It could be worse. “So, that’s good, right?”

“It’s definitely the best-case scenario in terms of healing, but she’ll likely need some assistance around the house. Does she live alone?”

I swallow as another wave of guilt washes over me. “She’s not married, and I’m away at college,” I say, feeling defensive.

But you could be home, if you wanted to be . . .

The doctor hums in understanding. “In that case, you might want to set up a bed downstairs for the time being, just so she’s not climbing stairs unassisted with no one home. Also, until she’s healed, there will be no driving since it’s her right leg, and she’ll continue to wear the brace and use crutches for at least a month.”

I nod numbly, trying to process this newfound information while my mind ruminates on everything else that’s been going on since she found out about my father’s engagement. How the hell is she going to see Dr. Sherri if she can’t drive? Once she’s able to start PT, who’s going to take her? Without income, how much will these medical bills set her back?

I swallow, my gaze flickering to Chris and back, wondering how I can subtly voice my concerns without causing more harm than good. “And what about her mental health? My mother . . . she has a history of depression.”

“I told him I’m okay, Charlotte. I just screwed up. Honestly,” my mother chimes in for the first time.

The doctor hesitates for a moment, glancing at my mother before answering. “We asked her some questions and ran an assessment on her, and as of this moment, we have no reason to be alarmed or think she might hurt herself. Are these concerns of yours?” he asks with a frown.

“I don’t know. She’s never . . . I don’t think so,” I say, sounding uncertain, even to my own ears.

“Well, I recommend that she continues seeing her therapist. The medication and the fall may have contributed to her state,but the root cause of her depression and why she’s not sleeping is something she needs to address carefully.”

“Yeah, I understand.” I exhale, breathing through the knot of nerves tightening my chest as Dr. Reynolds checks on my mother one last time, then promises to have a nurse bring the discharge papers by soon.

Once the door clicks shut, my thoughts swirl in a thousand directions. Mom’s already in a spiral, and I have no doubt this will make things worse. Her physical limitations only add another element to an already complicated situation. If I can barely motivate her to take a shower and see her therapist, how am I supposed to convince her to go to physical therapy? And that’s not even taking into account the fact I’m not even around to get her there.

“Charlotte . . .” I lift my head at the sound of Chris’s voice, his touch warm as he presses a hand over my shoulder.

I almost forgot I wasn’t alone, and the reminder I’m not comforts me like a safety net.

“Who’s this?” my mother asks, her gaze darting between us.

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