Page 93 of Last Wish Wedding

She set the chart down and met his gaze directly. “His body is shutting down, Mac. His heart is failing.”

“But how long?” The question contained a universe of pain.

“It’s hard to say exactly,” she answered honestly. “It could be hours. It could be a day or two. The timing isn’t…” Kelsey swallowed, her medical detachment slipping. “It isn’t predictable.”

Mac nodded. His hand found hers, a desperate grip that betrayed his outward composure. “He’s asking for us.”

In the dim light, Truman’s eyes were open though unfocused. His gaze drifted until it found Mac’s face, and recognition filtered through the medication haze.

“There you are,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “How was court?”

Mac sat carefully on the edge of the bed and took his grandfather’s hand between both of his. “We won, Grandad. The judge dismissed their case completely.”

A ghost of Truman’s old smile touched his lips. “Told you. Nobody messes with a MacCormack.”

“You were right,” Mac said. He traced his thumb back and forth across Truman’s papery skin. “The judge saw right through Jason. She even extended the restraining order for a full year.”

“Good.” Truman’s eyelids fluttered. “Noah’s safe then.”

“Yes,” Mac’s voice caught. “Noah’s safe.”

“And you?” Truman’s gaze shifted briefly to Kelsey before returning to Mac. “You’ll take care of them?”

Something passed over Mac’s face—an emotion so raw Kelsey had to look away. “I will.”

Truman seemed satisfied with this, his eyes drifting closed again. His breathing slowed, and for a terrifying moment, she thought it might have stopped altogether. But then his chest rose again, and the cycle continued its inevitable rhythm.

Mac remained motionless, still holding his grandfather’s hand, his shoulders curved inward as if physically bending under the sorrow of approaching loss.

Kelsey moved to the other side of the bed to check Truman’s oxygen and adjust the blanket that had slipped from his shoulders. She moved with professional ease while her heart ached for Mac, for Truman, for the inevitable parting coming closer with each labored breath.

“Eleanor,” Truman murmured suddenly, his eyes still closed. “Patience, love.”

Mac’s head jerked up, his gaze meeting Kelsey’s across the bed. She’d seen this before—the dying often spoke to those who had gone before, caught somewhere between worlds.

“It’s normal. It’s a known phenomenon in hospice patients,” she whispered, though the knowledge did little to soften the moment’s impact.

Truman’s eyes opened again, clearer now, and focused directly on Mac. “Mac,” he said, his voice suddenly stronger. “I love you, boy. Never doubt that.”

Mac’s composure finally cracked. A single tear tracked down his cheek as he leaned closer. “I love you too, Grandad.”

“You’ll be alright,” Truman insisted, each word taking visible effort. “You’ve got…” His gaze drifted to Kelsey again. “You’ve got family now.”

His eyes closed once more, and his breath settled into the shallow pattern of deep sleep. Mac remained frozen, still clutching his grandfather’s hand as if it were an anchor in a storm.

After a long moment, he looked up at Kelsey. “Is this it?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

She moved around the bed to stand beside him, professional assessment warring with personal compassion. “It’s… hard to say with certainty. His vital signs are declining, but sometimes this process takes time.”

“Will he wake up again?”

Kelsey hesitated to take away hope, but she was unwilling to lie. “He might. Briefly. But he’s slipping away, Mac.”

Mac nodded again. Then, with visible effort, he straightened his shoulders. “I’m staying with him. I won’t leave.”

“Of course.”

“Will you…” He looked up at her, vulnerability naked in his expression. “Will you stay too? I can’t do this alone, Kelsey.”