How It's Going To Be [h.s.]

Chapter 67

The footsteps stopped. I could smell the masculine combination of cologne and mint—the smell of him. My hair stood on end as I sensed his presence. My breath escaped me. My heart pounded in my chest. Slowly, I turned in my chair to find Harry Styles standing in the doorway.

"Hi," he mumbled through a crooked smile.

"Hi," I breathed.

"You alright?"

"What? Yes. Yes, fine."

"May I come in?"

"Sure," I nodded.

Harry slipped off his jacket and set in on the back of a chair. His shoulders and chest looked broader. His forearms and biceps were thick with muscle. His skin was smooth and tan from the summer sun. His body looked good, but his face looked sad.

"Papa," I whispered, clutching the hand of my sleeping grandfather. "This is my...this is Harry."

"We've met," Harry whispered. He crouched down beside me and looked at my grandfather. "We visited last autumn."

"Right," I bit my lip. I couldn't focus with Harry so close to me. I could smell his shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Miss? Visiting hours are now over." The nurse was back with hands on hip. Her toe tapped the floor in annoyance. "You can come back tomorrow morning at nine."

"Just a few more minutes?"

"Kate," Harry cooed softly. His hand touched my shoulder as he rose up. "She's only doing her job. You want your granddad to get well. Let him rest. You can come back in the morning. They'll take good care of him tonight."

"But—"

"Come on, love."

Love. My body tensed. It was a term he used for many people. He said it to fans and to strangers and to acquaintances and to friends. But whenever he said it to me, it had always felt a little more meaningful. Like it was short for, my love. The word lingered in the sterile air of the hospital room like an unwanted insect flying about.

"Fine." I stood from the chair and leaned over to kiss my grandfather's forehead. "Goodbye, Papa. I'll be back tomorrow."

I picked up my handbag and a book I had brought and headed for the door. To my own surprise, I found myself waiting by the door for Harry to catch up. He collected his jacket and joined me in the corridor. We began a slow walk toward the end of the corridor to the stairwell. Harry left his hand dangling by his side as if he were waiting to catch mine. It brushed against the back of mine, but when I pulled my hand away, he quickly put his hand in his pocket. Our slow pace and brushing hands reminded me of walking through the park for the first time together in January—a lifetime ago.

"Why are you here?" I choked out.

"I heard about your granddad."

"You're here to see him?" I tested, knowing the answer already.

"Well, no. I'm here to see you. I know you must be going through a hard time."

"No thanks to you," I blurted.

Harry didn't respond right away. He tilted his head up and down in an almost-nod, as if he were agreeing with me. "Do you think we could talk?"

"What is there to say?"

"Kate, I have some things I want to say. If you don't want to talk, I won't force you."

We got to the stairs and started slowly descending them. Harry consciously moved slower, though his long legs enabled him to take the stairs two at a time. I gripped the handrail tightly and tried to decide what the right thing to do was. "Fine. We can talk."