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I didn’t respond. That, in itself, was a kindness to Sloane because I did remember the kindness she’d given me when I was growing up.
“Ashton.”
She was going to push it. I turned to her, letting her see some of the darkness that I knew scared so many others. She stopped when she saw it. “Do not say anything more, Nurse Sloane. For your sake.”
Her chest jerked up in a ragged breath. “You’ve never threatened me.”
I stepped toward her, but unlike Nea, she held her ground.
“I let you have your say.”
She was very still, her throat moving as she swallowed. “I’ve been wary of you. You and Trace. I’ve been nervous around your family members, unnerved by Trace’s father, but I’ve never been scared. Until today.” Her eyes flashed hard, and she took a dramatic step back. “We’ll ready Miss Easter to be discharged. You’ll have to bring a car around for her to be transferred inside.”
Yeah. Yeah. Hospital policy.
I turned around as Sloane went to do as she said, and I moved to stand over Molly’s bed.
Both of them were right. Molly Easter looked like an angel sleeping. Tiny. Five five in height. A little over a hundred pounds. Strawberry-blonde hair that was matted and greasy right now, framing under and around her head on the pillow. When those eyes opened, I knew they were a deep sky-blue color. There’d been a time when I swore that I could even see the clouds in her eyes.
Freckles over her face.
She was beautiful sleeping, but she was stunning when she turned those eyes and that smile on you.
They were all right. Molly was kind and pure, to them.
To me, she was a cross that I’d been forced to bear all my life.
I was done bearing it.
CHAPTER FIVE
MOLLY
I did not recognize the sheets I was lying on, and I’m picky. I liked my warm sheets. These were cool and smooth but not silk. They were cotton, but like the most expensive form of pure cotton there was. Another odd thing about me. I knew my bedsheets. I’d worked in a bedding store one time, and I could outsell everyone except Marjorie Jones. Damn that Marjorie Jones. She also had a side business selling Tupperware that was killer. I didn’t like Tupperware, so I was cool with that, but the bedding crown was still a sore spot.
I sat up and looked down.
Total déjà vu moment, because I had on silk pajamas, and the room was the nicest room I’d ever been in. Where was I?
I went to the bathroom and gulped at how nice it was.
Or I tried, because I was fully focusing on where I was and not how I was feeling, because if I started thinking about how I was feeling, I’d not be getting out of that bed for another whole week.
My whole body was stiff and in pain, and I felt like a walking black bruise. Throbbing, but nope. I was focusing on the positive. Functional thoughts. Those were the only ones that mattered in circumstances like this. The way I grew up, sometimes when you woke, you had no idea where you were, and you didn’t have the time to wallow in your misery.
That old survival skill was kicking in right now, but kinda in the opposite way because I wanted to wallow. This place was off the rails.
The sink looked like a water rock fountain you’d see in nature. It was glorious. And the shower, oh my goodness, the shower. A clear glass partition separated the bathroom from it, and there were five shower heads. Some lined the entire wall from floor to ceiling. I was looking at the one set right where my butt would be. That would be . . . yeah.
Then, taking a breath, I did look in the mirror.
I winced at myself. My face looked swollen, red, patchy eyes, and I grimaced as more pain rushed through me, half knocking me over.
I grabbed onto the sink, steadying myself.
Deep breath in. One. That was all I was giving myself. Just one breath, and I pushed back, on to the next.
I knew I should be freaking out that someone must’ve changed my clothes, but I wasn’t. A part of me was just in awe. Go to sleep in the hospital and wake up at the Ritz-Carlton. That’s how I was feeling, and my eye caught a button on the wall that was blinking.
I pressed it. I had to.
A female voice came over a speaker system. “Good morning, Miss Easter. Would you like breakfast and a beverage brought to your room?” She sounded soothing, like Alexa.
I leaned over. “Yes. I’d like a coffee—”
“Press again for a list of the full menu.”
I frowned, straightening back up. She kept going, giving me all the options, but there was only one button to press.
