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Pain lashes at me, having the power to rip me wide open, but instead of caving to the pressure behind my own eyes, I reach up and wipe the tears from her cheeks instead.
I’ve never been one to get emotional in front of others, and despite the fact that I feel completely splayed open right now, I’m able to push it down. There will come a time when I’m alone and I’ll have the chance to grieve the loss of my mom a second time.
“Talk to me,” I whisper, swiping at yet another tear that rolls down her pretty face.
“About what?” she asks, sniffling and releasing my hand to wipe at her tears.
“Anything.” I wiggle a little, trying to get comfortable. The plastic mattress is covered in a mattress protector and a sheet, but it still makes crinkling noise under my weight.
I didn’t consider how uncomfortable I’d be here when I insisted on staying during Kincaid’s visit. I have no doubt the beds back at the clubhouse are fucking phenomenal, but I’m no stranger to a little discomfort.
“Did you get the washer fixed?”
She shakes her head. “They can’t make it until the first part of next week, which means I’ll end up at the laundromat sometime this weekend.”
“Be careful,” I tell her. “Not all of those places are bad, but some can be.”
“It’s not your job to worry about me,” she says.
“Not used to it, huh?”
Her cheeks pink as she looks away.
“You deserve to have someone looking after you.”
She scoffs. “How do you know? I could be a horrible person.”
“Are you?”
“Life would be easier if I were, I think.” Her tone is deprecating, tinged with sadness.
“So you’re the type of woman that gives and gives and rarely gets anything in return?”
“I have people in my life that love me,” she says, her defenses going up.
“Do they value you? There’s a difference.”
“Why are we having such a serious conversation? Do you still need this?” she asks, grabbing her phone from my lap as she stands.
I swear she brushed my dick, but I know it wasn’t on purpose. My body, however, doesn’t know it was an accident.
I want to sigh in relief when my cock threatens to thicken in the pair of sweats I’m wearing. I was seriously concerned that the catheter might’ve done some damage.
“Tell me something not serious,” I say, wanting to hear her voice and having no intention of upsetting her.
I’ve always been a serious person, and it seems even getting injected with drugs and going into cardiac arrest hasn’t changed that about me.
She sits back in the chair in the corner, her eyes drifting back to the television before she looks back at me. “I can’t think of anything.”
“You said you spoke to me nearly incessantly the last two weeks. Surely you haven’t gone through your entire life story in that time.”
She shakes her head, that upper lip twitching like she wants to grin, but she gets control of herself before she lets it happen.
“Are you married? Have you ever been married?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “We are not talking about my romantic life.”
It’s not a no, but if she doesn’t answer in the affirmative, then it’s closer to a no than a yes.
“Why not? Aren’t we friends?”
She scoffs again. “Tell me about your relationship with Rivet.”
I clamp my lips closed, making her chuckle.
“See? It’s no fun when the tables are turned, is it?”
I turn my head, looking up at the ceiling.
“I’m the one with memory loss,” I mutter.
“Playing that card so soon?” She tsks, but there’s a little laughter in it. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”
I spread my hands wide in front of me. “The floor is yours.”
“I quit nursing school because it was too hard,” she begins, and for the next hour she tells me the story.
I wish I could say I hung onto every single word, but I let my eyes flutter closed, the calming tone of her voice lulling me to sleep.
Chapter 11
Sunshine
“She needs to hurry,” I growl, looking down at the lit screen of my cell phone.
I was supposed to leave five minutes ago and Mom isn’t back from the convenience store yet. She said it would only take a few minutes. She needed more sodas. I swear, I don’t know how the woman doesn’t have kidney stones with how much of that junk she drinks.
“You could call Dad,” Ryder offers from the living room sofa.
I ignore the suggestion, praying he’ll just let it go.
“I don’t want to stay here with her,” he snaps, sounding older than his five years.
I look over at him, hurting as much as he is about his dad because Ryder deserves the moon and stars.
“Is she mean to you?”
I watch his little brain work, and I know before he speaks that he’s going to tell a story.
