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With Sheila gone…
I scrub my hand down my face, wondering for the millionth time since I watched the blade Kurt was holding slice through Sheila’s paper-thin skin, if I’m ready for this.
I’m a mess. I don’t think anyone would dispute that fact.
Closing the notebook and placing it back where I found it, I rest my elbows on my knees.
Can I do this?
Can I successfully look after a child?
I’m still pondering the situation when the door is pushed open and a wrecked-looking Mav walks in.
“Hey,” he whispers, walking straight to the bed and perching on the edge.
He reaches out and gently tucks one of Daisy’s locks of curls behind her ear.
“She’s been peaceful,” I say. “Is everything okay downstairs?”
He nods. “Yeah. Can’t say it was peaceful though.”
I nod, desperate to ask more questions but also not wanting to wake Daisy.
After studying the sleeping angel for a few more minutes, he pushes from the bed and drags his shirt over his head.
“I’m gonna shower. You good here?”
“Yeah, man. Take your time. If you need anything…” I trail off as he continues into the bathroom.
“I just need her to be okay. I made a promise to Ivy, and I fully intend to stick to it.”
“We’ve got you,” I assure him before he disappears and closes the door.
My heart aches for him.
I know losing his dad was a long time coming, but add the loss of Sheila, who was like an adopted grandmother to him, that’s got to hurt.
Combing my fingers through my hair, I push to my feet, needing to move, to do something to try and squash the restless energy racing through my system.
I’m standing at the window when heavy footsteps race up the stairs.
I spin around at the same time I pull my gun from my pants, more than ready to stand by the promise I made Mav not so long ago.
But the second the door bursts open, I find it’s not necessary.
“Fucking hell, man. Paranoid much?” Ezra teases.
“Yeah, well. I’m on fucking duty here,” I say, gesturing to Daisy.
He lifts a duffel bag up to show me before placing it on the end of the bed.
“We swung by Sheila’s trailer and picked up some things,” he explains. “Thought she might need something familiar to make her feel at home.”
As soon as he pulls the bag open, I’m greeted by the sight of several stuffies.
“I’m guessing this one is her favorite,” he muses, lifting out a pink fluffy bunny. “Looks a little more loved than the others.”
Moving with more care than I thought he possessed, he lifts Daisy’s little arm and tucks the bunny under it.
