Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I greet several residents as I walk through, and the smile grows a little more real.
“Hey, Sunshine. I’m glad you’re here. Could you help…” Rachel narrows her eyes at my clothes. “Oh, I forgot you’re not working the floor tonight.”
Bitterness laces her tone, making me wonder if I was Kincaid’s, the president of the Cerberus MC, first choice for this job.
“Sorry, Rachel,” I say as I walk past her.
I ignore whatever she says under her breath as she speaks to one of the nurses. It’s been a very long time since I concerned myself with what others thought of me.
Years ago, I’d go out of my way to make sure people liked me. I’d bend over backward to help anyone in need, but I found out very quickly who my true friends were after getting called down to the police station a couple of months ago. My shields have been up ever since because of the opinions of others who were quick to express what I could do differently where my family was concerned. So many people who smiled in my face turned on me in the next breath.
I already have enough hangups and consider myself a bad mother. I don’t need the people around me to make me feel worse.
I tap gently on the door before entering. I give the man sitting at the bedside a quick smile before walking toward the bed.
Other than the tube in his nose, the man lying still in the bed looks utterly perfect. He’s in his prime, physically fit, and no doubt a charmer.
I have no doubt he had it all. Cerberus MC is about as elite as it comes according to the chatter around the facility. Many nurses and aides have been clamoring to grab the attention of one of the single men. There are a couple of women here who probably wouldn’t mind a few hours alone with some of the married ones either.
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to shove away those harsh thoughts. Not everyone who works here is as bitter as Rachel.
“There’s been no change,” Legacy says.
“He’s healing,” I remind him.
It’s not often that we get a patient here that isn’t elderly.
“Did you get something to eat?” I ask because he was here when I left from my normal shift earlier this afternoon.
He stands, his hand tugging at the back of his neck. “I’ll grab something on the way home.”
He looks from me to Brent “Bishop” Porter, as if he feels guilty leaving him here without one of the MC members watching over him. Yesterday, when Stormy left, I got the same vibe.
I don’t get the feeling that it’s because they don’t trust me, but that they’re afraid he’ll wake up without one of his teammates here. Except at night, there’s always someone from the club here with him. Some days, multiple people pour into his room. The GET WELL balloons are piled in the corner, and the flowers are always fresh and pretty. The man is cared for greatly.
I’ve managed to shove down the tiny bit of jealousy I feel each time I step into the room, because I know there aren’t many people in my own life who would show up for me the way they do him. I think even my own mother would grow bored after a few days and her visits would become less frequent.
It happens a lot in places like this. I don’t condemn people for having their own lives, for having to rearrange their schedules to include a loved one who requires around-the-clock care, but I absolutely commend the people who make the effort.
“He’s in good hands,” I tell him as he gathers his things. “I promise to call Kincaid if there are any changes.”
“I know he’s in good hands,” he says, looking down at his friend one last time before turning toward the door. “Have a good night, Sunshine.”
He doesn’t wait for me to tell him to do the same.
Everyone who came here the first day Bishop arrived was hopeful. They all smiled and talked. It was as if they figured he’d be here a day or so and then he’d wake up. I can admit that I was feeling like that’s what would happen after feeding off their energy, but he’s been here close to two weeks now, and there hasn’t been so much as a toe twitch.
“If you don’t wake up soon, I’d bet they’re going to end up flying you out of New Mexico to some fancy hospital where the doctors won’t let you get the rest you need,” I tell him as I straighten the blankets on his bed, making sure to leave a pleat at his toes so he doesn’t get bed sores there.
“We all need a break from it all every once in a while, though, don’t we?”