Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I come upon a nurses’ station and stop to check in. A pleasant-faced older woman looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Lila Willard’s son, Callum Derringer. I was told she was in room 3228.”
The woman’s eyes round with surprise, but I can tell she was expecting me. “Of course. Dr. Figler said you’d be in and wanted me to page him when you arrived. He or one of his partners wants to talk to you.” She points down an intersecting hall. “Your mother’s room is down that way on the left. She’s probably still sleeping off the anesthesia but she’s doing well. Vitals are all strong.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving the nurse a grateful smile as I walk away.
The door of my mom’s room is cracked and I push it open gently so I don’t make any noise. If she’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.
It’s dim inside, the slatted blinds closed against the low-hanging sun. I step in, my eyes taking in my mom’s thin body and the large bandage over the right side of her head. Her eyes are closed and—
I jolt as I realize someone’s sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. She’s leaning forward, her forehead resting on her arms crossed on the edge of the bed rail.
Her head lifts and I freeze in place as I take in Juniper Ryan.
There are no other words to describe the woman other than she’s stunning. Her raven-black hair is wound on top of her head in a loose, messy bun. Those hazel eyes look more olive green in the dim light but I know if she was catching a face full of sun, they’d be the color of forest moss with dark gold flecks around the edges. Juniper has Native American ancestry and you can see it in the high cheekbones and aquiline nose, as well as her light olive complexion.
“Hey,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. She sounds tired and I wonder how long she’s been sitting there.
“Hey,” I reply, taking a few steps toward the edge of the bed. I avoid looking at Juniper because I hate that my heart is racing just from this one glimpse. Instead, I take in the bruise on the side of my mom’s face. “Does anyone know what happened?”
Juniper shakes her head.
Of course, I asked the surgeon the same question and he only repeated what he’d been told… she’d been found unconscious on the patio. He assumed she’d fallen and hit her face.
Plausible, for sure.
Could just as easily be that her husband, Preston, hit her. Granted, he’s getting up there in age, but he’s a big man and even in his late seventies, he’d be able to hurt my mom without much effort.
It’s all just supposition though. I never witnessed him striking her in all the years I lived under his roof.
I noticed lots of bruises. Heard them screaming at each other. Saw the way he brought her flowers and jewelry on the days she wore heavier makeup to cover the blue and purple marks.
But never actually saw him raise the hand.
I spent my fair share of years pleading with her to tell me the truth about what was going on. I begged her to leave his sorry ass so we could start a new life somewhere else. All she ever did was deny that he’d hurt her and reiterated that we’d never have it better than what we did with him.
She was so very wrong about that. Anywhere was better than that house.
“She’s been resting peacefully,” Juniper says as she stands from the chair.
“Where’s Preston?” I ask. I mean… shouldn’t my stepfather be here? I don’t bother asking about Joshua. I didn’t expect him to keep vigil.
Even in the dim light, I see Juniper flush. Plus I recognize the quick dart of her eyes away and then back again, a sure sign the question makes her uncomfortable.
Tough shit.
I stare at her, waiting for an answer.
“He’s at work,” she finally says. “But I was here the entire time she was in surgery and I stayed until you could arrive.”
It boils my blood that Juniper is forced into this role. My mother’s fucking husband should be by her side.
It’s beyond ironic that had circumstances been different, Juniper could have been sitting here in this room watching over my mom in her role as my wife.
But that was a lifetime ago.
I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Juni. I appreciate it.”
There’s a small knock on the door and we both turn that way. A doctor wearing green surgical scrubs enters and I’m guessing that’s Dr. Figler.
“I’m going to head on home,” Juniper says, skirting around the end of the bed.
She doesn’t pass by me but instead moves in for a hug. I’m startled at first because we haven’t touched in years, but I return it without hesitation. I have no hard feelings for Juniper.