Shattered King(10)

Fifteen minutes later, someone slid into the seat beside me. Carol was an older woman with soft brown eyes surrounded by smile lines.

“Here you go.” She placed a white paper bag on the table in front of me and pointed to one of the exits. “The bathroom’s out that door and to the right. The elevator’s just down from that. The hospice is on the seventh floor.” She placed her hand over mine and squeezed. Suddenly the emotion I’d been suppressing welled up like a geyser and tears stung the backs of my eyes. “Your mom’s in room fifteen.” Then she stood and walked away.

When I reached the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall and quickly pulled on the brightly patterned scrub top. My breath was coming fast and shallow as I shoved my feet in the pants, heart racing, palms sweaty. Splashing water on my face, I blinked at my reflection in the mirror. There were no smile lines around my eyes. My skin was smooth. But I looked tired, worn out, used up. Older than my twenty-four years. Would she recognize this face? Yes, my features were the same, but the last three years had taken their toll, had marked me. I looked into my own eyes and shivered at the pain and hopelessness staring back at me.

Pushing away from the sink, I shut it all down, all of it, the swirling emotions clawing at me, the relentless nightmares of my past. I dried off and headed down the hall to the elevator.

When the doors slid open on the seventh floor, the sign on the wall opposite told me where I’d find rooms one to twenty. I turned right, my green Converse sneakers squeaking on the shiny linoleum with every step I took. Nerves rolled and twisted in my gut, so strong I felt physically sick.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of her room. I stared at it, frozen. I don’t know how long it took to muster the courage I needed to knock. But my hands shook when I did. There was no reply from inside, so I pushed the door open and walked in, closing it behind me.

The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. My breath hitched, sticking in my throat when I saw her. She was asleep. There was a yellow scarf tied around her head, and her chin was dipped to the side. She looked pale, small. My mother was petite like me, but she’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen her. She looked so frail, utterly fragile. She looked exactly like what she was—a woman who only had a little time left.

I moved to the bed and looked down at her, tears running hot down my cheeks. I took her hand in mine. Her skin was cool and soft. So soft. My mother always had the softest, most beautiful skin. I lifted my gaze from her hand, back to her beautiful face, and her eyes blinked open, focusing on me.

Her fingers tightened around mine. “Baby?” she whispered.

I choked back a sob. “It’s me, Mom.”

“Lucinda.” She reached up, cupping my face, brushing her thumb over my tear-soaked cheek. At the same time, tears started spilling from her own blue eyes “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re really here?” Her breathing increased, fingers squeezing mine restlessly. “Pierce and I have been so worried. He’s been looking for you since you left.”

I shook my head, tried not to let her see how her words affected me. Fear and sadness all rolled into one jagged ball of emotion, bouncing around, battering my insides. I shoved it down, smothered it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I couldn’t tell her why I left, what happened. I didn’t want her to live her last days on this earth knowing the man she married, the man she loved, was nothing but a sick fucking asshole, a criminal, and the reason I’d bolted. That he’d been more interested in the inheritance she’d gotten from my dad and my trust fund than in how beautiful, sweet, and loving she was.

Oh, he loved my mom, in his own way, as much as a man like that was capable. But it was a twisted, unhealthy kind of love. When they’d married, we’d become his possessions. I’d found out the hard way Pierce didn’t like sharing his possessions, and Hunter had paid the price for daring to take what was his.

I ran the back of my hand over her smooth cheek. “I can’t tell you why I left, Mom. But I need you to know it had nothing to do with you, nothing. I never wanted to leave you.” I’d left her a note when I ran, telling her I’d fought with my boyfriend and needed to get away. She’d never met Hunter, didn’t even know I was seeing anyone, but it was something I thought she might believe. At least I’d hoped she would. It was all I could come up with at the time.

She reached for her phone beside the bed. “Pierce. Let me call him. The two of you were always so close. Thick as thieves. He’s been so worried. He can help, baby, he’ll take care of you. He’s been so busy lately, but I know he’d come for you.”