CHRISSY
December 19, 9:00 AM
I wokeup with my cheek stuck to the pillow and my eyes raw from crying myself dry. The apartment was too quiet for me now, after spending time at the hunting lodge. There was no fire crackling, no low voices of staff members in the halls, no scarred man watching me from across the room with that intense, unreadable stare.
There was only the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic rumbling down Hospital Street and Highway 59.
I sat up slowly and my head throbbed from the movement. The stack of paid bills on the nightstand looked like trophies from a war I wishII’d never had to fight. Hospice upgrade. Credit cards zeroed out. Rent six months ahead. Every single debt I had was cleared, all courtesy of the man who’d shattered me and then handed me the means to rebuild anyway. I hated that I’d had to handle it with money that felt tainted… like blood money, money for the way Ben had fucked me, and every other way he’d used me during the Game. It was heartbreak money, at best, aconsolation prize for shattering my heart into a million pieces with his lies and bullshit.
I rubbed my eyes hard enough to see stars. I couldn’t stay in this apartment all day long, breathing in silence and regret. I needed to see the one person who had never once made me feel like I had to earn her love. I needed Granny Irene.
I threw on jeans, a hoodie, and boots, grabbed my keys, and headed for the one place that had never asked me to be anything but exactly who I was. On the drive from Stonewood to Bayview Hospice, I turned the radio up to a deafening volume and screamed along with an emo anthem that came out when I was in middle school, but felt eerily appropriate for what had happened in my life over the past week.
Bayview Hospice smelled like bleach and lavender lotion, the same as always. Usually the smell was nauseating, but today it felt like a lifeline.
“Morning, Chrissy,” the receptionist said, voice soft. Her eyes flicked over my face and lingered. “You okay, hon?”
“Fine,” I lied. “Just need to see her.”
“She’s having a good morning. The new room seems to be treating her well.”
I managed a nod and headed down the hall, my boots echoing too loud on the polished tile floor.
The private suite was bright and warm. Bright winter sunlight flooded the room from the bay window, spilling across her mauve bedding, and her favorite afghan that I’d crocheted her a couple of Christmases ago folded neatly over the chair. Photoson the dresser. Everything arranged like someone had taken care with her comfort.
There she was, propped up against pillows, her silver hair brushed smooth, wearing her rosy pink lipstick like armor. She’d been wearing that very same shade for as long as I could remember. I used it, too, because it reminded me of Granny Irene.
Her hazel eyes lit up the second she saw me.
“Well, there’s my Chrissy-girl.” Her voice was thin but strong. “Come here before I get out of this bed and drag you into a bear hug.”
I crossed the room and let her pull me into a hug that was fiercer than her frail arms should’ve allowed. She smelled like vanilla and lavender and every good memory I’d ever had.
She leaned back, studied my face, and frowned.
“Lord, baby. You look like someone wrung you out and hung you up wet.”
I tried to smile, but failed spectacularly.
“It’s just been a really rough week,” I muttered.
She patted the bed.
“Sit. You’re not leaving until you tell me what fool man put that look on your face.”
I arched a brow at her.
“How do you know it was a man that has me in such a mess?”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, even as she gave me a wry smile.
“I’ve been on this earth a lot of years, Chrissy-girl. I know what man trouble looks like when I see it.”
I dropped onto the bed beside her and took her hand like it was the only thing keeping me anchored.
“It’s… complicated, to say the least.”
I fought the urge to blush as memories of my time with Ben bubbled to the surface of my mind.
