“You work for him?” I hiss. “Is that why you came into the Corkscrew last night? Recon?”
“No,” Shane contests. “Chase and I just got back into town. We’re starting on our next project.”
“Youbothwork forhim?”I’m disgusted.
Shane shakes his head at me incredulously. “Why were you meeting with Ty?”
“Like you don’t know.” The elevator doors ding open.Thank god.
“I don’t.” He stands there gaping as I press the lobby button.
“Sure.” I cross my arms and glare as the doors slide closed.
What a fucking idiot I am. The term sleeping with the enemy could not be more appropriate.
The nausea rolls as I dart out of the building, into my car, and pull away.
I chew on my anger like tobacco until I pull up to Magnolia Nursing Home. Taking a few deep breaths, I squeeze the shit out of the steering wheel to help pull myself together. I can’t go in there a frazzled mess. The last thing Pops needs is to start sniffing out trouble. He has enough to worry about.
I sign in at the front desk and give Daisy a small smile.
“Morning, Jenn. You look nice today.”
“Thanks. I just came from a meeting.” I inwardly scowl. “I hate business attire.”
She laughs lightly. “Don’t we all. That’s why I became a nurse.” She tugs on her floral scrubs. “Casual Friday every day.”
“That’s one way to choose a career. How’s our patient today?”
“I’ve heard cranky.” She purses her lips.
“So, normal?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good to hear.” I tap on the desk before I head to room 404. My heels click on the tile floor the whole way, agitating the quiet hall. Agitating me. I try to forget all about Shane and Chase and who they work for as I enter the room. Pops, aka Nathanial Jackson, is resting peacefully, propped up in his bed. The television blaring Sports Center, as usual. After turning the volume down, I sit on the edge of his mattress and watch him sleep. His breaths are heavy and his mouth is slack. His dark skin is ashy, and the hair on his chin and head has turned almost completely white. He looks so different now compared to the first time I met him, nearly twelve years ago. A neglected teenager who was looking for attention and something to eat. My parents couldn’t be bothered with me, so I was a victim of circumstance and indifference. My father cared more about drinking on a fishing boat than anything else, while my mother worried who her next boyfriend was going to be. I have an older half-brother, Tommy, but I haven’t seen or heard from him in years. Once he turned eighteen, he joined the Marines and never looked back. Who could blame him? When my father did decide to make an appearance, Tommy was his personal punching bag.
My brother did do one notable thing before he left. He protected me. Our father went after me one night, and Tommy made sure he never did it again. That was three weeks before his eighteenth birthday. I was eleven. He repaid my father tenfold for the years of abuse. I still remember the vicious beating and the bloody aftermath. Our father’s face was so swollen he couldn’t open either eye for days. I’ll always be grateful to Tommy for standing up for me. For protecting me. I wish he hadn’t left, but I understand. I just hope wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s happy.
Pop whimpers in his sleep but doesn’t wake. The tube in his nose provides the oxygen his lungs desperately depend on. I want to hold his hand, but I don’t want to disturb him. He hasn’t been sleeping well from the violent coughing and pneumonia. Just as the thought crosses my mind, he breaks into a coughing fit, which startles him awake. I grab some water, but he puts his hand up in protest as his frail body jerks from the vicious hacks.
My heart breaks as I watch helplessly. There’s nothing I can do. There isn’t anything anyone can do.
“Water, water,” he finally croaks, motioning for the small pink cup in my hand. I hand it over readily. I recall the first time I met Pops. I’d been stealing food from the Corkscrew’s pantry for weeks, sneaking in while the servers were setting up and swiping whatever morsels I could. One day, he caught me. This big, intimidating black man with a fedora and a cigar. I was thirteen and terrified out of my mind. I thought for sure the back of a cop car was where I was headed. But instead of calling the police, he handed me an apron and told me if I wanted to eat, I’d have to work for my dinner. So I washed dishes that night and every night after that for weeks upon weeks. I was Pop’s stray cat. Feed me once and I just kept coming back. After a while, he started to take an interest in me. In my schoolwork, my future, my happiness. He encouraged me, made sure I was on the right track, and kept me there. He was the only adult in my life who truly cared, and I grew to love him. Respect him. He was an incredible role model. Everyone adored him. Especially me.
Throughout high school, he taught me the restaurant business, and as I got older, he let me branch out. Work on the line, wait tables, and serve cocktails. When I was sixteen and had enough of my turbulent household, he took me in. Gave me the spare room on the second floor of the restaurant. It wasn’t much. It was dusty, drafty, and desolate, but together, we fixed it up and made it livable. My own little safe haven. That solidified my loyalty to Pops. This man gave me everything and only asked that I grow up strong and stable in return. Which I have. Because of him.
“You okay now?” I take the cup as his shaking subsides.
“Fine.” He clears his throat, opens his eyes, and takes a good look at me.
“What the hell did you do, girl?” He grimaces.
I sit back down on the edge of the bed and twirl a short blond lock around my finger.
“I cut my hair.”
He curls his lip. “Did anyone tell you a unicorn shit on your head?”
