"That I don't know yet, but we all had contact before with each other. I feel it in my bones." We've known all along that whatever beef the Collector has with us is personal.
"That helps." Even though I didn't give him what we all want to know, the motherfucker's identity, we've gotten one step closer.
My phone vibrates with an incoming message. Kale. Sending me Stacy's last bank statement. It's worse than I thought. There's no doubt in my mind that Audra's been carrying the weight of those bills for years.
I send another text to my accountant, knowing that within minutes, the bills will be paid off, and the healthy sum of a million dollars will be sitting in Stacy's account. I add more to Audra's account while I'm at it.
The doctor'swords blur together.Transient ischemic attack… mini-stroke… risk factors… blood thinners… blood pressure medication…I nod like I understand. Like I'm processing. Like I'm not hanging on by a thread.
"We want to start her on anticoagulants," the doctor finishes carefully, "and something to control her blood pressure."
"No." Mom's voice cuts through everything. Sharp. Certain. "No blood thinners."
"Stacy—" the doctor tries.
"My sister bled out in a hospital bed because of those," she snaps. "You're not putting that poison in me."
"Mom—"
"I said no."
Her hand grips the blanket like it's a weapon.
"They don't know anything," she continues, her breath is uneven, but her voice is gaining strength. "They just push pills. That's all they do. Pills, pills, pills?—"
"Mom, please?—"
"I want to go home." Of course she does. "My cats need me."
There it is. Always the cats. I close my eyes for a second. Just a second. Because I am sotired.I didn't sleep. Not really. Maybe four hours before she started screaming. Before everything happened again. Before that… Pete.
The thought hits like a punch to the ribs. I sway. Just slightly. But it's enough. A hand steadies me. Firm. Warm. Immediate.
Gabe.
I didn't even see him move. Didn't realize how close he was. His hand wraps around my arm, grounding me before I can tip forward.
"Easy," he whispers quietly.
And for a second—just a second—I let it happen. I lean into him. Not much. Barely anything. But enough. Enough to feel the solidness of him. The strength. The steadiness. Like nothing in his world ever shakes him. Like nothing gets to him. And God, I need that. I need something that doesn't feel like it's falling apart. My fingers curl slightly into his shirt. Just for balance. Just—for a second too long. Nothing has ever felt this solid to me. This safe.
But then it hits me. What I'm doing. Who I'm leaning on. I pull back like I've been burned. The things I know about this man should send me running the other way. He's as dangerous as Razor ever was. No. More. I watched him kill people. Not to mention that Pete just died. Leaning on him is wrong on so many levels that I can't even begin to list them all. At least, that's what my head says. What my body craves is an entirely different story, one I don't want to examine too closely right now. It would lead down a rabbit hole I'm in no condition to follow.
"I'm fine," I lie quickly. Too quickly.
His hand lingers for half a heartbeat longer before he lets go. I don't look at him. I can't. Because that moment—thathalf second—felt like something it shouldn't have. Something I don't have space for. Not now. Not ever.
"Mom," I say instead, forcing myself back into reality, back into control. "You need to listen to them."
"They don't know anything," she insists again, weaker now, but just as stubborn. "I'm not taking their drugs."
"They're trying to help you."
"They're trying to bill my insurance."
I press my lips together. God. I can't do this right now. I can't fight her. I can't lose her. I inhale sharply.
"No one is forcing anything," the doctor intercedes carefully, clearly out of his depth with her. "But we strongly recommend?—"
