“No,” Sloan said, and the word came out rougher than she meant. She took a breath. “You’re not. But you’re hurt, and you’re tired, and you’re not doing this alone tonight.”
For a moment, Gloria looked like she might argue just on principle. Then her gaze dropped, and she lifted her right arm. The left hung awkwardly, as if it belonged to someone else. Gloria lifted it with her good arm and let Sloan help.
Sloan worked carefully, easing the fabric up and over Gloria’s head, mindful of the way Gloria’s face pinched when she moved her hip. Sloan didn’t comment. She didn’t fuss. She simplygot it done.
The nightwear lay folded on the bed—soft, familiar. Sloan picked it up and held it open.
Gloria’s chin lifted again. “I can put my own nightdress on.”
Sloan met her gaze. “Go on, then.”
Gloria huffed, but she took it, tugging it down over her head with one hand. Sloan stayed close, ready to catch her if she faltered.
When Gloria stood up, swaying a little, Sloan’s hand went under her elbow again—steadying, not coddling. She helped bring the left arm through the hole.
“There,” Gloria snapped, as if she’d won something.
Sloan didn’t smile. She just guided her back down onto the mattress. “You need to rest.”
Gloria caught her breath, but the pain was there, written into the tightness around her mouth and the way her fingers gripped the sheet as she adjusted herself.
Sloan pulled up the duvet and tucked it around her, then reached for the glass of juice Matty had brought, holding it out.
Gloria eyed it like it was an insult, then took it and drank small sips, as if she didn’t want anyone to see how dry her throat was.
Matty lingered in the doorway, uncertain.
Sloan glanced over her shoulder. “You can go on,” she said quietly. “I’ll follow in a minute.”
Matty hesitated, then nodded, and slipped away with the tray and their glasses of water.
With Matty gone, the room seemed sharper somehow. Sloan stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, looking at her mother as though she were trying to decide what to say and finding nothing safe enough. “You can have some more painkillers in the morning.”
Gloria stared back, eyes narrowed, her face still pinched with pain and pride.
Sloan turned towards the door.
“Joan.”
Sloan stopped. Her shoulders went rigid.
Gloria’s voice softened. “Thank you.”
Sloan didn’t turn around. Her hand stayed on the doorframe, fingers curled tight. “You’re welcome.”
***
Chapter thirty
At the top of the stairs, Sloan paused. The house was silent, but she knew Matty was downstairs, waiting.
Patient. Kind. Desirable.
The alcohol had worn off. The wanting hadn’t.
She’d brought Matty back, this time not for sex, but to sleep beside her, in that big, lonely bed.
It was a first.
