by Jayne Frost
Anna glanced at the package and rolled her eyes. “That’s Ariel.” She hissed a breath, her attention back on her wound. “It stings.”
Brushing aside her hand, I sloughed off the soap so I could get a better look. “How do you know?”
Anna tore her gaze from the pink water circling the drain. “Know what?”
“How do you know it’s not Aurora?”
“Because Aurora’s a Betty.” She tugged on her hair. “A blonde. And she doesn’t have a tail.”
I laughed. “Why in the hell would a princess have a fucking tail?”
“Because she’s a mermaid.”
Anna actually knew this shit. Amazing. And then I thought of her kid, her little girl, and my gaze flicked back to the Big Wheel by the door.
When the bleeding dwindled to a trickle, I turned off the water, smiling. “You don’t need stitches. Let’s get the Band-Aid on.”
Things got awkward, and Anna slipped free of my hold. “I’ve got it.”
Before she could ask me to leave again, I wandered to the living room to take a look around. The house was half the size of mine with none of the custom finishes, but unlike my mini mansion, this place screamed home.
On the coffee table, a half empty can of Dr. Pepper sat next to a John Grisham paperback and a coloring book, and Gran’s quilt lay in a messy ball at the foot of the couch.
I fingered a crocheted square. “I wish I could’ve seen her one last time before she . . .”
Died.
For someone intimately familiar with the concept, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. Like if I never actually said it out loud, death would forget where I lived.
But who was I kidding?
Death had come to visit before I was born, stealing my father and my grandmother. And just to make sure he had my full attention, the grim reaper came back to take my mom.
Head bowed and lost in my own morbid thoughts, I didn’t realize Anna was in front of me until her hand sifted through my hair.
The girl knew how to chase away all my demons with only a touch. How did I ever forget that?
Resting my forehead on her chest, I breathed her in. When my arm banded around her waist, she stilled, and I lifted my gaze.
“You should go,” she said, a weak smile playing on her lips.
Taking Anna’s hand, I pressed a kiss to the shiny new Band-Aid. “Why? You got a boyfriend or something?”
My attempt at humor fell flat, and she pulled away. “Of course not, I’m . . .”
Folding my arms over my chest, I waited for her to finish, but Anna was such a shit liar, she didn’t even try.
“You’re not married, Annabelle,” I said flatly.
Her eyes widened, but only fractionally. “Yes, I am. I’m just . . .”
“Separated?” I cocked my head, scrutinizing her with a frown. “Is that the word you’re looking for?”
Her lips parted, but then she went still, lifting a finger. “Shhh.”
I was about to ask why the hell she was shushing me when a child’s voice called, “Ma!”
The little cough that followed sounded like a bark.
Anna stepped back, her eyes as cold and distant as I’d ever seen. “You need to go.” Another cough and her steely determination crumbled, along with her composure. “Leave, Sean. Now.”
And then she was gone, up the stairs without a backward glance.
Obviously, whatever was going on with her kid took precedence. We could finish later.
But as I headed for the door, Anna’s panicked voice floated from above.
“Breathe, baby, big breaths,” she pleaded. “Please, for Mommy.”
My feet moved of their own accord, taking the steps two at a time, and before I knew it, I was standing in the doorway of a cheery pink bedroom.
“Is everything okay?”
Anna rounded on me, eyes large and frantic. “I need your phone!” My attention slid to the clear plastic tube snaking from the headboard and the clunk, clunk, clunk, of a machine. A penguin? “Sean! Your phone!”
I snapped out of my stupor and dug the device from my pocket. “Here. What else can I do?”
Anna pried the phone from my hand while I stood, transfixed by the tiny figure tucked under the lavender sheet. Wisps of copper curls framed the little girl’s angelic face, falling over her eyes, scrunched tight in distress. She held onto the mask affixed to her nose as her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.
“What’s the matter with her?” I cut my gaze to Anna. “Why can’t she breathe?”
“Asthma.” Anxiety etched Anna’s tone, but she sounded a hell of a lot calmer than I felt. “She’s stable right now. I’m calling the doctor.”
I blinked at Anna and then back at the baby. Was she a baby? It was hard to tell.
“This is stable?”
Anna nodded, and then spoke into the phone. “Yes, this is Anna Kent.”
Stepping away, she continued to relay information, but whatever she said faded to white noise because all my attention was focused on the little girl.
Until that moment, I’d put the notion of Anna’s kid to the back of my mind. But now she had a face. Anna’s face, apparently, because even with the mask obscuring her features, the resemblance was remarkable. Same alabaster skin. Same delicate fingers. And that hair.
I swept an auburn curl from her brow. “You look just like your mama.”
Her eyes flew open and inquisitive blue orbs searched my face.
Blue.
Not brown like Dean’s. Or green like Anna’s. Azure, with tiny filaments of silver spreading from the pupils.
My mom used to say we were lucky because we carried lightning in our eyes.
Just like this little angel.
Anna nudged me out of the way. “I have to go. Her doctor’s meeting us at Brackenridge.”
The electricity flowing between us arced into a circle, engulfing the little girl with the red hair and the blue eyes. And I knew.
Meeting Anna’s resigned gaze, I swallowed hard. “I’m driving you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Anna
There are moments in life when everything changes. When the earth shifts, and the ground crumbles beneath your feet.
Most of the time, you never see it coming. You certainly don’t invite it.
But I had.
The moment I’d decided to go to that concert, I’d summoned the chaos.
That’s what I thought about as I climbed into the backseat of Sean’s car—how I’d done this to myself and now I was going to pay.
While I attempted to strap the safety belt over Willow’s lap, Sean drummed his fingers frenetically against the steering wheel.
I probably should’ve grabbed Willow’s car seat, but she was already looking at me with wide eyes, and with the time I’d wasted throwing on a pair of jeans and grabbing my go bag, we didn’t have a moment to spare.
Yes, I had a go bag. When your child has health issues, it only takes one trip to the hospital in the middle of the night to learn your lesson.
Willow wasn’t in distress at the moment, her breathing even, but shallow. Normally, I wouldn’t have freaked out. But with Sean in my living room and my daughter barking out little coughs, my composure had snapped.
After four years of holding my secret, I knew I was on the verge of being detected, and I’d panicked. Or maybe, on some level, I wanted Sean to know.
“Damn it,” I muttered, tears welling in my eyes when I couldn’t free the seatbelt from the frame of the car. “I-I think it’s broken.”
I cringed when the driver’s door creaked. And then Sean was there with me, eyes locked on mine, brushing my hands away.
“Easy, baby.”
I wasn’t sure if the endearment was for Willow or me.
I didn’t deserve it, and the fact that Sean felt comfortable enough to bestow it on my daughter was terrifying. And exhilarating. Mostly terrifying.
The traitorous little strap unfurled, a
nd Sean leaned forward, securing the fastener into the slot.
His gaze met mine again when he finished, and time stood still as our entire past played in his eyes, the silver gossamer weaving our story like a web.
When the reel ended, he shifted his attention to Willow. Then he quickly backed out and reclaimed his seat behind the wheel.
“You ready?” he asked in a hollow voice.
Was I?
“Yes.”
Sean put the car into gear and then backed out of the driveway, while I pressed Willow’s hand to the hollow of my throat so she could feel my words.
“What’s her name?” Sean asked when our eyes collided in the rearview mirror.
While I’d longed for him to ask that question a few nights ago, now I wasn’t sure why.
As I held my daughter closer, I glanced at the tattoo on his arm. “Willow.”
I waited for the requisite, “Is she mine?” but it never came.
Sean just nodded to himself, tightened his grip on the wheel, and drove.
Chapter Eighteen
Sean
Willow.
Stunned into silence after hearing my daughter’s name, I drove like a bat out of hell. Now and then, I peeled my eyes from the road and looked into the rearview mirror.
Light spilled through the windows, framing the angel molded to her mother’s side. It was like the moon was drawn to her, painting her little features with a luminescent brush.
My gaze found Anna’s, and I held on tight to those green, green eyes. I was all questions, and she was nothing but answers, but I didn’t say a word, too afraid to open my mouth and unleash the fury clawing its way up my throat.
How could you not tell me?
As if she’d heard my inner thoughts, Anna smiled, soft and hesitant, and then she looked down at Willow, like maybe that was her answer.
I drew a blank as I tried to recall anything that I’d accomplished in the past four years that I wouldn’t sacrifice to know her, that little angel with my eyes and her mother’s face.
Pulling my car under the awning next to the emergency room door, I found my voice when Anna jumped out.
“Anna!” I barked, my feet hitting the pavement as she hustled to the automatic doors, cradling Willow in her arms.
Anna froze, hesitated for a long moment, then turned. “Thank you for the ride. You don’t have to stay, though. My mom’s coming.”
Incredulous, I closed the distance between us. “I’m going to park the car.” Infusing calm into my voice my eyes dipped to Willow. “Where can I find you?”
Anna’s silent scrutiny caused a chemical reaction that set my blood on fire.
If she thought she could dismiss me without an explanation . . .
“Fourth floor. Pediatrics.”
Anna’s voice was hushed, and I strained to hear her over the hum of traffic from the busy street.
“I’ll be right up.” With a last look at Willow, I turned on my heel and then stalked back to the SUV.
Once I was behind the wheel, I sucked in a breath and cut my gaze to the door. Anna was nowhere in sight, and that old feeling crept from a long-buried place. The same thing I’d felt when Anna walked out of my house a few days ago. Despair. Only now it was worse.
I found the first available parking spot and then jumped out of the car, the white cross on the side of the building illuminating my path to the door.
I didn’t have to look to know it was there. On my mother’s final stay, her hospital room sat in the shadow of that cross. Every day I stood at her window, praying that God would spare her, and when he didn’t, I vowed never to set foot in a church or Brackenridge hospital again.
Shattering that promise when I marched through the doors, all the sights and sounds came back to me in a rush. I was twelve again, and as I stood there reeling, I couldn’t for the life of me remember where Anna had told me to go.
“Excuse me.” Addressing the nurse behind the high desk below the sign marked information, I waited for her to look up, and when she did my overstimulated brain shut down.
She lifted a pale brow. “Yes?”
“The baby floor, where is it?”
The baby floor? Jesus.
The nurse cocked her head, her gaze traveling the length of my long hair. “You mean, pediatrics?”
“Yeah . . . er, yes. Pediatrics.”
The nurse clasped her hands in front of her, all business. “Who are you looking for, sir?”
I felt my patience ebb, but one glance at the security guard posted a few feet away, and I got my temper under control so that I wouldn’t end up in jail.
“My friend, I gave her a ride. Her baby was having an asthma attack.”
The nurse sighed, pushed her frameless glasses up her nose, and then turned to her computer screen. “Name?”
Shaking my head, I bit down my frustration. “Listen, she just got here. I don’t think—”
Without looking up, she repeated. “Name?”
“Kent.” The wave of bile that accompanied Anna’s married name threatened to spill all over the nurse’s white uniform. But I swallowed it down, along with my pride. “Willow Kent.”
Gnashing my teeth, I looked up at the ceiling while the nurse pecked away on her keyboard. I was about to go thermonuclear when she said, “Yes, Willow Grace Kent. She’s been a patient here a number of times.” She blinked at me, wrinkles furrowing her brow. “Sir, are you all right?”
“Um . . . Willow Grace, you said?”
My mother’s name rolled off my tongue like thick molasses.
“Yes.” Wary, the nurse glanced at her screen to confirm. “Willow Grace Kent.”
“Where . . .” I cleared my throat. “Which floor, ma’am?”
A stiff breeze could’ve bowled me over, so any threat I posed was long gone.
The nurse softened, expelling a sigh. “I’m sorry, but pediatrics is a locked ward,” she explained with a smile. “You’ll need a member of the child’s immediate family to escort you in. You said you came here with her mother?” I nodded dumbly. “Well then, if you could call her, I’m sure they’ll let you in.”
Anger, frustration, and helplessness collided and I was about to lose it, security guard or not, but in the nick of time, I heard my name. Turning to the voice like a drowning man in search of a life jacket, I lost my breath when Alecia Dresden flung her arms around me.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re really here.”
Engulfed by the scent of floral perfume, I squeezed my eyes shut, melting into Anna’s mother’s embrace. She smelled like home. Like reassurance. All the things I had no right to demand, but couldn’t decline.
Pulling away, she asked, “Is Anna upstairs with the baby?”
The baby. Willow.
My daughter.
I couldn’t speak or think, and Alecia’s smile faded before my eyes. “Anna said you were coming.” She took a step back, settling her tote over her shoulder. “Were you just giving her a ride?”
“No. I just . . . I can’t get in.” I licked my dry lips. “It’s a locked floor, and I’m not . . .”
Anything.
The realization stifled my stammering attempt to explain.
Alecia nodded, then flashed a smile to the woman behind the desk. “I’ll get him out of your hair, Shelly.”
And with that, Alecia slipped her arm in mine and guided us to the elevators.
As we waited, she let out a weary sigh and then lamented, “Unfortunately, I know this place like the back of my hand. What with Willow’s issues and all.”
Issues?
I lost feeling in my limbs, and unable to form a question, I followed her gaze around the vast space.
When I spotted a kid of about fifteen staring bleakly at the screen on his laptop, his eyes darting to the doors with the big red sign that read TRAUMA every few seconds, my throat constricted.
The kid could’ve been me when I was twelve, waiting for my mother to emerge from her latest round of chemo
. The only difference being, a glimmer of hope still shined in his eyes, and by the time I was twelve, I had none.
Shaking off the memory, I sidestepped the horde of people spilling from the elevator and then joined Alecia in the back. My eyes took permanent residence on the ground, on the faint but visible stains discoloring the tile. Blood and tears and other things that wouldn’t wash away.
Alecia tugged my hair and I looked up. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to suppress a smile. “How does Melissa feel about this mane of yours?”
It was odd talking to anyone about my family. Because both my parents were dead, reporters steered clear of those questions, and as a result, my aunt Melissa and her daughter Chelsea had remained mostly hidden from the public eye.
Relaxing for the first time in what seemed like hours, I shrugged. “She says I’m the niece she always wanted.” Recalling Anna’s hands in my hair, gripping and tugging and pulling me against her, I smiled. “Your daughter likes it, though.”
Which, sadly, was the main reason I wore it so long. Pitiful, but Anna’s fingers twining in my hair was something I’d missed these last four years. Alecia tsked, but I continued to smile because she’d just reminded me of how I felt about her daughter.
Yeah, I was pissed as hell at Anna right now, but I was madder at myself.
My anger took a backseat as the elevator coasted to a stop on the fourth floor. It was one thing to make it through the lobby at Brackenridge and another to enter one of the wards.
To my surprise, when the doors snicked open, the utilitarian concrete floors were no longer plain white tile but covered in stickers shaped like bricks. A sunny yellow path that led to a mural of the emerald city painted on the wall.
Follow the yellow brick road.
Falling into step behind Alecia we headed for another desk.
“Hi, Mrs. Dresden.” A nurse with a bright smile passed Alecia a green sticker with a smiley face imprinted in the center. “Anna’s in Room 437.” Frowning, she added, “I’m sorry about Willow. Poor little thing’s had a bad week.”
