Page 9 of Shattered King

I shoved my hands in my pockets. All my efforts not to think about why I was here fell away as I neared the hospital’s entrance. What was I going to say when I saw her? I had no idea. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about that either.

The doors slid open and I scoped out where I needed to go. Head down, I strode toward the cafeteria.

It was 11:00 p.m., so not crazy busy. I found a table and took a seat. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I fired off a text to Carol, telling her where I was and what I was wearing. I pretended to play with my phone after that. The chances of anyone recognizing me were slim, but I didn’t want to risk it, and kept my eyes down and hair forward.

Fifteen minutes later, someone slid into the seat beside me. Carol was an older woman with soft brown eyes surrounded by smile lines.

“Here you go.” She placed a white paper bag on the table in front of me and pointed to one of the exits. “The bathroom’s out that door and to the right. The elevator’s just down from that. The hospice is on the seventh floor.” She placed her hand over mine and squeezed. Suddenly the emotion I’d been suppressing welled up like a geyser and tears stung the backs of my eyes. “Your mom’s in room fifteen.” Then she stood and walked away.

When I reached the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall and quickly pulled on the brightly patterned scrub top. My breath was coming fast and shallow as I shoved my feet in the pants, heart racing, palms sweaty. Splashing water on my face, I blinked at my reflection in the mirror. There were no smile lines around my eyes. My skin was smooth. But I looked tired, worn out, used up. Older than my twenty-four years. Would she recognize this face? Yes, my features were the same, but the last three years had taken their toll, had marked me. I looked into my own eyes and shivered at the pain and hopelessness staring back at me.

Pushing away from the sink, I shut it all down, all of it, the swirling emotions clawing at me, the relentless nightmares of my past. I dried off and headed down the hall to the elevator.

When the doors slid open on the seventh floor, the sign on the wall opposite told me where I’d find rooms one to twenty. I turned right, my green Converse sneakers squeaking on the shiny linoleum with every step I took. Nerves rolled and twisted in my gut, so strong I felt physically sick.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of her room. I stared at it, frozen. I don’t know how long it took to muster the courage I needed to knock. But my hands shook when I did. There was no reply from inside, so I pushed the door open and walked in, closing it behind me.

The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. My breath hitched, sticking in my throat when I saw her. She was asleep. There was a yellow scarf tied around her head, and her chin was dipped to the side. She looked pale, small. My mother was petite like me, but she’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen her. She looked so frail, utterly fragile. She looked exactly like what she was—a woman who only had a little time left.

I moved to the bed and looked down at her, tears running hot down my cheeks. I took her hand in mine. Her skin was cool and soft. So soft. My mother always had the softest, most beautiful skin. I lifted my gaze from her hand, back to her beautiful face, and her eyes blinked open, focusing on me.

Her fingers tightened around mine. “Baby?” she whispered.

I choked back a sob. “It’s me, Mom.”

“Lucinda.” She reached up, cupping my face, brushing her thumb over my tear-soaked cheek. At the same time, tears started spilling from her own blue eyes “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re really here?” Her breathing increased, fingers squeezing mine restlessly. “Pierce and I have been so worried. He’s been looking for you since you left.”

I shook my head, tried not to let her see how her words affected me. Fear and sadness all rolled into one jagged ball of emotion, bouncing around, battering my insides. I shoved it down, smothered it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

I couldn’t tell her why I left, what happened. I didn’t want her to live her last days on this earth knowing the man she married, the man she loved, was nothing but a sick fucking asshole, a criminal, and the reason I’d bolted. That he’d been more interested in the inheritance she’d gotten from my dad and my trust fund than in how beautiful, sweet, and loving she was.

Oh, he loved my mom, in his own way, as much as a man like that was capable. But it was a twisted, unhealthy kind of love. When they’d married, we’d become his possessions. I’d found out the hard way Pierce didn’t like sharing his possessions, and Hunter had paid the price for daring to take what was his.

I ran the back of my hand over her smooth cheek. “I can’t tell you why I left, Mom. But I need you to know it had nothing to do with you, nothing. I never wanted to leave you.” I’d left her a note when I ran, telling her I’d fought with my boyfriend and needed to get away. She’d never met Hunter, didn’t even know I was seeing anyone, but it was something I thought she might believe. At least I’d hoped she would. It was all I could come up with at the time.

She reached for her phone beside the bed. “Pierce. Let me call him. The two of you were always so close. Thick as thieves. He’s been so worried. He can help, baby, he’ll take care of you. He’s been so busy lately, but I know he’d come for you.”

A cold wash went through my veins, and I wrapped my fingers around hers, stopping her. I shook my head. “I just want to visit with you. We’ll call him tomorrow, okay?”

Her body seemed to relax and she smiled. “Okay, sweetheart.”

What did she mean, he’d been busy, but he’d come for me? Hadn’t he been here for her? So many questions fired through my mind, but I bit them back. I didn’t have long, and I didn’t want to waste that time talking about him. Staying here for more than a few minutes was a risk, but I lingered, unable to leave. When I walked out that door, that would be it. I’d never see her again. And that thought was too much to bear.

We talked for a while, but not once did she mention the scrubs I had on. I guessed she was too happy to see me to notice. I told her about some of the places I’d worked, making it sound like some grand adventure, full of friends and fun. Not dingy apartments, long hours and shitty pay, and fear. So much fear. But what hurt worst of all, was not telling her about Josh. Not telling her that she had a beautiful two-year-old grandson. Withholding it from her felt like a serrated blade to the chest.

I was talking quietly, rambling really, when she slid her hand up my forearm and squeezed, stopping me.

Her gaze held mine. “You’re not staying, are you?” she whispered.

The lump in my throat swelled and forced it down. I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Lay down with me.” She shuffled back, making room for me in front of her.

I climbed up beside her, lying down, and she wrapped her arm around my waist, threading her fingers with mine.