Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Late into the night, a sharp knock pulled Texas from a restless sleep.
The sudden sound jolted him awake, and as he untangled himself from Sunday’s warm body, he noticed she didn’t stir.
Kneeling beside her, he gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her pale face.
Her wide eyes met his—still filled with the same fear he’d seen when he found her earlier, the scared girl trapped beneath the surface.
Another knock at the door snapped him fully alert. He slipped from the bed, muscles tense. When he opened it, Eros stood there, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
Texas pulled the door closed behind him as he stepped outside into the cool night air.
“Sorry I bolted earlier,” Texas said, his voice low, laced with worry. “I had a bad feeling about Sunday.”
Eros’s jaw tightened. “Was she okay?”
Texas’s eyes darkened. “Fuck, Eros. She was submerged in the tub. Trying to drown herself.”
Eros stood frozen, the weight of Texas’s words sinking in. He had thought Texas had finally made up his mind about Sunday. The pretty blonde who’d wormed her way into his guarded world. But hearing she’d tried to take her own life hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe you should take her to a healer,” Eros said quietly, the concern in his voice cutting through the night.
Texas frowned, skeptical. “What are you suggesting, Nakota?”
Eros shifted, glancing around as if the darkness might hold the answer. “Sunday won’t go back to a regular doctor. Maybe she’d respond to a medicine man.”
Texas shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Where the hell would I even find one? That’s if she said yes?”
“The Sioux Nation has at least one,” Eros said quietly, watching Texas closely. He knew his friend could use a healer, too—someone who understood wounds deeper than skin.
Texas rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of the night settling on him. “If she doesn’t get better, I’ll consider it rather than dragging her to some clinic.”
He didn’t say he would take her. Just that he’d think about it.
“Did you need something else?”
Eros shook his head. “No. I’ve got a situation that needs my attention. I’m heading out.”
Giving Eros a brotherly hug, Texas slapped him hard on the back. “Safe travels, Nakota.”
He watched Eros load up and pull away into the night before turning back and going inside.
Closing the door, Texas faced the dim room. Sunday hadn’t moved. She was still lying on her side, facing the wall like a ghost in the shadows. His clothes clung damp against his skin, cold even after hours had passed since he’d pulled her from the water.
Digging into his bag, he pulled out a pair of black track pants and a worn t-shirt, quickly changing.
Sliding back under the covers, Texas froze, the sheets and blankets were damp too, smelling faintly of cold water.
With a sigh, he turned down the covers on the opposite bed and gently scooped Sunday up, carrying her to the dry bed. He laid her down carefully, brushing hair from her face.
Crawling in beside her, Texas felt wide awake now and hungry, but he didn’t dare leave her side. Not for a second.
“Texas.”
“Right here,” he said softly, eyes never leaving her still form.
“Can I get something to drink?”
He hesitated, “Yeah. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
When Texas came back to bed, Sunday sat up slowly, accepting the glass of water.
She drank carefully, the liquid soothing a throat raw from crying.
If she were honest, everything ached. The heavy weight of exhaustion and pain pressing down on her.
The only places that didn’t hurt were the softness of her hair beneath Texas’s fingers and the big toe on her left foot.
Maybe it was hurting too, but she was too tired to notice.
Handing the glass back, she sat there, feeling defeated by the chaos inside her mind.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Texas set the glass aside and slid back into bed beside her. “It was no problem.”
Stretching out his arm, Texas gently pulled Sunday close, letting her lean against him. Wrapping his arm around her small frame, he held her tight against his side. With her head resting on his chest, Texas closed his eyes again, fighting the pull of the moment.
So much for keeping his distance, and his feelings in check.
“My mother is the reason we’re distant. Me and Monday, I mean.
Her name was... is Sunshine Mornin. That’s my mom.
I’m not even sure if she’s still alive. I was told she was always this free-love, free-spirited hippie.
Preached love and peace. From where I stand, I don’t think she knew much about either. ”
Sunday’s voice faltered, the weight of her past pressing down on her. She wanted someone to see her as more than where she came from—more than the shadow of her mother—more than anyone’s low expectations.
She had risen from that. She had shed the girl her childhood made her.
Texas’s hand brushed gently over her arm, steadying. A silent reassurance in the dark.
“Sunshine never showed us love. We were never cared for. Never hugged. Never taught. Or even shown what love between a parent and a child was supposed to be. From a young age, I had to take care of myself. And when she did show up, it was me and Monday taking care of her, not the other way around.”
Sunday wiped at her face, certain there were tears, but her fingers met dry skin. It was a phantom sensation, the ache of crying without the evidence.
“People say she changed after a tragedy,” Sunday said quietly. “My mother wasn’t one to settle down with just one man. She had a string of relationships. Three, which resulted in four kids. Me and Monday are the youngest.”
She swallowed hard. “We have an older sister. Friday. She hates us. Blames us for everything that went wrong in her childhood.”
Sunday’s eyes drifted to some distant memory she couldn’t quite grasp. “I can barely remember what Friday looks like. It’s been so long since I saw her, we could pass each other on the street and neither one would even know.”
“We had a brother,” Sunday said softly. “He was supposed to be my mother’s joy. At least, that’s what we were told. But he died before we were even born. I know Sunshine blamed our older sister for it.”
“People say that’s when she became hard, after the tragedy. Our mother left us in a commune. We stayed there together until Monday turned seventeen, and then she left me alone. I didn’t see her again for three years.”
Sunday’s voice grew quieter. “Like Monday, I left as soon as I could. Took a job washing dishes in a restaurant kitchen. Monday worked as a bartender there. At first, she didn’t even acknowledge me. It took her a while to accept I was really there.”
She remembered that day like it was yesterday. Monday had burst into the kitchen, flirting with the cook like she owned the place. When she finally walked over, she asked Sunday what her last name was. It was pathetic, Sunday thought bitterly, how Monday acted like she had no clue who she was.
“We’ve always taken care of ourselves,” Sunday said quietly, the weight of those words settling heavy in the room.
She hated her past. Sometimes, she even hated her present.
Her words made Texas ache for her. He had known love—and thrived in it. But Sunday? She’d never known that kind of love. Never truly felt the warmth of family. She’d been a child trying to survive in a world that seemed to ignore her.
Even now, as an adult, she accepted her sister’s love was limited. But not for Sunday, her love was endless and boundless for Monday.