2. Paige
CHAPTER 2
PAIGE
The light above me is too bright. It hurts my eyes when I try to open them, so I clamp them shut again. Where am I? My brain scrambles to catch up as I open my eyes again and blink against the glare. It smells like antiseptic, latex gloves, and something faintly floral that reminds me of the wipes they used at the front desk of the spa where I used to work. The spa that is part of my past life.
I turn my head slowly and the sound of machines beeping in a steady rhythm comes rushing in. My eyes focus on a clipboard on the wall and a curtain pulled halfway. I recognize this place. It’s the Mustang Mountain Clinic. At least I'm not dead, so I guess that's something.
My arms feel like they've been through a blender. Pins and needles crawl along my skin, buzzing through my fingertips until I flex them and groan softly.
"Whoa there," a familiar voice says gently. It still takes my brain a minute to register who it belongs to.
Courtney.
She comes into focus beside the bed, her brown hair in a messy bun, a worry line deep between her brows. The nurse behind her is adjusting something, checking numbers on a monitor, but I don't look long. I already know why I'm here.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I can already feel it, the shame, the fear, the sick twist of helplessness curling low in my gut.
"I told myself I had one more dose," I rasp. My throat feels like it's been scraped raw. "That it would last."
Courtney doesn't flinch, and she doesn't scold me. She just folds her arms gently and says, "You can't keep rationing insulin, Paige. It's going to kill you."
My throat tightens. I turn my head, but it's too late to stop the tears. They slide hot and silent down my face.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, even though sorry isn't enough. It hasn't been for a long time.
"Don't be sorry. Be here. Be alive. That's all we care about because we love you."
Her voice is too kind, and kindness hurts worse than judgment right now. It always does.
"He left me," I blurt. I don't know why. The words just tumble out. "My ex left me for his coworker. He didn't even say goodbye. He just disappeared one day and cleared out my bank account. I lost my job which my insurance was attached to and then I lost my apartment. I had nowhere to go."
Courtney sits quietly beside me, listening. I hate how broken I sound.
I laugh, bitter and dry. "So I don't think I believe in love anymore. But I'd marry the next guy who walked through that door if he had decent health insurance."
But she doesn't laugh. She just tilts her head like she's thinking. It may have been a while since I've seen her, but we used to be close, and I know that look enough to be slightly worried.
That worry amps up when she pats my hand and excuses herself. Through the crack in the door, I hear her on the phone a few minutes later.
"She's smart. She's kind. She needs a break more than anyone I've ever seen."
Her voice is soft but firm. Like she's trying to convince someone who doesn't need much convincing.
I push myself up, dragging the blanket around my shoulders. My head is still foggy, but curiosity cuts through it like light through smoke.
Courtney returns with that same calm smile, and I narrow my eyes.
"What did you do?"
"Something that might sound completely crazy," she says, settling in the chair beside me. "But maybe just crazy enough to work."
That night, the shelter is quiet. I return with a paper bag of donated toiletries and a short-term insulin refill. It's not enough, but it's something. And these days, something is everything.
I never saw myself here, but I was out of options when I visited Courtney yesterday and told her what was going on. She gave me a bed, no questions asked. At least until she saw I wasn't doing so great at breakfast. That’s when she learned about me rationing the last bit of my insulin.
I retreat to my cot, tucked in the far back corner of the room near a little window. My world fits into two duffel bags. One of them holds my journal.
Unzipping it slowly, I open it like I might trigger a collapse. Filled with panic, I flip past pages. Desperation. Numbers. Doses. Pleas I never said aloud.
I had a life. I had plans. I managed a spa. I had regular clients who brought me lattes and told me I was the only reason they could function. I had someone who kissed my forehead and promised forever. Then he left, and it all shattered.
Now I'm here. Mustang Mountain. A place I didn't even remember until I tried to reach out to Courtney. And somehow, it feels more like safety than any city skyline ever did.
I'm not looking for love. I'm not looking for anyone to fix me.
I just want a chance to save myself.
* * *
The next morning, sunlight streams through the high windows of the shelter and bounces off the worn linoleum floors. I'm holding a chipped mug of instant coffee, trying to pretend it tastes better than it does.
Courtney finds me in the common room, smiling like she's got a secret.
"Hey, let's head to the clinic. They just want to do a quick level check."
She says it like it's routine, but something about her tone says it's more than that. Still, I go.
The clinic is quiet this time of morning. I expect to see the same nurse from last night, maybe a clipboard and another blood test.
When I walk in, a woman I've seen in some photos with Courtney is already sitting in one of the chairs by the exam table.
She definitely is not a nurse.
"Paige," Courtney says with a smile. "This is Caitlin. She's a friend of mine."
I sit down slowly on the edge of one of the chairs. Caitlin leans forward, hands clasped, like she's about to pitch something.
"Okay," she says. "I know this is going to sound strange."
My stomach tightens as I brace myself. I've heard of and done many strange things in the last few weeks. I don't know how much more I can handle.
"There's a man I know. A good man. He's fighting for custody of his daughter. But the court's stacked against him. He needs stability. Though he has a home, a job, and plenty of money to support a family. What he needs is a wife. On paper, anyway."
I blink. "I'm sorry... what?"
Caitlin doesn't flinch. "Courtney says you need insurance and a roof over your head. A chance to get healthy again. He can give you that. You can give him the image of a stable home so he can keep his daughter."
My jaw tightens. "You want me to marry a stranger?"
My heart starts racing. What if he's just as bad as my ex, or worse? I finally saw the possibility of freedom ahead of me, and now they want to take that away in the blink of an eye.
"It's not forever," Caitlin says. "Just until you both get what you need. No pressure. No expectations. Just a clean solution to a messy problem."
Courtney chimes in, her voice softer. "It could save your life, Paige. And his daughter's too."
I don't respond. I can't. There's a roaring in my ears that won't quiet. This can't be real. Is this what my life has come to? Marrying a stranger just to be able to afford the insulin I need to stay alive?
Then Caitlin slides a folder across the table. Inside I find insurance paperwork, a contract, and the terms of the arrangement. There is also a photo clipped to the folder.
A man with tired, dark eyes and a strong jaw. A little girl on his shoulders, smiling so hard it hurts to look at her.
"His name is Kody," Caitlin says.
I stare down at them.
Even though I've never met them, something in that photo catches in my chest like a hook. I've always judged people by their eyes. Kody has kind eyes like Courtney does and like my mom did. My ex had adventurous eyes like my dad did, which should have been a warning.
"You wouldn't just be saving yourself," Caitlin says quietly.
She leans in, voice nearly a whisper.
"You'd be saving each other."