Chapter 4
Glass shattered. A young voice cried out. Something in back thudded as loudly as a bass drum.
Blaze’s throat closed mid-lyric as every face swiveled toward the back of the event hall. Anson had been pestering Mercy there moments ago, but neither was visible in the clutch of people there now.
“Was that Mercy?” Philip took up station next to her, his bass still in hand.
Hard to say. The two-foot-tall stage wasn’t high enough for a clear view. Someone—David?—hefted a stocky man to his feet and escorted him toward the exit. Marissa righted a chair. The chair Mercy had been on?
Philip slipped the mic from her hand. “Go.”
She hopped off the stage and threaded through the crowd to the tables at the back. What in the world could’ve happened?
Some conversations had restarted, but not enough to drown out another cry.
“Mercy?” Anxiety pitched through Blaze’s voice. She bumped past the onlookers and found her sister on the floor, flanked by Anson and Marissa.
Mercy’s feet stuck out in front of her, one braced on the ground, the other outstretched. Anson said something and motioned. Mercy’s toes wiggled in her sandal.
Blaze knelt beside her sister. Even in the dim light, the flush on her face was obvious. A tear glinted on her cheek. “What happened, sweetie?”
“A drunk man knocked me over.” Her lips pulled into a hard frown, and she sniffled. “And now I can’t walk.”
“I’m so sorry.” Blaze wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders. Her mind spun. Urgent care wouldn’t be open this late. Should they go to the emergency room? And what about the guy? She looked to her best friend for advice but noticed Marissa’s clinging top instead. “You’re soaked.”
Marissa huffed. “He spilled in all his stumbling around, but I think it’s water.”
“Who was it?” Blaze would hunt him down and give him a good scolding. Or better yet, get Philip to ban him.
“Jimmy.” Anson said.
“A friend of yours?”
“Not at all.” Anson’s mouth tightened. “Someone backed their chair into him, and he lost his balance.”
“David’s showing him out.” Marissa’s chin lifted, eyes gleaming. Her brother could be intimidating when he wanted to be—which was most of the time.
“It hurts really bad.” Mercy whimpered.
“Is it broken?” Blaze eyed the ankle.
“Hard to say,” Anson said. “There’s nothing visibly out of place, but that doesn’t rule out a break. Then again, sometimes sprains hurt just as much. And everyone’s pain tolerance is different.” He studied Mercy, silently judging.
Tears dripped from Mercy’s dark lashes to her reddened cheeks.
“You could ice it tonight,” he said. “See how she’s feeling in the morning. Take her in if she still can’t walk.”
Blaze scanned the faces peering down at them.
When Many Oaks residents gossiped, they traced family connections.
To these people, she wasn’t Blaze the singer or Blaze the dealership’s new sales manager.
She was Blaze—daughter of a drunk and a meth addict.
Such a shame, they’d say, shaking their heads.
Her grandparents were supposedly good, honest, and hardworking.
Blaze had never known them.
If she made too many mistakes, someone might call child protective services, thinking Blaze was as poor a guardian as her mom had been. Mercy could be taken away. Therefore, mistakes weren’t an option.
“We’ll go to the emergency room.” She threaded her arm around her sister’s back.
Anson motioned her to stop. “Let me.”
Not a chance. But even skinny Mercy weighed a good ninety pounds. This would take finesse. Blaze pulled the stool closer. “Put your good foot down and grab the chair. I’m here to help, but you’ll need to try to stand, okay?”
Mercy clamped her hand around the closest chair leg. Anson braced it, and Marissa stooped to help Blaze. Together, they hefted Mercy to her feet and helped her onto the seat.
Standing again, Blaze spotted Philip talking to a bartender. “Let me get my things, and we’ll head out, okay? Wait here.”
Mercy nodded.
Blaze patted her knee, then slipped through the crowd to Philip and shared her plan to take Mercy in.
“You need a lift?” he asked.
The fact that he hadn’t questioned her decision solidified her ever-shaky confidence. “No. I can drive. It’s all right for me to duck out?”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”
Blaze collected her purse from the back and rejoined Mercy and her friends at the table. Anson hovered too, but she kept her back to him. “Ready, champ?”
Mercy pushed her hair from the tear tracks on her cheeks. Blaze settled her purse strap higher on her shoulder. She’d need both hands free for this.
“What’s the plan?” Anson asked.
She clenched her teeth. “To get her medical attention.”
Marissa stepped around the table, hand extended. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring the car to the door.”
Blaze dug them from her purse. “It’s all the way in the back, straight out from the doors.”
“Okay.” Marissa headed off.
If only Anson would follow. Instead, his eyebrows lifted. “You’re going to have her hop all the way outside?”
“I guess that’s what people do.”
“Not if they don’t have to.”
“I don’t see any wheelchairs laying around.”
“I could carry her.”
“Seriously?” Accept self-righteous Anson’s help? “No. Thanks.” Though he at least provided inspiration. Maybe Blaze could carry Mercy piggyback.
Mercy leaned away, suspicion on her face. “You’re not carrying me.”
Fine. Given Blaze’s heels, it would’ve been dangerous anyway. One Astley sister with an injured foot was already one too many. “Are you game for a three-legged race?”
Mercy shrugged and slipped off the stool. With their arms locked around each other, they made slow progress. They hadn’t even made it past the bar and into the dining room before Mercy tipped. Blaze stopped her fall, but Mercy must’ve put down her injured foot because she cried out in pain.
“Please, Blaze. Let me help,” Anson said, close behind. She’d never heard him beg before.
Between the hopping and Mercy’s cry, all the customers watched them.
They’d only made it fifteen feet before encountering a problem.
They were bound to face many more before they reached the vehicle.
How much pain would Blaze’s stubbornness subject Mercy to?
And how little would the town think of her for being too proud to accept help?
“He apologized.” Pain etched her little sister’s face, but forgiveness softened her eyes. True to her name, Mercy would forgive Blaze for making her pogo out to the car, but she’d also already forgiven Anson.
The man in question rounded Mercy. Hands on his thighs, he dipped his tall frame to her level. “Would it be all right if I carried you?”
Mercy’s bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as her brown eyes slid to Blaze.
Still hunched over, Anson fixed his attention on her. “If you agree, I will not take it as a sign that you forgive me for earlier.”
“It’s okay with me,” Mercy whispered.
Anson waited until Blaze sighed and stepped back. Once she did, he placed one arm behind Mercy’s back. “Nice and easy, okay?”
“’Kay.” She latched an arm around his neck.
“Here we go.” In one smooth movement, he hooked his other arm under her knees and swept her up. With a lift of his chin, he motioned Blaze ahead.
Free of Mercy’s weight, she crossed the dining room. She’d never considered The Depot especially big, but this would’ve been quite a distance to hobble. She pushed open the doors and waited for her entourage to catch up.
She stilled at the unexpectedly sweet sight of Anson with Mercy cradled in his arms. There was something striking about a man using his strength for good. Her and Mercy’s fathers hadn’t done so for them, yet Anson had pleaded for the opportunity.
He pressed a shoulder against the door, holding it so she could move ahead.
She scurried on. She wasn’t going to start admiring him. Except, as they navigated the steps outside, she wondered how she and Mercy would’ve handled them without him.
Marissa had the car waiting. She left the driver’s door open as she circled the vehicle to meet them. “Need anything else?”
Blaze shook her head. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Let me know how it turns out.” Marissa rubbed her shoulder, then went back inside.
Next to the rear car door, Anson lowered Mercy to her good foot. After she dropped to the seat and drew the seatbelt across herself, Anson reached for the front door as if to get in the passenger seat.
“Ah …” Was he planning to ride along? “Thanks for the help.”
He halted. “How are you going to get her into the hospital?”
“Don’t they usually have wheelchairs by the doors?” She’d seen them there when she’d taken her mom in.
“Oh. Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and the streetlights in the parking area hit his flexing triceps. He didn’t walk away, but he didn’t say anything either.
“Thanks again.” She took shelter inside the car and closed the door.
Mercy’s voice rose from behind her. “That was nice, wasn’t it? He picked me up like a sack of potatoes!” She chattered on like she always did when she was nervous, flustered, or excited.
It was a wonder the quirk hadn’t kicked in while she’d been in Anson’s arms. More than a wonder. A blessing. Blaze couldn’t have Anson’s head getting any bigger than it already was.
“I heard he was almost famous. Like, because he was so good at basketball. What’s D1 mean?”
Blaze sighed as she shifted into drive. “Division I.”
“So, like, the best college?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, one of those colleges was going to give him a free ride if he went and played for them, but he turned it down to be a youth pastor and a high school coach because he wanted to be like that other coach who died. That’s what the boys were saying in the gym.”
Many Oaks had been abuzz with the news when Anson made his famous decision. Of course people still talked about it. Anson’s height, athleticism, and dedication to his faith and community made him a local hero who towered miles over her.
Blaze angled her head to spot her little sister in the mirror. “I thought you were in pain.”
“Oh, I am. Wow. Have you ever broken a bone? What did it feel like?” She described her pain for a few blocks, then launched into a story about a classmate’s broken toe.
If only Blaze could redirect her own mind as swiftly. Instead, as she checked Mercy in at the ER and waited for the verdict, she kept picturing Anson caring for her sister.
By the time they made it home two hours later, Mercy teetering around on crutches with her sprained ankle in a wrap, Blaze had pictured Anson stepping in to help so many times, it was almost a surprise he wasn’t there to assist Mercy to her room.
He’d only been doing his part at The Depot. He would’ve helped any injured student, but only to a point.
Blaze never had anyone to depend on as she navigated the daily challenges of life.
Anson Marsh was the last person who’d ever change that.