Chapter Six #2
“You’re going to hurt yourself because those two put me in your room.”
I shook my head carefully. “Should’ve fucking known.”
“What?”
“Pearl and Shay.”
Ramona’s eyes narrowed. “You think they did it on purpose?”
I looked toward the common room. “No idea,” I rasped.
“Liar.”
I smiled.
She sighed and pushed open the door.
Her bag was sitting on the dresser. A pair of shoes was tucked against the wall. There were a few things on the nightstand that definitely weren’t mine.
Ramona walked into the room and looked around like she was seeing it for the first time.
Which, technically, she was. At least as my room.
“Didn’t you look in the closet or the dresser and see all of my shit?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I mean, I did notice the shampoo and stuff in the shower, but I just figured… oh, hell,” she whispered. “Well.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”
I chuckled.
She spun around. “Stop laughing.”
“Unless you want to sleep with Piney, you’re staying here.”
Her face went blank. “What?”
“Rooms are full, honey.”
“All of them?”
“Pretty much.”
“How many people live here?”
“Enough.”
She looked toward the hallway. “There has to be a couch.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re staying here.”
“Ashland.”
“Ramona.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I leaned back in the chair.
She pointed toward the window. “My RV.”
“What about it?”
“I can sleep there.”
“Okay.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She clearly hadn’t expected me to give in that easily. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” She moved to grab her duffel bag.
“I’ll sleep there too.”
Her mouth dropped open.
I smiled.
“You can’t,” she insisted.
“Then you’re sleeping here.”
“You are not sleeping in my RV.”
“Why?”
“Because you just got out of the hospital.”
“So?”
“So you need an actual bed.”
“Then I guess you’re sleeping in it with me.”
She stared at me.
I stared right back.
“Why are you being like this?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Impossible.”
“Been this way a long time,” I rasped.
“I noticed.”
I shifted in the chair and felt another wave of exhaustion hit me. I tried not to show it, but Ramona’s eyes immediately sharpened.
She saw everything.
“You’re not sleeping alone anywhere on this island,” I told her.
The smile disappeared from her face. “Why?”
I didn’t answer.
“Ashland.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Means exactly what I said,” I sighed. I was really done with talking for the day.
“Why can’t I be alone?”
I rubbed my throat again. Her eyes followed my hand. “I want to know more about what that means,” she said slowly, “but I don’t want you talking anymore.”
“Then you better sleep in here.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Otherwise, I’m gonna be singing all night.”
She blinked. “Singing.”
I kept my face completely straight. “Yep.”
“You?”
“Beautiful voice.”
Her lips twitched.
“Ask anybody,” I added.
“I don’t think I want to.”
“Your loss.”
“You can barely talk.”
“Exactly. Singing’ll probably wreck me.”
She stared at me for a few seconds. Then she pointed a finger at my face. “That is manipulation.”
“Working?”
“No.”
I waited.
She sighed. “Fine.”
I smiled.
“But only because somebody needs to keep an eye on you.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
“And there is going to be a pillow barrier.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she countered.
“No.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t have that many pillows.”
Ramona looked at the bed. There were two. She looked back at me. “You’re not playing fair.” Ramona grabbed some clothes from her bag. “I’m changing.”
“Okay.”
She pointed at me. “Stay there.”
“Where the fuck am I going?”
Her eyes dropped to the wheelchair. “Good point.”
“Asshole.”
She smiled. “You said it, not me.” She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.
The second it clicked shut, I let my head fall back.
Fuck, I was tired. More than tired. My entire body felt heavy. My throat burned. My legs ached from the little bit of walking I’d done earlier, and I could practically hear the doctor telling me I’d done too much.
Still worth it. I was home.
Ramona was here. For tonight, that was enough.
I looked at the bathroom door, then at the bed. I wasn’t letting her help me into the fucking thing. I locked the wheels and pushed myself up.
My legs immediately protested. “Fuck,” I whispered. I stood there until everything steadied.
Then I took the few steps to the bed. I sat on the edge and caught my breath.
My shoes came off first, then I worked my pants down and kicked them onto the floor.
That took more effort than it should have.
By the time I pulled the covers back and got underneath them, my heart was beating harder and my throat felt like someone had dragged sandpaper across it, but I was in bed.
By myself.
Small fucking victories.
The bathroom door opened, and Ramona stepped out wearing sleep shorts and a loose T-shirt.
She stopped as her eyes went from the empty wheelchair to me. “How did you get over there?”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Ash.”
I pointed at my legs.
She stared at me.
“I walked,” I rasped.
“I know you walked. I meant, why didn’t you wait for me?”
I shrugged.
Her eyes narrowed. I could practically see the argument forming. Then she looked at my throat. The argument died. “Not one more word.”
I nodded.
She walked across the room and shut off the light. The room went dark except for the faint glow coming through the curtains. The mattress dipped when she climbed into bed.
My bed with Ramona.
That was fucking weird.
Twenty years ago, if somebody had told me Clint’s little sister would show up on Skull Island in a dying RV and end up sleeping in my bed the day I got out of the hospital after nearly having my throat cut, I would’ve told them they were out of their fucking mind.
Ramona shifted beside me.
I stared at the ceiling.
Neither of us spoke.
For once, I actually listened when she’d told me to shut the fuck up.
A minute passed. Maybe two.
Then Ramona’s voice came quietly through the dark. “I’m glad you’re not dead, Ashland.”