Chapter Six #2
Cash moved to stand slightly behind my shoulder, his solid presence radiating a protective warmth I felt without him touching me.
Judge Whitmore’s gaze moved to him, taking in his tattooed skin, the motorcycle club cut, the intensity of his stance, but her expression revealed nothing of what she thought.
“You’re fortunate to have advocates, Ms. Jans,” she said finally. “Many people in your situation face these battles alone.” She nodded at Cash. “This one belongs with Kiss of Death?” She raised an eyebrow at Cash.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cash murmured softly.
“I can’t speak for individual members, Ms. Jans, but I can tell you the club as a whole is a good bunch.
They’re the reason Ms. Thompson and I try to refer the women who need the most help to New Beginnings.
The guys aren’t pushy but they will protect you while you’re in their territory.
And they will give you some room to breathe.
Let their women help you care for Miss Lily. ” She gave me a gentle smile.
I couldn’t lie to myself and say it didn’t make me feel better a judge was OK with Cash and his club. Which shamed me because Cash had been the one thing holding me and Lily together, however unintentionally, with his unwavering presence.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I managed, my voice steadier than I expected. “I expect I’ll be relying on them more than I probably should.”
Judge Whitmore smiled. “With that bunch, it’s not possible to rely on them too much. It’s what they live for.”
As she walked away, her heels clicking purposefully against the linoleum floor, Ms. Winters gathered her things from the nurses’ station.
Our eyes met briefly across the distance.
The anger in her gaze hadn’t diminished, but beneath it I recognized the frustrated conviction of someone who truly believed they were protecting a child.
In another situation, with another mother who actually hurt her child, I might have appreciated her determination.
Tonight, I felt relief she had been overruled.
The papers Judge Whitmore had given me crinkled in my grip as I finally allowed myself to look at them properly.
Legal language declaring Lily would stay with me, no one could take her away without new evidence and another hearing, granting us time and space to find the answers we’d been seeking for years.
“It’s real,” Cash said quietly from beside me, his voice rough with emotion he wasn’t trying to hide. “She’s staying with you.”
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
Instead, I moved back to Lily’s bedside, gently placing my hand over her small fingers, careful not to disturb Cash’s larger hand still holding hers from the other side.
My daughter was still here. Still mine. And for the first time in years, maybe we weren’t fighting alone.
They moved Lily to a regular room just after midnight.
The transport team wheeled her bed through silent corridors, past the nurses’ station where staff spoke in hushed tones, their faces lit by computer screens.
I walked alongside the bed, one hand resting lightly on the rail while Cash followed a few steps behind.
The new room was small but private, with a window overlooking the darkened hospital grounds.
The staff transferred Lily carefully to the bed, adjusting her immobilized shoulder and checking the IV line keeping her hydrated and providing a convenient way to give her medicine if she needed it without having to stick her again.
She stirred slightly during the move but didn’t wake.
After the transport team left, silence settled around us, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors and nurses quietly moving in the hallway.
The overhead lights had been dimmed, leaving just the softer glow of a small lamp near Lily’s bed and the green and blue lights from the monitoring equipment.
I sank into the visitor’s chair beside Lily’s bed, the exhaustion building for hours threatening to pull me under.
The plastic chair molded uncomfortably against my back, clearly designed to discourage extended stays.
Cash lowered himself into the chair on the opposite side of the bed, his large frame making the hospital furniture look almost comically small.
Yet somehow, despite his size and intimidating appearance, he didn’t seem out of place.
His quiet watchfulness belonged here in this room with my sleeping daughter.
I opened my purse, fingers finding the business cards Lana had given me earlier.
Three small rectangles of cardstock represented the sudden and unexpected support system materializing around us.
I traced my thumb over the embossed lettering of Lana’s card, then the handwritten numbers on the back of Cash’s card.
Twenty-four hours ago, these names had meant nothing to me.
“Thank you,” I said softly to Cash. “Ms. Thompson said to call you in an emergency. I hope I didn’t impose too much.” I knew I sounded defeated and maybe a little hopeless. I didn’t really feel hopeless. In fact, I finally felt like I actually had some hope now.
“You did exactly what I wanted you to do. There’s a problem, you run to me.”
“But Lana gave me your number. Not you.”
He held my gaze steadily. “She wouldn’t give you my number unless I wanted her to.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I said finally, my voice rough with exhaustion. “I’ve handled worse alone.”
Cash shifted in his seat, the chair creaking under his weight. His eyes never left Lily’s sleeping form, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as if counting each breath. “Wild horses, remember?” he said simply.
The reference to his earlier promise to Lily brought unexpected tears to my eyes.
I blinked them away quickly, embarrassed by my own emotion.
I wasn’t used to people keeping their promises, especially not strangers who owed us nothing.
Yet here he was, hours later, still holding his post beside my daughter’s bed as if it were the most natural place for him to be.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words feeling inadequate. “For singing to her. For calling Lana. For everything.”
He nodded once, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “The kid’s got good taste in music,” he said after a moment, his lips curving slightly. “Not many appreciate the classics these days.”
The small joke surprised a tired laugh out of me. It felt strange, this moment of lightness after such a brutal day. Strange but necessary, like coming up for air after too long underwater.
A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Just need to check her vitals,” she said softly, moving to Lily’s bedside.
Cash stood, stretching his large frame. “I’ll grab some coffee. Want some?”
I nodded gratefully. “Black, please. As strong as they make it.”
After he left, the nurse worked efficiently, checking Lily’s temperature and blood pressure. “She’s doing well,” she assured me, making notes on the chart. “The doctor will be by in the morning to check her shoulder, but everything looks stable.”
When she finished and left, the room felt emptier somehow, despite Lily’s sleeping presence.
I leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, trying to find a position that didn’t send shooting pain through my lower back.
My eyelids grew heavy as the day’s adrenaline finally ebbed.
Just for a moment, I told myself as my eyes drifted closed.
Just until Cash returns with the coffee.
I didn’t hear him come back. Sometime later, I stirred slightly, vaguely aware of a warm weight settling over me.
The familiar scent of leather and motor oil registered dimly in my sleep-fogged brain.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light to find Cash settling back into his chair across from me.
His leather jacket now covered me like a blanket, surprisingly heavy and warm against my chest and shoulders.
He’d removed it without me noticing and draped it carefully over me while I slept.
The gesture was so unexpected, so quietly thoughtful, I found myself staring at him, trying to reconcile this gentle consideration with his rough exterior.
Cash met my gaze steadily, unembarrassed to be caught in an act of kindness. Neither of us spoke.
I pulled the leather jacket closer around my shoulders, surprised by the comfort it provided.
The material retained his body heat, and beneath the obvious scents of his gasoline and leather lingered something else distinctly Cash.
I should have felt strange wrapped in a near-stranger’s clothing, but instead, I felt oddly protected, as if the jacket carried some of the same steady presence as its owner.
As I drifted back toward sleep, I found myself wondering about this man who sang to frightened children and gave up his jacket without hesitation.
About how he had appeared in our lives at the exact moment we needed someone to see us, to believe us, to stand with us.
And about how, despite every instinct I’d developed over years of self-reliance, I felt safer with him watching over us than I had in longer than I could remember.
The quiet beeping of Lily’s monitors created a gentle rhythm following me down into sleep, my fingers still curled around the edge of Cash’s jacket, holding onto this unexpected gift as tightly as I held onto the new hope sparking to life in the midst of our darkest moment.