Chapter Fourteen
Well fuck.
An attractive sign declared Leisure Village was an assisted living facility.
The large building looked more like a nice hotel then a nursing home where old people went to live out the rest of their days in dingy white rooms. No, people who needed help lived there and were afforded dignity, if not a touch of luxury, while they recuperated or lived out their lives.
This explained Chloe’s panic, if someone she loved lived here, but not why she’d refused to tell me where we were going even if, at the end of the journey, I’d obviously see for myself.
“Chloe—”
“You can drop me at the front,” she interrupted. “And . . . um . . . thanks for the ride.”
That wasn’t happening.
I ignored her directive and hooked a left into the parking lot.
“Ryan!” she snapped, but softer, uncertain. In a voice laced with pain and a good amount of suffering, she whispered, “Please.”
I pulled into a spot, shut my truck down, and shifted so I could look at her.
Defeated.
And that was one look I’d never witnessed Chloe wearing.
“Is there a reason you don’t want me walking you in?”
Her brows winged up, which drew my attention to her eyes.
They weren’t flashing their normal fire.
They were vacant. One of the many things I dug about Chloe was her eyes; not only were they gorgeous, but they were expressive.
They changed color with her moods. Shades of green, blue, and brown deepened, depending on what she was feeling.
But right then they were flat—no spark, no fire.
I liked that less than I liked the way she was slumped in her seat. And I didn’t like that shit one bit.
“Maybe because I don’t want you in my personal business?” She framed it as a question when it absolutely was not. She also said it with less heat than she’d tossed my way when I told her to cancel her Uber and she argued. I didn’t like that shit either.
Chloe Baughman was no pushover. She didn’t cow. She didn’t make herself small. And she certainly did not sit at my side and make herself those things.
“I want to give you want you want, but I can’t.”
Her head ticced. “You can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” I affirmed. “The thought of you going in there alone to face whatever it is you’re gonna face rips my heart out.
So I’m sorry, baby, but I’m walking you in.
I’ll wait in what I’m positive is a cush lobby and wait for you to do what you need to do.
That way when you’re done, I can see to you. ”
“See to me?”
That astonished whisper pissed me right the fuck off.
I didn’t believe Chloe didn’t have people in her life who saw to her.
She was close with Poppy, and that chick was rabid when it came to loyalty and friendship.
So Chloe knew what it meant to have friends looking out for you.
It was me in particular taking her back that surprised her.
Now was not the time to get into that, though we would later when we weren’t sitting in my truck outside of a nursing home—a place she was hell bent to get to. Which meant I had to swallow down my irritation and get her where she needed to be.
“Let’s get you inside, baby.”
It was my turn to be astonished when, without further comment, Chloe opened her door.
I met her at the tailgate, and together we walked across the parking lot. This was done in silence—mine watchful, hers pensive and a whole lot reflective.
By the time we got to the sliding double doors, pensive was a memory. Chloe was practically vibrating with nerves. The practically part of that was she wasn’t doing this literally—her steps were stilted but sure. Her body was tense, and the energy rolling off her concerned me.
I grabbed her hand as we walked through the sliding double doors.
I knew she was locked in her head when, instead of pulling away, her fingers curled to hold on.
And I found I was correct—the lobby was cush, but it was also warm and inviting.
There was no sterile stench of disinfectant, no rows of uncomfortable chairs, no harsh fluorescent lights.
It smelled faintly like lavender and something woodsy.
There were artfully created seating areas arranged to foster conversation.
Everything was done in muted browns and greens—walls, furniture, abstract paintings.
Stylish, but the bottom line of it was tranquil.
Though Chloe wasn’t feeling the peace the room intended.
Her hand was pulsing.
Squeeze.
Release.
Squeeze.
Release.
“Chloe—” The rest of my question died on my tongue when her head tipped back and her eyes met mine.
Hollow. Yet filled with so much pain and sorrow I felt the air whistle by my teeth as I sucked in a breath.
“Baby,” I whispered.
She shook her head, squeezed my hand. Before she could answer—that was, if she was going to reply—we were interrupted.
“Chloe,” a woman called.
In unison we turned toward the voice. I vaguely recognized the older woman, but it took me a beat to remember where I’d seen her. Chloe took that beat to yank her hand free and jump away from me like she’d been caught committing a felony.
Then it clicked.
Chloe’s mom. She and her husband had come to the Plank for lunch several times. Though I hadn’t seen either of them at the bar in a long time.
“Hi, Mom.” Chloe forced so much liveliness into her tone it was a wonder she could keep her feet with the energy she’d expended pretending she wasn’t drowning in pain.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Soft and melodic but drenched in anguish. When her gaze shifted, the first thing I noticed was she’d given Chloe her eyes. Like her daughter’s, they were expressive. Also like her daughter’s, they were communicating . . . suffering, torment, grief.
It hurt just looking at the woman.
“Do you remember my boss, Ryan Strong? Ryan, my mother, Andrea.”
Something irrational surged. A wave of possessiveness that had nothing to do with fucking her, at least not entirely.
I didn’t want to be her boss. I wanted to be the man standing at her side—full stop.
Not just while she was dealing with whatever was happening here.
Not since high school had I met a woman’s family.
There’d been no meet-the-parents dinners, no lunches, no accidental run-ins.
Hell, since I’d moved back to San Diego, I hadn’t been on a date.
I picked up company for the night—the end.
Like-minded women who wanted nothing more than to either bag a former Team Guy so they could brag, or fuck the owner of the Plank, thinking I’d cover their bar tab.
They got their free drinks, I got a mediocre lay, and we happily parted when the festivities were over.
It worked, and if I was being honest, as fucked as it was, those women were nothing more than diversions.
I’d hid behind one-night stands and barflies to keep my distance from Chloe.
Now I couldn’t remember why. Every reason I’d talked myself into was nothing more than an excuse.
If I’d pulled my head out of my ass and gone after what I really wanted, I wouldn’t be standing next to Chloe in this nursing home, completely unaware of what was going on.
I wouldn’t be standing next to her as her fucking boss but as the man who had the right to hold her hand in front of her mother.
“Of course,” Chloe’s mother said, stepping closer, with her hand on offer. “Thank you for bringing Chloe. I’m sorry to pull her away from work.”
Her assumption was logical, seeing as Chloe was in her work shirt, but she’d hadn’t made it to the bar and not just because I’d waylaid her. A quick glance at Chloe’s panicked expression confirmed my guess—she hadn’t told her mother she’d been in a fender bender.
I took Andrea’s hand. The cold registered first, overshadowing the fragility, but nothing could supersede the tremor.
“No problem at all, Mrs. Baughman.” I reluctantly released her hand.
If I’d played my cards differently, it wouldn’t’ve been out of bounds to offer this woman comfort.
Since I’d fucked up, it would be creepy if I offered her more than a friendly handshake.
“I don’t want to intrude or delay you any further.
” I jerked my head in the direction of a seating area. “I’ll wait over there.”
At the word intrude, Chloe’s eyes narrowed, silently calling me out.
When I declared I was staying, they flared, and I knew any second, she’d not so silently tell me to fuck off.
Probably not in those words with her mother standing there, but her message would be clear.
Before she could give me my marching orders, my hand went to her back, and with a gentle shove, I pushed her toward her mother.
That earned me the glare of the century.
Coming into work bright and sunny, bopping around the bar, infusing everything around her with her happiness, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever clapped eyes on.
With her in my arms, eyes glazed over with desire, she was a total knockout.
Chloe pissed off and glaring was cute as hell and made me want to kiss the ever-living hell out of her.
One day that option would be available to me.
But right then I’d been relegated to boss, which meant my place was sitting in the lobby while she and her mother dealt with something she hadn’t deemed my business.
That was going to change.
Never again was Chloe going to face something alone that made her eyes go hollow and hurt to imbue every fiber of her being.
Next time, I’d be at her side.
Next time, she wouldn’t jump away from me in her mother’s presence.
Next time she walked out of my bedroom and found the house full of my friends, there would be no awkwardness, no flicker of embarrassment, no keeping my distance for her sake. And she’d damn well feel comfortable in my home.
But right then, as much as I hated it—and make no mistake, I fucking hated it—I had to give her the space she needed to deal with whatever this was.
It was goddamn torture, but I walked away, leaving Chloe with her mother.