Page 58 of When Sky Breaks

“It’s my mom. She’s at the shop, and she’s drunk,” he growls. “Alex thinks she might have fallen and cut her head. I’m sorry, I have to go.” He begins to walk away, but I snag his arm.

“Wait, I’ll go with you.”

He looks down at the hand I still have wrapped around his bicep. “You don’t have to?—”

“I’m a nurse, August. If I can help, I want to.”

A second passes as he roams my face for any lies before he nods and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the parking lot. Hard to ignore how familiar and right it feels to have my hand tucked in his as I focus on the facts—someone needs help, and I’m someone who can help.

This sense of purpose fuels me as I follow August. But I lose momentum when he stops us in front of his motorcycle.

“I didn’t drive the truck today. Hope this is okay.”

Uneasiness settles in my gut as I stare wide-eyed at the bike. Getting on that thing will force me to be in close contact with him. My legs near his hips. My chest at his back. My arms around his waist.

The urgency at hand trumps my silly emotions, so I draw in a ragged breath and nod, taking the helmet he offers as crimson stains my cheeks.

Focus, Sky.

He jumps on and starts the engine, the rumble crackling through the already tense air. August holds his hand out, and I take it, him keeping me steady as I swing my leg over and settle in behind him.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice felt through his chest as I lean into him.

“I should ask you that.” My voice is muffled through the helmet.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just lucky to have such a capable nurse with me.”

That warms me more than it should.

We shoot out of the parking lot, and I squeal, latching onto August tight around his waist, feeling his abs contract as we bend around the curve.

“Hold on tight.”

On instinct, I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt and he presses one of his hands against them to keep me from moving.

Soon, we’re parked in front of Snaps, and August hurries off the bike, helping me with the helmet and to my feet, before striding to the door and flinging it open.

“Where is she?” he asks, pulling me along behind him toward the back where Alex points.

I’ve never been in this part of Snaps, but it looks like any other backroom of a business. Boxes on steel shelves, a desk with a computer, piles of paperwork, and a printer.

My heart skips a beat when we lay eyes on August’s mom. She’s not the same woman I met briefly all those years ago. And although my gut still burns with how she treated August, there’s a shred of empathy stinging my eyes.

She looks terrible.

Propped in a chair, her chin rests on her chest, and her arms lay limply in her lap. She’s passed out but breathing as I note her chest slowly rising. Her dark, stringy hair sticks to her forehead near a gash, the blood already clotting.

“Mom.” August crouches in front of her, taking her hands and squeezing them gently.

I move next to him and examine her further. Hard to tell how deep it is with all that hair in the way. Going into nurse mode, I glance around for a first aid kit.

“Bathroom,” August says once he hears me opening some random cabinets.

I grab the kit and hold it between my knees as I wash my hands, eyeing both of them through the bathroom mirror.

His mom groans, and her hands start to flail.

“Keep her hands from her face. I need to clean that wound to see if it needs stitches.” I quickly dry my hands and jog back to them as August palms her shoulder.

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