Page 77 of The Heir

The parking lot only had a few cars sitting in it, typical of a Tuesday morning.

“Breathe, Marchella,” I instructed and hesitantly gravitated toward the glass double doors with the nursing home logo sprawled across them.

The birds were chirping, and I heard someone page for a housekeeper as I neared the patio. A few paces from the door, shadows appeared on the other side. They came into focus and Aunt Carly stepped out with Claire Porter, the director of our nursing department.

“Marchella,” Claire greeted, standing squarely in the path of the doors.

“Good morning, Claire.” I politely attempted. “I was just coming to–”

“Marchella, what are you doing here?” She spoke over me, disbelief dripping in her tone. Aunt Carly kept her eyes on my shoes.

“I came to see my schedule,” I dumbly attempted, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

“Marchella, you no longer have a schedule. I can’t have domestic situations blowing up to the point that I have property damage occurring in front of our residents. This must be a safe and therapeutic environment that is conducive to the needs of those who live here. I’m sorry.”

I blinked back tears and nodded, realizing my aunt wasn’t going to say a word on my behalf. I turned back toward the car and slowly made my way across the parking lot. Somehow, I kept my shoulders up and my head high, even if there was a lump growing in my throat. I got behind the wheel and watched them disappear back inside the building before I lost the battle over my tears.

They streamed hotly down my face. I couldn’t even see, it was all I could do to round the block and park it along Aunt Trista’s yard before collapsing on the steering wheel. I sobbed until it felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then a cool breeze washed over me, and Blaze’s familiar, tattooed arms were scooping me out of the car.

He planted me on the hood, and I became aware of others in the yard.

I sucked in an embarrassed breath, but he shrouded me in his arms like we were in some kind of football huddle and whispered like it was just the two of us.

“Marchella, I know you’re scared. Change is terrifying sometimes, and you’ve tolerated an existence that is miserable but predictable, and as hard and painful as it is, you cling to it because it is normal. It feels familiar. Soon I will, too. Let go of those fears, cling to me, and let me show you a new normal. Let’s stop tolerating this fucking cage people and the past keep putting us in, and let’s live. Not exist–live this fucking life with me, March. Fuck that nursing home. My wife doesn’t have to work unless she’s bored and chooses to.”

I snorted, having heard enough to have drawn me out of my meltdown, I popped my head up, and smeared the tears across my cheekbones.

“You’ve spent too much time with my grandfather. No one lives like that anymore. Shit is too expensive.”

His thumbs slid over my cheekbones, drying them before he planted the softest, sweetest kiss to my lips.

“Just– Trust me, okay?” he begged, staring up at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes. “I didn’t come back here to add two headstones to that cemetery.”

I sucked in a shuddery breath and cut him a warning glance. He pecked at my lips trying to prevent any comeback I might have shot his way.

“I lost my job, Blaze,” I whispered.

“I got this.” He shook his head, denying any need for concern.

“Loverboy, you ready?” Easy called, straddling his bike, and casting a glance Blaze’s way.

Blaze kissed me long and slow, staring into my eyes and breaking into a smile before he explained, “We’re going to talk to my mom. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

I gave a nod of agreement, smoothing things over was probably for the best. I didn’t want Crystal hating us, even if I was still shocked that she’d called me a whore, or whatever she’d said this morning.

Blaze took off for his bike, and Aunt Trista gravitated toward me.

“You okay, love?” she asked, drawing me into a hug.

I gave a reluctant nod.

“Let’s have some coffee.” She steered me inside and poured us both a cup, adding her splash of liquor to each before placing one in front of me.

I normally would have refused the spiking, especially at such an early hour, but it had been a wild week.

I gingerly sipped at the steaming brew and rubbed at my left eyelash.

“Easy said ya’ll got married?” She smiled; her brows hefted up in disbelief.

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