Page 22 of Mace

“She ain’t my fuckin’ sister,” I growl, turning and heading up the corridor.

I may have considered her family for a time, but that hasn’t been the case for a long while now.

“Mason! Come on, don’t make my day hard.”

“If you want to call her or the police, I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is Maggie sitting in her shitty little room, day after day, seeing no one but nurses and thinkin’ me and Nate stopped fuckin’ caring.”

She wrings her hands together, torn between the demands of my foster sister and the needs of her patient. Fuck Julie. Her spitefulness knows no fucking limits.

“That cunt can call me if she has a problem,” I say over my shoulder, not slowing my pace.

It’s one thing to block me from seeing Maggie. I came to her at sixteen, after my mum died, and she raised me to eighteen, but Nate? She’s his fucking mother. He has every right to see her.

“Fuckin’ Julie,” I mutter as I keep walking.

Most of the doors I pass are closed, but every now and then, I get a glimpse of the occupant, sitting in a chair, either asleep or staring at nothing but the four walls surrounding them. Poor fuckers.

If I ever need to be in one of these places, I’ve already told Nicky to put a bullet in my head, and it pisses me off that Maggie is trapped in this fucking dump.

As I reach the room, I knock, waiting to hear her voice before I enter.

The room doesn’t look any different from the last time I was here. The single bed is pushed against one wall, but the cot railings on either side are a new addition. My gaze skims over the cracked plasterwork and thinning carpet. This would never have been my choice for where to put her, Nate’s neither, but Julie got her fucking claws in before anyone could do shit to stop it. I’d pay for her to be somewhere better, but that bitch won’t allow it.

My anger fades as Maggie gives me a beaming smile. She sits in a wingback chair at the window, her long, grey hair loose around her shoulders. Her weathered face softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“Hey, beautiful,” I say softly.

Her smile grows bigger, and fuck if it doesn’t make my chest ache to see it. “You can’t say things like that to a lady. It gives the wrong impression.”

I grab one of the visitor’s chairs and place it next to her as she runs a hand over her hair, checking it’s in place. It’s such a familiar gesture that it makes my stomach clench.

“I just say it as I see it, Maggie.”

Roaming my gaze over her face, I try to gauge how she’s doing today, but as usual, I can’t tell anything yet.

“You’re one of those players, aren’t you? You talk a lady up, have your way with them, and then leave them. I know your type.” She lifts her chin. “But that won’t work on me, young man. I’m not easily swayed.”

I chuckle under my breath. “You’re not turned by a pretty face?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow slightly before her gaze bounces around the room. “Are you here to fix my cupboard? The door’s been hanging off for days.”

That pain in my chest is like boiling lava. Fuck. I should be used to seeing her like this, but it never gets fucking easier. “No, Maggie, I’m not. Do you remember me?”

She leans back in her chair, staring at me like I’m a puzzle. “Did you used to own the shop on the corner of… the corner of… I can’t remember the street, but is that where I know you from?”

I keep my expression neutral even as my insides knot. “No.”

“Who are you then?” Her head snaps around the room. “Where am I? I need to call my husband. He’ll fetch me.”

That pit opens in my stomach. Her husband died when Nate was three, and that tells me everything I need to know about how she’s doing today. Her mind is either stuck in the past or lost in the confusion of her memories. Neither is a good place.

I reach out, taking her hand in mine, hating every moment of this. I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life, but nothing as cruel as what the body does to itself.

“It’s okay, Maggie. It’s okay. I’m Mace… Mason, remember? I lived with you when I was younger. You took me in after my mum died.”

Her brows draw tighter together as her fingers trail over her forehead. “I’m sorry. I must’ve had a moment, but I can’t…” Her mouth opens then closes. “Are you one of Jack’s friends?”

Her eldest son isn’t quite the same level of shithead as her daughter, but he ain’t far off. He allowed Julie to put his mother in this crap-hole place, despite earning a six-figure-a-year salary. His excuse? He’s in the middle of a divorce and custody battle, and he can’t deal with both that and his mother.

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