Page 90 of Thornhill Road

I needed to head inside.

After gathering my things, I made my way to the front door, using the spare key to let myself in. “Ed? It’s Tess,” I called out, as I always did.

“Yup,” he grumbled from the next room.

He was propped up in bed, a sloppily made, half-eaten sandwich on a plate beside him. I set my bag down on the chair nearby and offered him a smile.

“How you feelin’ today?”

“Like shit. Not much different than yesterday.”

My smile stretched into a grin. It was the same answer he always gave me—not the least bit informative, aside from the fact that it was my clue he still had hold of his mind.

“Let’s try that again,” I suggested good-naturedly.

He let out a heavy breath and answered, “Tired.”

I eyed his abandoned sandwich. “How’s your appetite?”

I asked him a series of questions then proceeded with his physical exam. When he assured me he was finished with his sandwich, I went to the kitchen to discard it and took the liberty of making another one. When I was finished, I wrapped it and stowed it in the fridge for later. Upon my return, I sat in my usual chair with my tablet in order to work on his chart.

Like most of my visits, Ed didn’t talk while I worked, so I hummed to help keep myself awake. I knew he liked it, and I peeked over at him every once in a while to find him sitting peacefully while he listened.

Today, even that brought me guilt, knowing I could give him more.

I blacked out the screen of my tablet and laid it flat across my lap.

“Ed? I have to confess something.”

He looked at me, his brow dipped slightly. “Confess? What could you have to confess to me?”

I couldn’t tell him the whole truth. Not merely because I’d broken my number one rule when it came to the family members of my patients. This was bigger than me. My relationship with Mustang was just that. A relationship—hisas much as it wasmine. I didn’t think I had the right to give away pieces of Mustang that weren’t mine to give.

But therewereparts of him he'd given to me, little tidbits I figured I could share with whom I liked.

“I went to that bar,” I told Ed, pointing at the picture frame. “I went looking for Mu—um, for Sully. I went looking for Sully.”

It felt weird to call him by a name that was only his on paper, but the mention of it brought a sharpness to Ed’s hazel-blue eyes I’d never seen before.

“You talk to him?”

“Yes. I—um…” I tried to choose my words carefully, wishing not to lie. “I’ve been back to the bar a few times. The article was right. Steel Mustang is very successful. Mu—uh, Sully brings in some really great musicians, and the bands draw crowds of people from as far south as Cheyenne or even places in South Dakota.”

He considered what I said for a moment, then muttered, “You don’t strike me as someone who fits in at a place like that.”

I smiled and glanced down at myself to remind me what I was wearing before I told him, “Don’t let my lavender scrubs fool you.”

He didn’t smile back at me. Not exactly. But his eyes brightened a little before he asked, “What’s he like?”

“He’s…” I started and then I stopped, unsure if I could shove Mustang into the confines of a description. Like anyone else, he was a lot of things—but unlike most, the dichotomy between the man he was on the inside and the man he was on the outside was vast.

The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that it wasn’t so much who he was on the inside or the outside; it was the parts of him that were Sully versus the parts of him that were Mustang; the parts of him nurtured and loved by Mary-Kate the elder, and the parts of him he’d carved out and rebuilt in an effort to escape Ed.

I didn’t know how to explain all that. Instead, I decided to describe the man in the photo.

“He’s a Wild Stallion, obviously. He goes by Mustang now. He’s actually one of the higher ranked members of the club. They’re his brothers, and you can tell they all mean a lot to one another,” I said, thinking of Bull—of Maverick and Rodeo, protecting him from himself. “They look out for one another.” I paused, wanting Ed to know his son wasn’t alone in the world, but also aware that in delivering that message, I was reminding him thathewas. “And he’s smart. He’s business smart, and he works hard,” I finished.

“He’s been riding since he was just a teenager. I gave him his first bike, you know?”

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