Page 6 of Ash
“Fox would murder me if I took Janie. And mom knows about Ren being Atlas’ wife. Stevie wouldn’t because she’s loyal to Sunday and the girls.”
“Doesn’t Atlas have a sister?” she offers while scrolling on her phone.
“Too recently sober. I wouldn’t feel right taking her around our family or Neil’s considering there is going to be a ‘beer fountain’.”
Indy stops scrolling and looks up towards me. “Good point,” she states before looking back down. “Children’s Hospital emailed me today.” Her voice is small and rightfully so because now my heart rate is the one going up.
“We talked about this,” I say slowly. “You promised.”
“Ash, you do realize that I can’t stay locked in this apartment forever, right? I’m not some fairytale princess that you can tuck away in a tower. I will be fine.” She places a hand on my arm, but I jerk away as I stand up.
“You promised me, Indiana,” I say firmly as I begin to pace around the room. I feel my chest tightening as the panic creeps in. “The last time–”
“Was two years ago!” she snaps as she stands up abruptly and I watch it happen almost in slow motion. Her face goes from scrunched up and angry, to completely grey and lax, while her eyes roll back into her head as she begins to crumple to the floor.
“Fuck! Fuck!” I grab her before she hits her head on the coffee table. I lower myself with her to the floor with her head resting in my lap as I watch her body twitch and begin to sweat.
“Indy,” I croak as I push the raven curls off her forehead. “How am I supposed to let you go when this can happen?” It’s bad enough that after countless tests, doctors and ER trips, she was diagnosed withMultiple Sclerosis.When she was diagnosed, I didn’t think she’d ever walk again, and some days she can’t. Despite her working tirelessly to combat this progressive disease, her symptoms are never fully gone. She just has some days that are better than others. One of her less-desirable symptoms is her fainting if she’s going into a flare up.
I watch as her eyes start to flutter open, and she begins to groan. “It’s alright,” I whisper as she grips my arm tightly. “Just rest, Indy, I’ve got you.”
* * *
I standby the front door of Sunday’s dance studio, holding coffee and a bag of pastries that I got from Stevie, who all but hissed at me and told me if I came back before Sunday forgave me that her ‘Baka’ would put a Croatian curse on me.
Do Croatians have specialized curses? I can’t be sure, but I do know that her tiny, ancient grandma nearly threw a cleaver at Lauren’s abusive ex last year when he came into her donut shop, so I decided I wouldn’t go back toNuts About Doughfor a little while. But only a little while, because that psychotic old murderous bat makes the best doughnuts I’ve ever had and I’m kind of a sugar junkie.
“What do you want?” I jump as Sunday’s voice brings me out of my thoughts of buttercream filled birthday cake doughnuts. I look at the silver-haired woman who is leaning heavily on the side of the brick building. Her honey eyes look so dull and are surrounded by dark circles.
“H-Hey, Sunshine, I brought you breakfast.” I smile as I gesture to the bag and coffee.
Her almond-shaped eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. “Listen,charming.” Her voice is cold and calculating, and fuck, it’s still sexy as hell with that accent. “I don’t know what kind of joke you are playing here, but I ain’t got the time. I gotta start cleaning and packing here. I have four classes and then I need to go home and pack. Now, move out of my way before I ruin your stupidly expensive shirt.”
I look down at the light blue t-shirt with ‘BOSS’ over the chest. “It wasn’tthatexpensive. I got it on sale.” I don’t know why I felt the need to give her that information.
She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah? So, a hundred instead of four?”
“Maybe, what’s your point?” I ask defensively. So what if I like nice things? I have a job and money.
She shakes her head. “I don’t have one. Again, get out of my way before I ruin your hundred-dollar shirt.” She shoves past me and unlocks the door to the dance studio before entering. I follow her in without invitation.
She walks down the hall and while making our way to the tiny room that I assume is her office, I notice she has a slight limp. The room is crowded with shoes, outfits, a table, and a computer. I watch her sit down slowly on the metal folding chair before resting her leg up on a box.
“What happened to your leg, anyway?” I ask, and then mentally smack myself for prying.
“Accident,” she says simply while powering on the computer.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I have an overgrown man-whore standing in my office, wasting my time. Now, what do you want?” She blinks slowly while I hear the words ‘FUCK OFF’ telepathically shoot to my brain.
“Sunshine.”
“Day,” she snaps, “My name is Sunday.”
Okay, now isn’t the time for pet names, noted. “Okay,” I relent. “Sunday… I’m sorry.” I wince as I rub the back of my neck. “I’m sorry for pissing you off last night.”
“Apology accepted. Now go away.” She logs into her computer and I feel her turning to ice in front of me.
