Page 138 of The Games We Play
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “One minute I was standing, the next… you were here.”
I let out a low hum, but before I could say more, the sound of movement echoed from the front of the shop.
“In here!” I called out.
A tall, broad-shouldered man pushed through the doors, his gaze quickly finding us. He nodded and motioned to someone behind him.
A woman followed, wheeling in a gurney.
“Sandy?” the man asked, kneeling beside her.
“Oh, hi Buddy,” she breathed, a tired smile forming on her lips.
Buddy and his partner worked quickly and efficiently, lifting Sandy off the floor with practiced care. I stepped back, heart tight, as they secured her onto the gurney and slipped an oxygen mask over her face.
“I’m coming with,” I said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Buddy and the woman exchanged a brief glance before nodding in silent agreement as they wheeled Sandy through the sleek black double doors. I stayed close behind, each step heavier than the last, a tight coil of dread twisting in my gut.
Someone had to tell Penny.
And that someone wasme.
As we passed the front counter, I reached out and grabbed Sandy’s purse and phone. The screen lit up in my hand—twentymissed calls from Penelope. My chest clenched. She must be beside herself.
I’d call her once we got Sandy settled, but right now, all I could manage was a message.
Climbing into the back of the ambulance, I sat beside Sandy as they secured her for transport. My fingers hovered over the phone screen for a beat before I began to type.
Mac: I’m with Sandy. She’s conscious, but we’re on our way to the clinic now. I’ll call as soon as I can.
I hit send,the weight of those few words pressing down on me like a boulder.
Then I turned my attention back to Sandy, who was trying not to grimace through every bump in the road. I reached for her hand and held it gently in mine, anchoring both of us in the moment.
Because everything else, the bar, the liquor supply, the panic about the plan, none of it mattered right now.
41
PENNY
Iran through the sterile hallway of the emergency clinic, my shoes echoing on the linoleum floor. Each door I passed brought a fresh wave of dread. Room numbers blurred in my peripheral vision as I scanned them desperately, searching for hers.
As soon as my board meeting ended, I’d bolted from the library, barely remembering to grab my purse before sprinting to my car. The moment I’d overheard the conversation about Petal Pushernot opening, I knew. My gut had been right.
I hadn’t even hesitated. I called the one person I trusted to handle it. The one person I was drawn to when everything inside me was unraveling. Mac picked up on the first ring, no questions asked.
Tears streaked down my cheeks, carving through what little makeup I’d bothered with this morning. I sniffled, slowing from a run to a brisk walk as I counted down the final doors. My heart was pounding, a chaotic drumbeat in my chest.
When I finally reached the room, I stopped cold.
Mac sat beside Sandy’s bed, his large hand gently cradled in hers. She looked tired, worn, but she was smiling, soft and sweet.
The sight of her lying there—tubes of oxygen nestled in her nose, hair slightly mussed, wrapped in too-white hospital blankets—hit me like a punch to the chest. She looked so small. So fragile. And yet… still her. Still Sandy.
They both turned at once, as if sensing me.
“Oh, Penelope,” Sandy breathed, her smile widening with warmth.
