Page 25 of Morally Black Betrothal
“Oh, fuck no. We’re just involved in the business, among other things.” I studied her. “You really didn’t look us up after the nurses told you who he was?”
Simone shook her head. “Most of the patients I work with don’t exactly have the ability to consent. What right do I have to pry into their lives when they’re unconscious or ill?”
Christ, she really was a saint, just like her coworker said. This girl had no idea what kind of information she actually had,being Dad’s caretaker. The board didn’t even know about his condition, and if she were the type, she could demand a king’s ransom to keep quiet about it rather than delivering the news to the papers for a handsome fee.
“Blackguard Holding just bought into a big fashion conglomerate,” I told her. “But we also invest in a lot of other things. The lion’s share of our profits this year came from chip manufacturing and water rights, if you can believe that, but we’re involved in almost any industry you can think of. It’s my father’s life’s work.”
A rare surge of emotion swelled within me. Christ. Dad almost died, and he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
What if he didn’t survive this? Or, maybe worse, what if he did, but never woke up? Just stayed this shell of himself, hooked up to those machines, lying helplessly in the hospital bed?
“Hey.”
I looked up to find that Simone had rounded the bar to stand beside me. Even sitting on the stool, I was taller than her, but we were almost eye-to-eye now.
“Tell me if I’m overstepping. But, Brendan, you look like maybe you need a hug.”
I opened my mouth. To say what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe that she didn’t know what she was talking about. That I was Brendan goddamn Black. I didn’t need kindness or love or fuckinghugs, for Christ’s sake.
But I couldn’t speak.
Then she stepped between my knees, lifted herself up onto the toes of her sneakers, and wrapped her slender arms around my neck. Her body pressed to mine, allowing the warmth that seemed to radiate out of her soul to wrap around me like a blanket, cocooning me in this unlikely angel’s light, love, and grace.
In other words, she gave me a hug anyway.
I don’t think I hugged her back.
I don’t think I even blinked.
It wasn’t until she pulled away that I realized I’d just sat there like a dead tree, motionless. Lifeless.
And having lost my chance to return the favor.
A pang of regret pierced my heart, and tears—actualtears—pricked my eyes.
What thefuckwas going on?
As she nudged my chin with her fist, I fought the urge to lean into it like a cat searching for a head rub. I wanted her to keep touching me, however she wanted to do it.
I wanted more of that light. That warmth.
“Better?”
I managed to nod. Barely. “Yeah, um, thank you.”
“Anytime.”
She rounded back to her side of the bar. The space she’d occupied beside me was now a black hole.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I admitted to myself and her.
“Your parent is ill. Feeling shaken up is normal.” I watched as she pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Refill?”
I found myself shaking my head. “Just a water. Um, please.”
I’d lost all desire to douse my sorrows and muddy my thoughts. Suddenly, I wanted to know everything about Simone Bishop, bartender and part-time candy striper. And I wanted a clear head to do it.
“How long have you been volunteering at the hospital?” I asked as she slid a glass of water my way.
