If I hadn’t stopped by because of a weird, twitchy feeling in the back of my mind, well, she might have lain there overnight. She was alone on the bathroom floor for a couple of hours as it was.
I doubted I would ever forgive myself for those hours.
I parked in the lot and pulled off my helmet. I ran a comb through my hair too, just to be respectful. Thankfully, Nana had never objected to my leather and ripped denim, but she did tell me to comb my hair every time I forgot.
She never criticized me or called me a delinquent, even though I clearly was. A successful delinquent with my own shop, but still, I was not exactly a Boy Scout. Far from it.
I’d started acting out in school early. Even later, when I wised up about keeping my mouth shut, I was up to no good. I’d been chasing, and being chased, by girls and even women from the moment puberty hit. I was tall for my age and already had a bad attitude. Then I’d discovered drugs and alcohol. If I hadn’t learned how to use a tattoo gun, who knows what would have become of me?
If it weren’t for Nana, I know what would have happened. Nothing good, that’s for damn sure.
She’d loved me through all the bad times and the good. Now it was my turn. And damn if I wasn’t going to do my best to make her final years the sweetest.
I nodded to the lady at the front desk. She knew me. They all knew me here. I kissed the cheek of a white-haired lady who passed by on her walker. I was pretty sure her name was Eloise, but I couldn’t be sure.
She might smile like that at everyone, but it was such a sweet smile, so I always gave her a little kiss.
Nana’s door was open, signaling that she was open for visitors. I always had a moment of worry right before I walked in. Worry that she’d be hurt or lying on the floor. Or worse yet, that she’d be gone.
But she was there, sitting in her favorite easy chair with her feet up, her bed neatly made (by the staff, I suspected) and a cup of warm tea on the little side table we’d brought from home. Most of the stuff in here was hers. It was like a little time capsule of her house and her life.
There was even a photo of my parents together on one of their rare sober days.
“Hi, Nana.”
She used the side lever to lower her legs and waved me over.
“Get in here, you rascal.”
I bent down to give her a kiss and got my cheek squeezed for my troubles.
“Woman, how are you so strong?”
She giggled like a school girl.
“What do you have there?”
“This?” I held up the flowers and present. “This is for an adorable woman who lives here.” I pretended to look around. “If only I could find her.”
She swatted at me and cackled. But her eyes were shining as I handed over the gift and sat on the edge of her bed, holding the flowers.
She opened the gift and crowed when she saw it was the latest book from her favorite author. She loved murder mysteries. I had teased her for years for being so bloodthirsty. She’d even had a murder mystery book club for a while.
I’d never seen anything like it. Six sweet as pie, white-haired grannies sitting around and talking about gory murders. It was too funny.
“Oh, there you are! Come in, sweetheart.”
I turned my head in time to see a young woman tentatively waiting just outside the door. I saw dark, wavy hair, an exceptional figure, and the prettiest damn face I’d seen in my life. My entire life. She looked like a doll, with tawny skin and pink, luscious-looking lips.
But it was the huge, shy, deep blue eyes that caught and held my attention.
She was too pretty. Too sweet. Not to mention, she looked innocent and pure. Which instantly made me want to defile her, and not just once, like usual. Maybe four or five times, just for starters.
And just like that, my dick got hard. In a nursing home. Even worse, in the presence of my granny. I barely even noticed.
“Oh. I didn’t know you had a guest, Miss Bonnie. I’ll come back later.”
I was too dumbstruck to do more than stare. The woman—the girl—was . . .
She was perfect.
And she was leaving. I stared as she backed out of the room, taking her rolling tray of books with her.
“Now that’s the kind of girl you should be settling down with, my boy.”
My first thought was:
She can’t be real.
My second thought was:
She’s way too good for me.
But I didn’t say any of that out loud. Nana would have a fit if she heard me talking like that. She’d always told me I was as good as anyone else, and I agreed with her. Until now. That girl was . . . unearthly. She looked like a literal angel. I started praying that she had a gambling problem. A shoplifting addiction. A fault. Any fault. Anything that might put her remotely in my league.