Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

“You don’t have to be,” I tell her. “You can be scared. You can cry. Today was a lot.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her grip on me loosens, and she straightens herself up.

“I’m okay now, Mom.” Her voice is clear and steady as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her pajamas. Eight going on thirty. And that’s my fault too.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I ask. “If you were upset or frightened.”

June shrugs. “I wanted to tough it out.”

Tough it out. I grit my teeth and breathe once through my nose. That’s a Patrick thing.

“You don’t have to tough it out by yourself, June Bug.” I press a kiss to her forehead, and she lies back down on her pillow. “Next time, please tell me if you’re feeling bad, and I promise to try to pay closer attention. We’re stronger together, and that means we have to be honest with each other. No more toughing it out alone.”

I close my fist and stick out my pinky finger. “Promise?”

Her lips twitch into a smile, and she makes her own fist, then hooks her pinky with mine.

“Promise,” she says, then we both lean in and press a kiss to our knuckles.

“Love you, June,” I whisper as I tuck her in, then leave one last kiss on her forehead.

“Love you, Mama.”

I tiptoe out of her bedroom and into my own, then crawl underneath my fluffy duvet, but sleep doesn’t come. When I close my eyes, I’m transported through my memories to a couple years earlier. I hear the phone call. I hear June’s muffled whimpers. I smell the antiseptic and choke on thick smoke. I toss and turn for several more minutes before I give up and silently make my way back to June’s room. She’s fast asleep now, and she doesn’t stir as I crawl onto her twin bed and lie down beside her. I listen to her rhythmic breathing, place my hand on her back to feel her steady heartbeat, and close my eyes.

I’ll stay just for a bit. Get a few hours of sleep, and then I’ll wake up and sneak out before she even realizes I was here at all. Like always.

* * *

“Good morning, Roxanne,”I greet as I step through her doorway with the breakfast tray.

I wasn’t assigned to the hall Roxanne’s room is on for my last few shifts, and things have been so crazy that I wasn’t able to check on her. I’m glad to see her again, and I smile when I find that she’s already dressed in a pair of red sparkly pants and a black silk blouse.

“You look wonderful today.”

“I know.” She grins. “You’re looking rather beautiful yourself.”

I shrug off the compliment. I definitely feel like an extra on The Walking Dead, so I’m sure I look the part, as well. I’m running on the fumes of fumes, at this point.

“Take the compliment, Jocelyn,” Roxanne scolds, but I laugh it off.

“How was your night?” I set her tray up on the small table by the window. “You’re progressing well with your physical therapy.”

“Fine, fine,” she answers from behind me, but her next words are cut off by someone bursting through the door.

“Roxanne Gunther, you are in trouble,” a deep voice calls, and I straighten from the table and whip around just in time to see a large man lift Roxanne in his arms and spin her in a hug. My senses go on high alert, and my heart races in my ears while I try to quickly determine if the scene in front of me is threatening or if it is causing Roxanne pain. Then her raspy laugh breaks through the air allowing my shoulders to relax.

“Put me down, you big buffoon,” she forces out between gasps of laughter, and the man carefully and gently sets her back on her feet next to her walker.

“Woman, you had me worried sick,” the man scolds, and I watch, fascinated as the muscles in his wide back flex under the fabric of his shirt. “I had to hear from Ralph. Ralph!”

“Oh, phooey on Ralph. That man needs to mind his own damn business. He’s such a busybody.” She waves a hand at the man and shuffles around him, coming toward the table where I’m standing. When the man turns to follow her, my jaw drops and my eyes widen.

Jesse Hernandez.

Jude’s “new friend.” The intriguing shadow from the hospital last week. The boy with no s’mores.

The calm, professional demeanor I remember from the hospital last Sunday is gone, and instead, his shoulders are tight, his jaw is rigid, and his brows are etched with concern.

“If it weren’t for Ralph, I’d have no idea what happened to you, Rox,” he answers seriously. His attention is fully on the smirking red-haired woman so he hasn’t noticed me yet. “I showed up today with my box of hats and your house was locked up tight. ‘Stang in the garage, mail overflowing from the mailbox—I brought it for you, by the way.” He pulls a bundle of envelopes out of his back pocket and hands it to her. “If Ralph hadn’t been creepin’ from his porch, I’d still be pacing your front lawn. I thought you’d died.”

Roxanne snorts. “You know I’m too stubborn to die. Now if you’d thought I’d run off with a lover....” she winks, causing Jesse to let out an exasperated laugh.

“I’m sorry to have scared you, Jesse,” she says, then takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “I really am fine. Just a little trouble with my hip, but I should be out soon. And I’m in good hands.”

Roxanne gestures my way, and before I’m ready, the full force of Jesse’s attention lands on me. I don’t have enough time to transform my fascinated smile into something more appropriate, but I try my best.

“Nice to see you again,” I say, and his face breaks into a mischievous grin. It’s Cheshire-like, the way it grows and stretches over his face.

“Jocelyn.” My name rolls out of his mouth in a way that sounds almost indecent, and I have to fight back a chill. I’m immediately self-conscious, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the man in front of me.

Man.

Definitely not a boy.

“You work here?” he asks, and I lamely gesture to my name badge.

“CNA,” I force out. “But RN soon. Hopefully.”