Half The Battle: Saint View Psychos #2 by Thorpe Elle

Author:Thorpe, Elle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elle Thorpe Pty Ltd
Published: 2022-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

17

WAR

I got to the hospital at nine, right at the start of visiting hours, and made a desperate beeline for the coffee machine. It was terrible, of course, but even bad coffee was better than no coffee when you’d barely slept and had a mild hangover to boot.

I sipped the dark liquid carefully as I walked up to my mom’s room, lifting a hand in greeting to the nursing staff at the desk, who I was beginning to know by name after weeks of coming here every day. “How is she?”

“No change, I’m afraid. Sorry, War.” Louise was probably around the same age as me and had worked here since she’d left college. She’d kept me entertained one day with mildly flirtatious stories that heavily featured her ex, each one accentuating the fact she was single.

She was pretty, and probably had a bangin’ body beneath her scrubs, and pre-Bliss, I probably would have gone there. But despite Bliss and me making nothing between us official, I’d just completely lost interest in other women.

Apparently, the same could not be said for men, however.

I shoved my free hand in my pocket, the back of my neck heating when I thought about how I’d pushed Vincent up against the side of the bowling alley and kissed him until all I could think about was taking it a whole lot further.

I had no doubt in my mind that if the guy working there hadn’t walked out and busted us, I would have been down on my knees, learning how to give a blow job.

Or vice versa.

He’d seemed just as eager.

I blew softly over the top of my coffee and forced another sip of the barely drinkable sludge down my throat.

Fancy seemed tinier and frailer by the day. Every time I came in here, I was floored by the way the larger-than-life woman could suddenly look so helpless. I could still hear her big voice shouting for all the guys at the club to sit down and shut the fuck up.

Every single one of them had listened. Because Fancy knew her place, and she demanded the respect it brought.

She was queen to my old man’s king.

The king I’d probably never be, even though the crown had been placed firmly on my head.

I slumped down on the hard plastic seat by her bed and picked up her hand. It was cool and clammy, and much too lifeless for my liking. “Hey, Mom. How are you doing today? Any chance you might want to wake up? Would be good to see your eyes and hear your voice.”

I did this every day. But I’d stopped hoping for a response. The doctors kept saying there was a chance she could wake up, but the longer this dragged out, the more I doubted their assurances.

I wasn’t sure the Mom I knew was still in there, fighting to get back to me.

I had a feeling she knew about my dad and just didn’t want to do life without him.

I couldn’t even blame her.

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