“Good.” Then she stepped into him and rested her head on his chest and hugged him tightly. “I’m going to worry about you no matter what you say,” she admitted.
Eagle hugged her back, loving how she felt in his arms. They’d gotten pretty touchy feely lately, and ever since they’d fought and made up this morning, they’d been touching each other even more. He wasn’t complaining.
“I’ll let you know the second we get back,” he told her.
“Good.” She pulled away. “All right, let’s get going. There’s a doughnut in my apartment calling my name.”
“I can’t believe how many you already ate this morning,” Eagle teased.
“They’re my weakness—I can’t help it. And if you keep bringing them for me in two-dozen batches like you did this morning, I’m gonna weigh eight hundred pounds, so keep that in mind.”
Eagle followed behind her as she walked down the hall and couldn’t help but let his eyes land on her ass. It was round and gorgeous . . . and he’d already fantasized about how it would feel in his palms as she rode him.
If she thought she was anything but perfect, she was sadly mistaken. He’d bring her doughnuts for the rest of her life if it meant keeping her ass looking exactly how it did now.
“Did you hear me?” she asked as they crossed the great room.
“I heard you,” Eagle assured her.
“That smile on your face makes me nervous,” Taylor told him.
“It shouldn’t. I have only your best interests at heart,” Eagle said.
Taylor rolled her eyes, but chuckled.
After he’d taken her home and walked her up to her apartment and was driving to his place, Eagle began to strategize how he could move himself out of the friend zone. Nothing foolproof came to mind, but he had some time to think about it.
He was going to do whatever it took to maintain his friendship with Taylor, even while moving their relationship to the next level. He had a feeling it would be the best thing he’d ever done in his life. And he couldn’t wait.
Chapter Nine
Taylor didn’t want to think about where Eagle and his friends were going or what they would be doing. Well . . . she knew what they’d be doing, but that only made her more nervous. Intellectually, she realized they had to be very good at sneaking into foreign countries and taking out bad guys, but in her heart, the very idea scared her to death.
Earlier, she’d debated going to the Dementia Senior Care Center. What she really wanted to do was lie in bed with the covers up over her head, but if she didn’t go visit the residents, who would? There was one man who didn’t have any visitors except for her. And another woman only got to see her children once a month. Granted, both had no recollection of either of their families—or her, for that matter—but Taylor knew she’d feel guilty if she didn’t go.
For the hundredth time, she wished Eagle was there. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, not wanting him with her. She had a feeling he would’ve made her visit so much easier. He had a way of cutting through the bullshit in her head and making her believe that her condition didn’t matter in the larger scope of life. She was trying to believe that.
So here she was. Outside the center, sitting in the loaner car she’d been given to use while hers was being repaired.
Facing what her future might look like was always scary. A month ago, this had been her future. When she got old, she’d have to go into some home and be cared for by strangers. Because the nurses and doctors who worked in the home would be strangers. Every single person who came into her room would always be.
But now that she’d met Eagle, she’d begun to feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d have him by her side when she got old . . . and that future didn’t seem so scary. Of course, that was ridiculous; just because someone was your friend didn’t mean they always would be. Or that they’d stand by you when you needed them the most. She’d learned that more than once.
But she had no doubt that if Eagle said he’d do something for her, he’d do it. That was just how he was. Who he was.
Taking a deep breath, Taylor pushed open her door and got out. She needed to get inside. She had work to do at home; delving into a boring textbook would be just what she needed to keep her mind off missing Eagle and wondering if he was all right.
Taylor entered the care center, and the smell of the place hit her right in the face. It wasn’t awful . . . she’d been in places that smelled worse than this, but it was still strong. Antiseptic, the bleach they used to clean the floors and surfaces, and a faint scent of urine. Some of the residents weren’t ambulatory and inevitably soiled their linens.
She walked up to the desk. “Hi, I’m Taylor Cardin, and I’m here to volunteer.”
The young woman sitting there glanced up from her phone. “Hi. I know it’s you, Taylor. You come here every week.” She sounded irritated. Taylor had told the employees about her prosopagnosia, but she didn’t seem to remember, or care, that Taylor couldn’t recognize her.
The employee grabbed a visitor’s badge and handed it over. “Here you go. You know the rules.”
And that was it.
Taylor was annoyed. For the safety of the residents, the person working the front desk should care a little more about who she was letting in and a little less about gossiping on social media. Knowing that saying anything would do no good, Taylor clipped the tag onto her shirt and headed down the hallway to her right. She would stop in and see how Mr. Clarkson was doing first. He was the man with no family who never had visitors.
She read the names on each door and was relieved to see Mr. Clarkson hadn’t been moved since last week when she’d been there. Sometimes that happened, and she had to hunt for her favorite residents. She’d also once made the mistake of not checking the names on the door and had spent thirty minutes talking to a woman, thinking she was someone else. Which was like a comedy of errors—Taylor thinking the woman was another resident, and the resident thinking Taylor was someone from her past.
Pushing open the door, Taylor swallowed hard as the smell hit her. It was always stronger in the individual rooms. She’d mostly gotten used to it, though. Mr. Clarkson was sitting on the side of his bed, looking down at the floor. He was wearing a hospital gown instead of his usual flannel pants and T-shirt.
“Hi, Mr. Clarkson,” she said softly. “It’s good to see you.”
“Ellen?” he said, his eyes lighting up as he looked to the door.
Taylor knew Ellen had been his wife. She’d died a few years ago, but Mr. Clarkson thought everyone who came through the door was his long-lost love.
“What are you doing just sitting there?” Taylor asked, knowing it was better not to deny she was his wife, that he wouldn’t know who she was anyway if she said her name.
“Ellen, where have you been? I’ve missed you!” Mr. Clarkson said and held out his hand.
Taylor walked over and took it in her own. His skin was mottled with age, and his grip was weak, but she barely noticed any of that. She did notice the back of his hand was bruised all to hell, and it made her heart hurt looking at it. It was obvious he’d had to have an IV put in at some point since she’d last seen him. He looked even more fragile than usual. And the fact that he wasn’t wearing his normal clothes was another cause for concern.