"You are out of your mind, Quinn Barnes,” Chelsea says, walking over to the chair and sitting down. "Forget about you, jackass." She puts her hand on her forehead. “Can you imagine what she is going through in there?"
"I can tell you what she isn’t going to go through." I look at both of them. “She is not going to go through the fear of not knowing where she is going to sleep. She is not going to go through wondering if she can shower today or tomorrow. She is never going to miss another fucking meal in her life." I stare at them. “Unless she fucking wants to."
"Did you tell her all this?" Chelsea asks me. I open my mouth to say something, but then I close it when she tilts her head to the side, waiting for me to stick my foot in my mouth.
"What do you think?" I look at her, my hands getting clammy. “Do you think I could tell her all this, and she wouldn’t fight me?" I look at both of them. “No matter how much I would have told her, she would have fought me." I don’t add in that she always fights me with everything.
"Her whole life has been someone deciding things for her. Dictating where she lives, when she eats, if she showers,” Chelsea says, wiping away a tear from her face. “And as much as I know that you are only doing this to help her."
"She needs to be able to decide for herself," Amelia says. “She needs to feel in control. For once in her life, she should be the one in control."
I run my hands through my hair. “What if she chooses to go to that motel? What if she decides that?” I look at them. “Then what?”
Amelia laughs at me. “Well, then you aren’t doing a good enough job."
"I agree with Amelia,” Chelsea says.
"Shocking,” I say, shaking my head. “You guys are always ganging up on me."
"No, we are just smarter than you,” Chelsea says. “Now, when she gets out of that shower, you are going to ask her where she wants to go."
"And what if she says no?" I look at them both. “What if, after all this, she says no?"
"Then you ask her why," Amelia says. “You ask her why, and you give her reasons,” she says, and I’m about to say something when she holds up her hand to stop me. “And because I said so isn’t the answer to anything." I laugh. “I’m not kidding, Quinn."
"She’s not kidding," Chelsea tells me, and we both stop talking when the door opens.
Willow walks out of the bathroom with her hair to the side. “Um,” she says, and I see her in the hospital gown again. “I don’t have shoes.”
“I have some,” Chelsea says, getting up and getting the bag that they brought in. “I didn’t know if you wanted flip-flops or running shoes.” She unzips the bag. “So I brought both.” Taking out a pair of each. “If they are too small, we can trade.”
“I’ll take the flip-flops,” Willow says. “That way, if they’re too small or too big, it won’t matter.” She smiles shyly at Chelsea. “Thank you."
"Did you need help with your hair?" Amelia says, going to her, and she just looks at her. "I broke my arm last year because someone didn’t watch where he was going."
"You broke your arm because you were too busy watching where Asher was going to look in front of you.” I pipe in. “Too busy looking at …”
“We get it.” Amelia holds up her hand at me, then turns back to look at Willow, who is rolling her lips, trying not to laugh. “Do you need help?”
“Um, sure,” she says softly, and I look at her.
I look at Chelsea, who motions with her eyes toward Willow. “Go on," she mouths to me.
"Um, Willow," I start to say, and my tongue gets heavy in my mouth when she looks at me. "Do you really want to stay at the motel?"
She looks at me. “Excuse me?"
"Do you want to stay at the motel that you asked about yesterday?" I ask her again, and the whole room is so quiet you can hear the tick of the clock in the room.
"Or," Chelsea says, “you can stay with us."
"You don’t have to decide now,” I say. “You can. Um …" Why am I failing to find the words?
"How about we do your hair while Quinn thinks of ways to say he’s sorry," Amelia tells Willow, who just looks down at the floor. She nods her head, turning to walk into the bathroom.
Once the door clicks behind them, Chelsea lets out a snort. “What the hell is wrong with you?"
I look down at my hands and wipe them on the front of my legs. “Oh my God." She claps her hands and then hits her leg. “You’re nervous."
"I am not." I shake my head, denying it.
"The cool, calm, and collected Quinn Barnes is nervous." She laughs really loud.
"Would you shut up?" I hiss at her, looking at her and then the bathroom door.
"You are nervous and scared."
"Seriously, shut up," I hiss over at her, walk to the door, and then turn around when the door opens.
Amelia comes out, and I see she has tears in her eyes, and I take a step forward. “Don’t you dare."
"What’s wrong?” Chelsea says and gets up, and Amelia shakes her head.
"I need to get her a pair of jeans and a shirt,” she says, going to the bag and grabbing jeans and a shirt. “All her clothes are ripped and …" She puts her hand in front of her mouth to block the sob that is going to come out of her.
Chelsea rushes over to her. “I’ll take it to her." She grabs the things out of Amelia’s hand.
"Bring her two pairs of each,” I say. “Give her choices,” I say, and she walks back over and brings the whole bag with her.
I walk over to Amelia and put my arm around her as she looks at me. “She is not going to some fucking motel."
"I know,” I say, rubbing her arm. I also know that if she thinks I’m going to take her, she will be disappointed once again, and this time, it’s going to be me who hurts her, and the thought alone kills me.
Chapter 18
Willow
The soft knock on the door makes me look up. My hair is in a French braid, thanks to Amelia, who came in, and in a matter of minutes, it was tied up, and it felt great. "Come in,” I say softly, sitting on the toilet seat. Holding my elbow in my hand, I’m waiting to put the sling on.
The door opens, and Chelsea comes in slowly with the black bag in her hands. "Hi." She smiles at me, and I just look at her. She is so beautiful, and her eyes are so kind. She quickly closes the door behind her. "I brought you choices,” she says, and I just look down at the black bag.
My own black bag sits by the door in a low heap since all I had in there were two pairs of jeans that were almost bare from wearing and two semi-clean shirts. There is only so much you can clean while living in a car. "Um," I start, “I have a couple of things in my bag, but with everything that happened …"
She smiles at me. “I know," she says softly. “But the good news is I have some things here." She puts the big bag on the floor in front of me and unzips the bag, squatting down. “Now, what were you thinking?”