Bad For You - Sherilee Gray Page 0,33

provided was now gone. Jesse’s jacket had done its job, but my legs and hands were like blocks of ice.

The old house we were parked outside had been converted into a care nursing home fifteen years ago.

Jesse’s expression was grim, resigned.

“Your mom’s here?” I asked him gently. Whatever was going on, it clearly hurt him.

“Yeah.” He took my hand and led me inside. There was a couch against the wall in the reception area and he motioned me toward it. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Will you wait for me here?”

A million questions flew around my head, but I kept them to myself. There was no missing the stress lining his handsome face. I nodded and he strode down one of the long hallways.

An hour later, and Jesse still wasn’t back.

A woman headed my way, a small smile on her face. “Are you here to see someone, honey?”

“I’m with a friend, Jesse Thomas.”

Her phone beeped and she frowned, looking down at it. “I was just going to take him this, but I have to rush off.” She handed me a bottle of water. “Could you take this to him? He’ll need it.”

“Um…I’m not sure…I don’t know…”

“End of the hall, make a right, then all the way to the end. It’s the room on the left.” Then she hustled off in the opposite direction.

I stood there, not sure what the heck to do. I frowned at the bottle in my hands, then glanced down the hall in front of me. Shoot. I didn’t want to intrude, but if the woman came back and I was still here with the water she’d think I was a jerk. With nothing else to do, I made my way down the hall.

I made the right and paused when then soft strains of a guitar, a low voice, deep and smooth as velvet, reached me, singing “You’ll Think Of Me” by Keith Urban. My brain tried to reason away what I was hearing, but there was no mistaking who it was. I carried on, my heart racing faster the closer I got to the room. The door was open and I peeked around the corner.

My heart lodged in my throat.

Jesse sat with his back to me, an acoustic guitar on his lap. He was playing and singing. A woman who had to be his mom lay on her side in a bed, her eyes open, staring up at him, her gaze hollow, heartbreaking.

I just stood there, not wanting to disturb and unable to tear my eyes away.

I stayed while he finished the song and started another, this time “Wherever You Will Go” by The Calling. His voice was strong and smooth with a bit of a rasp to it that sent shivers down my spine.

He kept on playing. “Here Without You” by 3 Doors Down was next.

All the songs were older, not music I thought Jesse would’ve been in to, but he played them beautifully.

I was intruding. I shouldn’t be here, but I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t make myself walk away.

When he played the opening to “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5 I bit my lip. I loved that song.

Jesse’s mom’s eyes closed, and you could tell by her breathing that she’d fallen asleep. Jesse kept playing until the song was finished, then he carefully leaned the guitar against her bedside table, careful not to bump the empty dinner plate on top, lifted the covers up around her neck, and brushed her hair back. He kissed her forehead, then grabbed the guitar again and stood.

He turned and his eyes collided with mine. For a split second he froze, and then moved silently toward me, out to the hall, and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling awful. “A nurse told me to bring you this.” I held up the water bottle. “But then I got here and I didn’t want to intrude…and I couldn’t seem to walk away.” I chewed on my lip. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. I shouldn’t have watched you with your mother…I shouldn’t have…”

He cupped my chin and tilted my head back. “It’s okay, Lila.” His voice was raspier than usual, and I handed him the drink. He cracked it open and drank half the bottle in one go, then smiled down at me. It didn’t reach his eyes, not like his smiles usually did. “My mom, she’s been in and out of places like this for as long as I can remember. She went through