before he could make it to the table to grab her pills. “I’m just…taking it all in. This is a lot.”
He looked confused, but nodded as if she was making total sense. “It’s been a weird, intense few days.”
It certainly had. And if she kept feeling all these warm feelings for Killian, it was only going to get weirder and more intense for her. She needed some reflection time, some perspective.
And there was really only one person in her life who could help her with that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROLLING HILLS WAS a high-security therapy and treatment center disguised as a low-key retirement village. Residents could walk the lush grounds, but most of them failed to notice just how many caregivers were lurking in the shadows, ready to help them back to their rooms if they got confused, hurt, or lost. And that happened every day, sadly.
Most of the patients here were dementia patients in various stages of the disease. Just about every doctor in the place was planning some kind of new therapy or treatment or clinical trial.
That’s why Greer had chosen Rolling Hills for her mom as soon as she was diagnosed. Nearly every penny Greer made went here, and still they wouldn’t include her mom in any of their trials.
They said it was because she didn’t meet their criteria. But Greer knew the truth. She didn’t have enough money to buy her way into any of their trials. That’s what a lot of people here had done. Rio had helped her get evidence of that.
Blackmail wasn’t her style, though. So she’d just have to keep trying. Keep applying to different trials and hoping someone would care more about the science than the prestige of publishing and the lure of bribe money.
Her mom’s favorite nurse was at the front desk when Greer walked into the lobby.
Natasha Anderson was a formidable-looking woman. About sixty years old, everything about Natasha screamed authority, from her no frills, iron-gray pixie cut, to her severe, painted on eyebrows that always made her look like she was pissed off, right down to the toes of her sensible orthopedic shoes.
She was also big and strong enough to flip a three-hundred pound patient on her own. It was damn impressive. Greer had seen her do it more than once.
Her thick Russian accent and blunt way with words didn’t do much to soften her image, either.
But underneath it all, Natasha was a softy. Greer knew that no one in this place was a better patient advocate than Natasha. And since Natasha had been helping Greer fight with her insurance company and research clinical trials for the past year in her spare time without asking anything in return, Greer was pretty much the unofficial president of the Natasha Anderson fan club.
Natasha was on the phone when Greer walked in, but she covered the receiver and whispered (well, as much as Natasha ever whispered. Volume control wasn’t really her thing), “I’ll buzz you in. She’s having a good day. She’ll be happy to see you.”
Greer grinned at her. “Thanks, Nat.”
Natasha winked in return. “And come see me when you’re done, yes? I have important news.”
Greer’s stomach sank. Natasha had been threatening to retire lately. This entire place would collapse without her. The younger nurses tried hard, but they were nowhere near as good with the patients (especially her mom) as Nat was.
Wouldn’t losing Nat just be the turd in the punchbowl of Greer’s already shitty week?
But Greer just gave her a little salute and made her way to her mom’s room. No point in worrying about it. Maybe she’d get lucky and Nat would just tell her it was taco day in the cafeteria.
The tacos in this place were shockingly great.
Greer paused outside her mom’s door before entering, just like she always did, to take a deep breath and say a little prayer. Even though Nat said she was having a good day, that could change in a heartbeat.
She just never knew what she was walking into when she opened the door. Her mom might be totally lucid, or she might think it was 1984 and that Greer was her sister, Sheila. She also might think Greer was a robber and throw a vase at her head. That’d happened, too. Fortunately, her mom didn’t have much of a pitching arm.
But when Greer pulled the door open today, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight that greeted her.
Ivy Glenanne was sitting by the window in her favorite purple velvet wing chair, a