Page 5 of May's Bad Boy: Kody

And then she says it. Just like that.

"What if you got married?"

The words land hard.

She barrels on, hands flying. "Not for real real—just legally. A contract. No pressure. No romance. You give her insurance and protection, and she gives you the image of stability a judge wants. Two birds. One legal binding solution."

I blink. "You want me to marry a stranger?"

"She's not a stranger. She's a woman who deserves a break. And so do you."

I don't speak. I just stand there, processing the weight of it.

Shane lets out a long sigh behind me. "We're really doing this, huh?"

Caitlin shrugs, eyes locked on mine.

"It's nuts... but what if it helps both of you?"

From the hallway, I hear the faint, familiar sound of Sadie stirring.

And somewhere in the back of my head, a voice whispers the one thing I can't ignore:

She's the only good thing I've got left.

I don't answer.

Instead, I just stare at Caitlin, and try to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do next.

CHAPTER 2

PAIGE

The light above me is too bright. It hurts my eyes when I try to open them, so I clamp them shut again. Where am I? My brain scrambles to catch up as I open my eyes again and blink against the glare. It smells like antiseptic, latex gloves, and something faintly floral that reminds me of the wipes they used at the front desk of the spa where I used to work. The spa that is part of my past life.

I turn my head slowly and the sound of machines beeping in a steady rhythm comes rushing in. My eyes focus on a clipboard on the wall and a curtain pulled halfway. I recognize this place. It’s the Mustang Mountain Clinic. At least I'm not dead, so I guess that's something.

My arms feel like they've been through a blender. Pins and needles crawl along my skin, buzzing through my fingertips until I flex them and groan softly.

"Whoa there," a familiar voice says gently. It still takes my brain a minute to register who it belongs to.

Courtney.

She comes into focus beside the bed, her brown hair in a messy bun, a worry line deep between her brows. The nurse behind her is adjusting something, checking numbers on a monitor, but I don't look long. I already know why I'm here.

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I can already feel it, the shame, the fear, the sick twist of helplessness curling low in my gut.

"I told myself I had one more dose," I rasp. My throat feels like it's been scraped raw. "That it would last."

Courtney doesn't flinch, and she doesn't scold me. She just folds her arms gently and says, "You can't keep rationing insulin, Paige. It's going to kill you."

My throat tightens. I turn my head, but it's too late to stop the tears. They slide hot and silent down my face.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, even though sorry isn't enough. It hasn't been for a long time.

"Don't be sorry. Be here. Be alive. That's all we care about because we love you."

Her voice is too kind, and kindness hurts worse than judgment right now. It always does.

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