Page 8 of A Surefire Love
“Hard to say,” Anson said. “There’s nothing visibly out of place, but that doesn’t rule out a break. Then again, sometimes sprains hurt just as much. And everyone’s pain tolerance is different.” He studied Mercy, silently judging.
Tears dripped from Mercy’s dark lashes to her reddened cheeks.
“You could ice it tonight,” he said. “See how she’s feeling in the morning. Take her in if she still can’t walk.”
Blaze scanned the faces peering down at them. When Many Oaks residents gossiped, they traced family connections. To these people, she wasn’t Blaze the singer or Blaze the dealership’s new sales manager. She was Blaze—daughter of a drunk and a meth addict. Such a shame, they’d say, shaking their heads. Her grandparents were supposedly good, honest, and hardworking.
Blaze had never known them.
If she made too many mistakes, someone might call child protective services, thinking Blaze was as poor a guardian as her mom had been. Mercy could be taken away. Therefore, mistakes weren’t an option.
“We’ll go to the emergency room.” She threaded her arm around her sister’s back.
Anson motioned her to stop. “Let me.”
Not a chance. But even skinny Mercy weighed a good ninety pounds. This would take finesse. Blaze pulled the stool closer. “Put your good foot down and grab the chair. I’m here to help, but you’ll need to try to stand, okay?”
Mercy clamped her hand around the closest chair leg. Anson braced it, and Marissa stooped to help Blaze. Together, they hefted Mercy to her feet and helped her onto the seat.
Standing again, Blaze spotted Philip talking to a bartender. “Let me get my things, and we’ll head out, okay? Wait here.”
Mercy nodded.
Blaze patted her knee, then slipped through the crowd to Philip and shared her plan to take Mercy in.
“You need a lift?” he asked.
The fact that he hadn’t questioned her decision solidified her ever-shaky confidence. “No. I can drive. It’s all right for me to duck out?”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”
Blaze collected her purse from the back and rejoined Mercy and her friends at the table. Anson hovered too, but she kept her back to him. “Ready, champ?”
Mercy pushed her hair from the tear tracks on her cheeks. Blaze settled her purse strap higher on her shoulder. She’d need both hands free for this.
“What’s the plan?” Anson asked.
She clenched her teeth. “To get her medical attention.”
Marissa stepped around the table, hand extended. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring the car to the door.”
Blaze dug them from her purse. “It’s all the way in the back, straight out from the doors.”
“Okay.” Marissa headed off.
If only Anson would follow. Instead, his eyebrows lifted. “You’re going to have her hop all the way outside?”
“I guess that’s what people do.”
“Not if they don’t have to.”
“I don’t see any wheelchairs laying around.”
“I could carry her.”
“Seriously?” Accept self-righteous Anson’s help? “No. Thanks.” Though he at least provided inspiration. Maybe Blaze could carry Mercy piggyback.
Mercy leaned away, suspicion on her face. “You’renot carrying me.”
