“You need a place to stay? Come on over here. We have space,” she offers easily.
My heart squeezes at how generous she is. I didn’t even have to ask, and she was already offering. It’s friends like that who see a need and fill it without making you feel any shame. And that’s why they Marshalls have always felt like family.
Colt’s words come back to me instantly.You’re a part of our family too, Molly. You know that, right?
“Oh, actually, the only room that’s free right now is Colt’s old room. Are you okay with sleeping in there? Or you can sleep on any of the couches that are downstairs, but dad might be up watching the news late,” she says.
I freeze for a second, weighing my response, then force myself to recover quickly. I can’t act weird about sleeping in Colt’s old room—if I do, Regan might start asking questions, and I’m not ready to answer them.
Guilt creeps in anyway. Lying to her—one of my closest, and honestly, one of my only friends left in this town—feels like a betrayal.
Except it’s not a lie. Not really. I’m just… not ready to tell her the truth. Not about what happened. And definitely not about the fact that it’s happened twice now.
“Colt’s room is fine,” I hurry out, hoping I didn’t pause for too long.
“Okay, cool. Not sure when the last time the sheets were changed, though. I’m down at the egg farm helping Cash so if you get there before me, just toss them in the laundry with anything else that you need washed, okay?”
“Sure, no problem. Oh, and do you mind if I borrow a t-shirt? I’m still in my uniform and everything’s locked inside.”
“Sure! Take whatever you want. See you tonight. Heads-up, though—it looks like a storm’s rolling in, so I might not be able to catch up with you until the morning. We’re trying to get everything prepped for hurricane-force winds and make sure the hens are all taken care of.”
“Talk soon.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone for a second before heading to my car, a nagging sense of something missing gnawing at me.
Oh, right—my whole damn life that’s stuck back in my home.
I peel out of the parking lot and take the back road to Whitewood Creek Farm, making record time. Relief floods me when I see Cash’s car isn’t in the driveway and neither is Colt’s. He’s probably busy helping with storm prep then hunkering down for the night. The guilt hits hard and fast, like it always does. We used to tackle things like this together when we were kids,but today? My body’s screaming from the back-to-back shifts on parole duty, and my head’s still spinning from the mess with my duplex.
The front door is unlocked, so I let myself in, calling out to avoid catching anyone off guard. “Mr. Marshall? Anyone here? It’s Molly Patrick.”
Silence.
I step into the kitchen, and there he is, sitting at the dining table with his phone blasting some video loud enough to shake the windows. He looks up, catching my eye without even being startled as if he’d expected me to waltz in here after so many years apart.
“Molly Patrick,” his grin widens. “What a nice surprise. Come on in!”
I smile at the older gentleman who’s always felt more like a father to me than my own ever did. Walking around the table, I give him a hug before pulling out a chair to sit beside him.
All I really want right now is a long, hot shower—to scrub every inch of my skin and banish the crawling feeling that the bed bugs have left behind. It’s irrational, I know, but the itch feels like it’s under my skin. But I haven’t seen Kent Marshall in a decade, and here he is, offering me a place to stay without a single string attached. That kind of kindness deserves my time and focus.
“It’s great to see you. What brings you by? Here to see Regan?” he asks gently.
“Unfortunately, bed bugs.”
His brow arches before he lets out a booming laugh that echoes throughout the house. “Bed bugs? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I sigh. “I wish I was. My neighbors brought them home from their travels, and with our walls being so thin, the landlord’sforcing us out while they fumigate. He wants to make sure the infestation hasn’t spread to the whole building.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate for you but fortunate for us,” he says, his smile warm enough to ease some of the tension in my chest. “At least it means we get to have you staying with us for a while.”
Kent Marshall has always been a reminder of what goodness looks like—pure, uncomplicated, generous and expecting nothing in return. It’s a rare quality and one I didn’t grow up around.
Even Maverick lost sight of it as he got older. He stopped protecting me the way an older brother should, his selfish choices eclipsing what little bond we had left. His calls and texts became less frequent after I left for Louisiana and married Jordan. Our relationship became one-sided with him rarely answering and only when I initiated the communication.
But Mr. Marshall has never been like that. He’s the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without hesitation and no matter the length of time between seeing him, he’s picked up like I’m still sixteen years old, dirty, hungry and looking for a safe place to rest.
“Colt’s room is free if you want to crash there,” he offers.
