I'm woken up the next morning by sounds of life from the kitchen. Talking, the fridge opening and closing, spoons hitting bowls, the microwave going off, paws wandering the hardwood floor.
A wet nose bumps my ear, making me bury my face deeper into the blanket thrown over me.
"Indie, back up," Calum says. "Come."
The nose retreats. I groan and uncover my face, wanting nothing more than to stay under the blanket and sleep. I heave a sigh and avoid the sling getting up. The boys politely ignore me.
Realizing I'm not wearing a bra, I wrap the blanket around myself and stumble up the stairs, ignoring the nauseating pain in my shoulder.
Seth is lying on top of the bed's covers in the guest room, eyes closed.
A tap on the doorframe behind me makes me turn and Seth's eyes open. It's Ashton, with what could be distress or kindness lining his face. "Hey, there's breakfast downstairs if you want it. You guys okay?"
I nod and glance back to Seth. "You should eat."
He looks tired, but nods and follows us to the kitchen. We pass Luke on his way upstairs to get dressed.
Ben knocks at the door when I'm halfway through a piece of toast. Ashton lets him in, Ben glancing around as he comes through the kitchen.
"Nice place,"
Ashton nods. "Thank you."
Ben holds my shoulders lightly and kisses the top of my head. "How are we feeling today?"
"Good," I get up and set my plate on the counter next to the sink.
"That's good. How's your shoulder?"
I fidget with the sling. "It's fine."
"They gave me some medicine," he shakes a horse pill out of an orange bottle. At least it's coated. "Pain and swelling and stuff."
"What is it?"
"Just Ibuprofen in a bigger dose. I mentioned family history of opioid addiction and they wanted to keep you off anything addictive, just in case,"
Ibuprofen should be fine. It doesn't usually make me dizzy or nauseous like other medicine I've taken. I choke it down, mean to head upstairs to change, and realize I don't have clothes.
I take small steps up to Michael, scared to interrupt his conversation with Luke, and explain in a whisper. He takes me into the laundry room, finding me a stack of clothes made up of his shirt, Crystal's jeans, and Luke's beanie. He starts rooting around for socks at one point, and I remind him in a tiny voice that I have Vans.
He turns around and sees the tears that have been building up in my eyes against my will, and tucks me into his chest, rubbing my back. When I drop the clothes in surprise and whimper pathetically, he squeezes me tighter.
"Ashton's going to try for custody. The court date is Saturday. Has he told you?"
I sniff and pull away. "He is?"
"Keeping our fingers crossed the court decides to terminate your mom's custody, then we can swoop in and claim you,"
I can't hold back a laugh at that. Then a thought strikes and it fades into silence. "But he has a concussion. They don't give custody to anyone they think isn't fit."
"Actually, I don't think that will be a problem. The doctor said it was super mild for the injury, most of the symptoms were shock from the actual attack. But I guess you weren't there. He was throwing up and falling over and stuff,"
