Pushing myself up in the bed, I called, “Come in, sweetheart.” I winced from the slicing pain in my throat.

The door flew open, banging back on its hinges. Willow came barreling into the room. As her dark eyes met mine, the haunted look faded slightly. Her tear-streaked cheeks stretched into a wide smile. But as she surveyed me, the smile started to dim. I could only imagine my face was pretty messed up. “Oh, Miss Alex, you have so many boo-boos. Are you going to be okay?”

Forcing a smile to my face, I nodded. “I sure am. Just a little battered and bruised, but I’ll be fine.”

Her dark brows creased in worry, and I could see the wheels in her head were turning. She was wondering whether to believe me. Lifting my hand, I motioned her to the bed. “Come sit with me. I know being with you will make me feel better.”

She grinned as she made a beeline to the bed. “Careful,” Beth warned when Willow scrambled onto the bed.

“Want to watch some cartoons?” she asked.

“I’d love to.”

With a grin, she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote. After turning on the TV, she settled on an old Scooby-Doo episode.

“Think you could eat something?” Beth asked. When I shook my head, she said, “I have some biscuits and gravy made. They’d be soft on your stomach. But if you want some soup, I can make you some of that.”

Her insistence caused an emotional ache to burn through my chest. She was mothering me, and it had been so long since I had been mothered. It was something I missed desperately. At my continued hesitation, she said, “It’ll do you good, honey.”

With my throat clenched at the onslaught of emotion, I merely nodded my head. Beth’s face lit up at my agreement. “All right, then. Biscuits and grits or soup?”

“I can’t imagine anything I’d want more than your biscuits,” I said.

She smiled. “Then biscuits it is. Be back in a minute.”

As Willow snuggled to my side, I bent down to bestow a kiss on the top of her head. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. “Love you, Miss Alex,” Willow murmured.

Tears filled my eyes. “I love you, too, sweetheart. So very, very much.”

Gazing up at me, Willow said, “Oh, don’t cry!”

“It’s okay. They’re happy tears from hearing your sweet words.”

Willow frowned. “I was just going to say I wish you were my mommy, but I better not if it’s going to make you cry.”

There was the noise of someone clearing his throat in the doorway. When I glanced up, my heart surged at the sight of Deacon’s strong form. He held a tray filled with the food that Beth had insisted on me eating. “Hi,” I said softly.

“Hi,” he replied. His dark eyes then went to Willow. “Go on out to the kitchen and have your lunch.”

Her lips turned down in a pout. “But I wanna stay with Miss Alex.”

“Willow—”

“I just got to come in a few minutes ago,” she protested.

“Don’t argue with me. Go. Now,” he commanded. His no-nonsense tone had Willow scrambling off the bed, but it didn’t stop her from stomping across the room in a huff.

When she met him in the doorway, she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him down to her level. After he stooped a little, she said in a slightly hushed tone, “Miss Alex is hurt and sad, so you be nice to her.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What did you just say to me?”

“Don’t be mean like you usually are. Be nice.”

Deacon’s expression of utter disbelief brought a much-needed smile to my face. He stared down at his daughter like she was some alien life-form. The state of his shock took away any ability to chastise Willow for her words or tone. When he finally gave a slight nod of agreement, she breezed on past him into the hallway.

With a bewildered look on his face, he crossed the room to me. I sat up, propping myself against the pillows, as he eased down on the bed. “You hungry?”

“Not really. I just didn’t want to hurt Mama Beth’s feelings.”

“Well, you need to eat. Keep your strength up and all.”

I watched in surprise as he balanced the tray on his lap. Taking the spoon, he swirled it through some of the grits before scooping out a bite. When he brought it up to my mouth, I widened my eyes.

“What?” Deacon asked, the spoon hovering close to my lips.

“You just surprised me—that’s all.”

When I still didn’t take a bite, Deacon cocked his brows at me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do that bullshit thing like the spoon is an airplane.”

I laughed and then winced from my sore ribs. “Would you really do that?”

“Fuck no.”

Leaning forward, I took the spoon into my mouth, sliding the grits onto my tongue. “Mmm. Those are so good.”

“Leave it to Mama Beth to make homemade grits. She acts like it’s some kinda sacrilege to eat packaged ones.”

“She just wants the best for her boys,” I replied with a smile.

Deacon spooned me a bite of biscuit and gravy. As I chewed thoughtfully, he cocked his head at me. “What are you thinking about?”

“That no one would ever believe that Mr. Hard-Ass biker boy was feeding me.”

With a snort, Deacon said, “Boy? I’m a man, babe.”

“That you are.”

Obediently, I took in another bite of grits. Once I swallowed, Deacon brought the orange juice to my lips. “Shit!” I cried, as the acidity entered my mouth and swished against the raw parts caused by the gag as well as me biting on my tongue and cheek.

Deacon grimaced. “I should’ve realized orange juice wouldn’t be a good choice.”

“You have a lot of experience with busted mouths?” I questioned before I could stop myself.

“Yeah, I did. Back when I used to fight.”

“Don’t you fight anymore?”

“Yeah, but it was different back when I was kid. It was a way of survival then.” Searching my eyes for any judgment, he added, “But even now, I won’t stop fighting.”

“A necessary evil,” I murmured. When he gave a brief jerk of his head in acknowledgment, I couldn’t help asking, “What happens now?” I asked.

“You stay here until you get better.”

“Then what?”

Deacon shrugged. “Then you stay here until I get tired of you.”