Rumor (A Renegades Novella) by Joan Swan, Skye Jordan Page B

care?”
    “Sup boss?” Pete answered.
    “That address for Carolyn Ashby,” he said. “Was that her work address?”
    “I don’t think so. Hold on a sec…” Rustling papers sounded over the line, more keys clicking, and every passing moment developed a whole new layer of sickening dread in Josh’s gut. “No. That is her home address. She has no work address.”
    Josh rested his forehead in his hand. Fuck. Everything Grace was doing suddenly made sense. Perfect sense.
    “Oh my God.” He rubbed his hand down his face. He couldn’t have fucked up any worse. “Shit, Pete, can you do me a quick favor? That address is for a private home care facility for something called memory care—”
    “That’s a nice way of saying Alzheimer’s or dementia. My grandmother went to a home like that.”
    Josh’s shoulders sagged. His brow furrowed. Nine months. Grace had been suffering and struggling with this for nine months? Alone?
    “Can you find out how much the facility costs?”
    “Looking. But I can tell you it’s expensive,” Pete said, fingers tap-tap-tapping. “And insurance doesn’t cover it. I remember because my mom was my grandma’s only living relative, and the cost nearly bankrupted our family.”
    “Just…” Josh rubbed his eyes. “Text it to me, would you?”
    “Done. Later.”
    Pete disconnected, but Josh stood there a long time, letting everything gel in his mind. There were still questions, but the big ones had pretty much just been answered—Grace was working at the club to pay for her mother’s care.
    His chest felt both hollow and full. Tears wet his eyes.
    If he hadn’t already been in love with Grace, he’d have fallen hard that very second.
    He took a minute to get his emotions together before heading inside. He hadn’t anticipated seeing Grace again after his royal fuck-up last night, knowing she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She needed a friend. And, like it or not, she was stuck with him.
    He entered through the tall gate, which made more sense now, and approached the double front doors. He cleared his throat, planted his hands at his hips, and stared at his shoes. While his thoughts darted in five different directions—Beck, Carolyn, Grace, the club, his own scheduled vacation—his heart filled with purpose.
    His cell buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket to find Pete’s message.
    Safe Haven runs $6300 a month for full care of Alzheimer’s patients. Ashby has no personal long-term insurance, but she does have Medicaid, which covers very little. Ashby’s doctor visits and medication are partially covered by Medicare. Family picks up the bulk of the overall cost for care.
    Which meant Grace was footing a monthly bill of somewhere between four and five thousand dollars.
    He sucked a deep breath, blew it out, and knocked.
    A muffled female voice called, “Come on in.”
    With a hive of bees buzzing in his chest, Josh pushed the door open and glanced into the foyer.
    “I’m in the kitchen,” the woman said from somewhere deeper in the house.
    He stepped into the small tiled foyer and shut the door. The thick, fresh scent of pine hit him first, which he guessed was coming from the tree in the window of another room facing the street. This formal living room had been decorated elaborately with pine branches and holly leaves on the fireplace mantel, and prettily wrapped presents stacked alongside the brick hearth.
    Two elderly women—much older than Grace’s mother—sat on either end of a blue sofa watching television. Neither took their eyes off the set when Josh walked in. Both sat upright and still, hands in their laps, reminding Josh of a pew in church. The rosary sliding through one of the women’s fingers might have helped that impression along.
    “Hi there.” Josh stepped into the living room, and both women turned to look at him.
    The woman with the rosary returned her attention to the television without a word. The