Ava's POV
Wednesday — 2:14 p.m. — Razor Riders Compound, South Carolina
I was officially beginning to hate the word rest.
Everybody kept using it. Blaze, Dad, Morgan, Tootsie.
Even Nettie had threatened to smack my hand with a wooden spoon when I offered to help clean the kitchen.
I was twenty-eight years old, a registered nurse, and apparently incapable of carrying my own lunch plate.
“Blaze?”
He glanced up. “Yeah, Darlin'?”
“Can we go outside?”
“Outside where?”
I blinked.
“Outside, Blaze. You know, where the sun lives?”
He chuckled. “Smartass.”
“Please?”
“Porch. That's it. And you're wearing shoes.”
I looked at my fuzzy pink slippers.
“These are shoes.”
“Those are pink fuzzy things.”
“Royal footwear.”
Laughing, he helped me stand.
........................
The afte
