My heart is pounding and I feel like a lying sinner, but the girl isn’t focused on me at all. “You saw Cross? Oh my God, how was he?”
I don’t want to tell her. I’m being possessive of my knowledge, because at this point it may be the only thing I have.
“He was…” I fumble, then realize I can bypass my emotions by playing the role of a nurse. “Your friend had a gunshot wound, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t hit anything vital. When they took him to the OR, the general consensus was that he would probably be fine.”
“Oh my God.” She covers her face, then seems to remember her chest and covers it with her other arm. “I’m so embarrassed that I freaked out like I did. It’s just…I heard my friend got married to this random woman he met on this biker trip to Mexico. My other best friend is getting married, too, and…” She shrugs, and her face collapses like she’s going to cry again.
All my possessive pseudo-animosity is gone, and suddenly it’s like I remember how to be a woman. A normal, American woman…not a sex slave or a nun. I wrap my arms around her, and the woman’s pretty face is pressed against my shoulder.
It’s pitiful, because all I can think is that I’m happy I get to comfort someone Cross knows. Someone he cares about. I know he would like that.
I really shouldn’t care.
After a minute, she pulls away. “Thank you,” she says, and I can tell she’s working hard to hid her embarrassment. She slips on the jacket and I smile. “See? No one will know about your shirt.”
“Except my therapist.” She laughs, a hollow little sound. “I think I need to find one, ASAP.”
I shrug. “You don’t seem too crazy to me.”
“Maybe not,” she sighs. “I’m definitely terrible at the boy-girl thing, though.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right boy.” It sounds trite, but it makes my heart ache because I think of Cross. No son of Drake Carlson can ever be the right man for me.
The girl standing across from me bites her lip, then shakes her head—reminding me, in that moment, of someone years younger. “Not really,” she says, as her eyes glitter with tears again. “I’ve started thinking there’s just…no one.”
I hug her again, this time one-armed. “That’s not true. There’s someone for everyone.”
She sighs. “My guy is probably a missionary on some tiny island somewhere.”
This makes me laugh, and a second later she giggles. She has a cute-sounding giggle. As we smile, I can see why Cross likes her. Before I can wonder how much, the intercom hums on, and a woman’s voice calls my name. Well, she says “Meredith Carlson. Please come to the Operating Room Intake Desk.”
My lungs seize up, because the woman didn’t say who was paging me—a nurse or the cops. Maybe I should just walk out. Hitchhike to Vegas. I could do that, couldn’t I? It would suck, but I could do it.
The girl sniffs loudly. “I guess I can go meet the real…” She almost loses it. “His new wife,” she finishes gamely. “I think maybe that means he’s out of surgery now, and we can get an update.”
I hold my breath. I hold it for so long I almost start to see stars. Then I make another choice—the choice not to leave quite yet, despite knowing Cross has people here for him. “Would you like me to walk you to the OR waiting area? You seem like you could use some company and I’d like to see how the patient is doing.”
Cross’s pretty friend smiles. “That’d be great.”
She zips the jacket, igniting a sting of envy somewhere behind my breast bone, and we step into an over-bright hallway that smells of stale coffee and antiseptic.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stepping out into these halls with nothing to shield me. No one to protect me. If the cartel is on my heels… If Cross killed Jesus’s sister, Christina… If he didn’t…
I’m a fool for not just leaving, but I can’t seem to walk away.
All of a sudden I notice Cross’s friend is looking at me, and I realize she doesn’t know where she’s going. I’m the ‘nurse’. I’m supposed to be leading us.
“Oh, the OR waiting room. Sorry.” I rub my eyes. “Long day.”
Her gaze trails down my clothes, and her lips pinch together. “Are those dark stains from…”
I let my sorrow over all of this show on my face, and her expression matches mine.
“He’s had a really rough time,” she tells me as I lead us to the waiting area.
I don’t want to hear this from her…but I do. “What happened to him?”
She sucks her perfect lip into her perfect mouth. “He got into a motorcycle wreck a couple of months ago. It’s a really long story, but let’s just say he had some enemies. One of them caught up with him and…it really is a long story, but it led to his wreck.” She lowers her voice and moves her head a little closer to mine. “People think he wrecked because he was drunk. It kind of tarnished his reputation…not that he was thought of as a saint before.” She sighs. “Anyway, after that he had a lot of health issues. He was in a coma, then he had a stroke. His parents are selfish, awful losers and they never came to visit him at all.” Her shoulders rise and fall, like she’s taking a deep, composing breath. “It just makes me so mad, you know. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve what’s going on.”
I nod, feeling twenty things at once: the strongest of them are jealousy, want and loss. I’m not sure how much more Cross stuff I can stand to hear from this woman’s mouth, so I ask a self-serving question. “Why was he down in Mexico?”
She shrugs. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know. My friend Liz said he was going to some motorcycle convention, but her fiancé Hunter is suspicious. After we got the call that Cross was here, we all jumped on a plane together and talked about it. I think it’s even weirder because when we got here, another nurse told us Cross had arrived in the helicopter with a wife.” Her hazel eyes widen. “A freaking wife!” She shakes her head, and I get the feeling she’s trying not to get upset again.
“Have you met her yet?” I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but I can’t help myself.
The woman shakes her head. “I’m not sure I want to, either.”
We walk in silence to the OR’s waiting room, and as soon as I open the door, I wish I wasn’t here. The place is filled with pretty, well-dressed people who I know at a glance are Cross’s friends. There’s a very familiar-looking guy dressed in slacks and a button-up; he’s got a goatee and hair that is neither red nor blond nor brown, but some mix of all three. Beside him is a handsome guy in a baseball cap, blue jeans, and a worn-out-looking t-shirt; he’s sitting in a plastic chair with his legs spread wide. He looks casual, but something about him just screams wealth! A pretty, dark-haired girl is latched onto his arm, practically sitting on top of him; that’s how close their chairs are. Her eye-makeup is just as smeared as Barbie’s. She’s wearing skinny jeans, an over-sized white sweater, and charcoal Chucks, and she’s got her eyes trained on some double-doors topped with a sign that says ‘ICU’.
When I see that, my stomach twists.
I stand there, feeling like I just swallowed a ball of cotton. My blood-crusted clothes cling to me, and I think my heart is going to explode if I can’t get my hands on Cross—right now.
And that’s when I know: I have to leave. I’m too involved. I’m living in a fantasy.
I’m so grateful that I’m out of Mexico. I’m grateful for Cross’s arms around me when I told him my story, even if at the moment I knew him as Evan. I’m sorry and grateful and confused at how he took two bullets for me…but I’m living in a fantasy. Whatever I think this is—it’s not.
I don’t even know this man.
And if I did know him, it would be wrong. So wrong and weird.
Whatever you think this is—it’s not, I tell myself.
Tears start falling, but I keep on moving. This time, I’m not turning back, no matter how much I might want to.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I wake up with an IV in my hand and pull i
t out. I’m itchy, hot, and I feel like I’m floating. I know what this means. I know where I am, and I remember why. I also know I’m alone in this room. I can’t see red-blonde hair, and I don’t smell her, either.
The IV machine starts its beeping—‘put your IV back in, you fucker’—and I decide I’m going to unplug it from the wall. The adjustable bed is sitting me up, and I don’t really think about why that is before I grip the bed rail with my right hand and agony rips through my shoulder, so bad it leaves me gasping on my back. The lights on the ceiling are spinning like teacups. Teacups at the fair…right? Or is that Disney Land?
A nurse comes in, she’s fussing with the machine. I can’t make out what she’s saying. I don’t fucking care. I think the IV was in my left hand but she takes my right one and I’m dizzy but I know her game.
“You think…I can’t…take it out with this…hand?” I try to raise my left.
She gives me a look I can’t decipher. The room is way too bright and she’s all eyes—a creepy aberration all in white.
All in white…like a bride.
“Where’s…my wife?”
“Your wife hasn’t been here.” Again, those eyes. They’re big and green. Like ones I know. “…the police…” she’s saying.
But I can’t seem to follow. “What?”
“…your sister…”
I shut my eyes. I must be really out of it, ’cause I don’t think I have a sister. I focus my eyes on her big ones and swallow past the soreness in my throat so I can croak, “Where’s Meredith?”
“…get…sister, sir. Maybe she can…”
She turns to go, and I bat at my right hand with my left. “Turn this shit down. I can’t…think.”
I guess I pass out, because the next time I wake up, the halo around everything is dimmer and Lizzy is sitting in a chair beside my bed reading a magazine. I’m looking at her impassively, trying to get my brain to start working, when she jumps up and leans over me.
“You’re awake!”
“…No shit.”
Lizzy looks pretty and perky, and for some reason it’s fucking annoying. I scowl at her. Don’t mean to. My mouth just does it, and I’m too tired to think about why I shouldn’t.
“Are you hurting? They’ve been—”
I shake my head, fighting the dizziness that makes the room seem to tilt a little. “I wanna…get out of here.”
Her eyes, on me, are big and concerned. She bites her lip, looking around the room. There’s a flower poster on one wall. “You’re out of ICU and in a floor room now. They don’t want to discharge you until tomorrow at the earliest.”
I shut my eyes and sink back into my pillows. “Fuckin’…stupid.”
I think of Merri—I project her image onto the back of my lids. All I want is to get out of here and see her. Is that too much to ask?
I open my eyes again and unleash the full force of my misery on Lizzy. “The only thing I need from you is to find Meredith.”
Lizzy looks surprised, then sad. She sits back down and scoots her chair closer to me. I wish she would scoot it back.
“Cross, about this Meredith… No one here seems to know who she is or where she is. We’ve looked, I’m sure you can believe that. We can’t find her. And the police are here. They want to talk to you, but so far we’ve been able to keep you covered.” There’s a pause. I slit my eyes open and look at the stupid clouds somebody painted on the ceiling. “In case you can’t tell already, they had to give you narcotics. I know you didn’t want that, but your blood pressure was too high. Apparently they had to stitch your shoulder twice. It was the second time. No offense, but I think whatever they gave you is making you grumpy.”
With some effort, I hold her gaze. “I’m not fucking grumpy.”
“Okay.”
I’m not. I just want Merri. Damnit, I want her so much I can hardly stand it. Where the fuck did she go? I sigh—a little louder than I meant to—and attempt to cover my face with my right hand. A shot of pain reminds me that I can’t. I don’t have a single fucking arm that I can use. I turn my head away from Lizzy and push my cheek into the pillow.
A second later, I hear her voice. “Cross…who is she? Are you really married?”
My eyes are rolling back into my head, but I don’t want to go to sleep. I feel so…out of it. I lift my two-hundred-pound head and make it turn toward Lizzy. “Turn this stuff down, Liz. I don’t want it anymore.”
Instead of an ass, now I sound pathetic. Like I’m about to cry.
“I’ll tell them, C.”
I nod. My head feels hot and full. I need Lizzy to leave, but I’m too tired to tell her.
“Cross, who is Merri? Where did you meet her? …If you’re too tired, we can talk about it later.”
I force my eyes open, though the effort makes me feel like passing out. “…won’t tell?”
She shakes her head. “I promise. No one.”
“Missy King,” I croak.
I feel Lizzy’s warm hand on my forearm. “Cross… Are you telling me you went to Mexico and found Missy King? And brought her back here?”
“Yes.” The word’s a gasp.
“So the wife story is a lie. You’re not married to her.”
I open my eyes. The light above the bed is bright—so bright. I can feel the fluorescent bulbs surging in time with my heartbeat. I look at Lizzy’s face.
“I love her,” I whisper.
Her eyes grow wide and I groan, “Go away.”
When she shuts the door, I let a tear slip out.
Forty-eight hours later, Suri wheels me down to the lobby of the hospital, a brightly colored, sunny place decorated with big sunflower wall art. Hunter West is waiting with a car, while Lizzy takes care of my discharge paperwork. As she pushes me toward the automatic doors, the wheelchair hits a bump and I grunt a little. Suri gasps, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
Since what I told Lizzy the day before yesterday, everyone is treating me like glass.
It was bad enough after I woke up from the coma, but this level of awkwardness and eggshell walking is maddening. This time, they don’t just worry about my health. They worry about my sanity. They pity me. It’s almost more than I can take.
The only reason I’m going to Love Inc. is because Lizzy begged me. She insists it’s the most logical thing, to keep me safe from my father until I’m healed. I’m sure it’s just so she and West can watch me, but she was so sincere I couldn’t tell her no.
The automatic doors at the front of the hospital whisk open as we approach, and sunlight shines into my eyes. It’s a hot day, hot and dry, and as soon as I inhale the outside air, I’m wrenched with worry over Merri.
Where is she? Why did she leave? Is she safe?
I guess I know she left because of who I really am, but in the middle of the night, as I lay awake with my shoulder throbbing, or got prodded awake by the fucking overzealous nurses, all I could think about is someone taking her from here while I was out. We’re in El Paso, the cartel’s front yard. What if she needs me?
I will never know.
I have a feeling deep down in my gut that Merri isn’t coming back—and by now, I’ve had enough of these to trust it.
I’m looking at the blue sky when West steps into my line of sight, and I realize—a few seconds behind—that he just got out the side door of a limousine.
He nods at me, and tips his baseball cap. “How ya doing, kid?”
“Better than you, old shit.”
This is our version of getting along.
West walks around to the rear of the limo, and I realize as Suri pushes me back that way that he’s opening the trunk. What the fuck? “There’s a bed in here,” Suri says cheerily. “Lizzy got it for you.”
Oh my fucking God. “It’s a sex bed.” I’ve seen a limo like this before, back in high school. They have little beds in the very back, and the only people who use them are teenagers on prom night.
West, still holding the door, gives me a scowl. “Don’t
let Lizzy hear you say that. It took her hours to find this, and she even went to a limousine store and bought you sheets.”
I shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths. “I’ll tell her thanks,” I grit.
Suri makes a sighing sound, like she’s sad that I don’t like the limo. “You want some help in?”
I shake my head, but of course, that’s bullshit. She and West know it is, so each one slides a hand under my arms, and I ease my ass out of the wheelchair like a fucking cripple. Up until today, the pain has been manageable, but I ripped off that pain patch they gave me in the bathroom just before we left, and it must have been strong, because I can already feel its absence in my screaming shoulder.
I’m dumped onto my left arm, and about that time Lizzy shows up, climbing into the limo and taking my head in her lap as they ease me onto a bunch of fluffy pillows. She gets me in a position she probably thinks will be comfortable, then comes around in front of me, where I can see her. Crouching on the bed with me, she lifts an eyebrow. “You hate this thing, don’t you?”
I grit my teeth and shake my head, widening my eyes so maybe I look sincere.
“Don’t lie to me. I knew you would hate it, but I did it anyway because I want you to be comfortable. When we get on the plane, you’ll lie on the bed, and when we get to Love Inc., I’m going to make sure you get Marchant’s suite.”
Her take-charge tone makes my mouth twitch just a little. “Thank you…Mom.” I shut my eyes, because I’m starting to see spots, and whisper the rest of what I have to say: “I’m not taking Marchant’s room.”
“Then you’ll have Hunter’s old room.”
“Whatever you say…Mom.”