“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”
Jase digs a set of keys out of his pocket, tossing them to me. “Your truck’s in the visitor’s lot.”
I catch the keys. “Thanks.”
They both nod, and turn to leave, but after a step, Jase stalls, looking back over his shoulder. His jaw is firm and his eyes lock with mine for a few seconds, another warning hardening his expression, before he sighs and looks away. I shake my head, smirking, as I turn and walk back into Piper’s room.
Piper
The faint scent of disinfectant hits me, making my nose twitch and itch, and sluggishly, I open my eyes.
I’m on my back in a hospital bed, my head tilted to the side with one arm wrapped around my center, and the other, tucked under my cheek. The room is quiet and dark, it’s still nighttime, I think, and there’s cool air blowing down on me from somewhere above my head. I shiver, burrowing under the flimsy blanket that isn’t much more than a sheet, but it does little to ward off the chill.
My head is foggy and my throat dry, after effects from all the painkillers and sleeping aids the nurses have been pumping through my veins, no doubt. I blink a few times, trying to clear the drug induced haze as I slowly roll to my side, my blurry gaze searching the room for a glass of water.
When I reach my side, my gaze lands on an unexpected sight, and I stall, my breath catching in my throat.
Vance.
He sits beside me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly. His chair is angled and pulled up close, his head beside mine, tilted toward me, and his feet are propped up on the end of my bed.
Something inside me flutters at the sight of him. There’s something so … wonderful about waking up with this man watching over me. Something so … perfect.
I offer him a small smile, trying to get myself under control as I sit up. “You’re still here.”
My voice sounds hoarse and scratchy, and my throat feels raw. I swallow thickly, but it does little to help with the dryness.
He frowns, hesitating, as his eyes sweep over me. “Of course I’m still here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I, uh … I just thought that, well …” I stall and clear my throat. I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure why it surprises me that he’s still here. Vance isn’t one to break a promise. Sighing, I drop my eyes from his, fiddling with the sheet. “I guess I just thought you’d have to leave for work or something.”
Vance raises his eyebrows, a look of surprise passing across his face, as though he’s shocked that I thought he’d leave, perhaps even a little hurt by it. “Told you I’d be here when you woke up, didn’t I?”
My stomach begins to flutter again, so does my heart, and my cheeks heat with a flush. Ugh, I really need to get myself under control—fast.
“Well, uh, yeah, but …” I let my words trail off, because I really don’t know what to say.
He’s quiet for a moment, letting his feet drop to the ground, and he turns his chair to face me. He gazes at me, his lips twitching with amusement as he takes my hand within his. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” A lot better than the last time he asked me that. “Really good, actually.”
Strangely enough, I slept really well. I can’t chalk it up to peace of mind, because nothing has really changed in my situation aside from the fact that I don’t feel as though I’m going to throw-up anymore, but the drugs were enough to knock me out, which is a really good thing.
“Really fuckin’ glad to hear that, Piper,” he says, releasing a breath and smiling softly. He lets go of my hand and reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my cheek, before standing up. “I’m gonna go find a nurse,” he says. “Let them know you’re up.”
“Wait a second,” I say quickly as he turns away. “What time is it?”
He pauses, glancing down at his watch. “Ten thirty-five.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days.”
He stares at me for a moment, the corner of his mouth kicking up into a grin, and he chuckles. “Not quite. It’s Sunday.”
The moment he says it, I feel like I can’t breathe, my throat closing up, my chest tightening.
It’s Sunday?
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I need to get out of this bed. I need to get out of this place. Panicked, I sit up straighter and throw the blanket off, completely forgetting about the IV attached to my arm, grimacing as I nearly yank the thing out, snagging it up in the blanket.
I suck in a sharp breath. Jesus, that burns.
“Whoa,” Vance says, coming right over to me and quickly untangling the blanket. “What are you doing?”
“Do you know where my clothes are?” I ask, swinging my legs off the bed. “I’d like to go home.”
“Is there a particular reason why you’re in such a rush to get out of here?” he asks, a touch of humor in his voice as he clutches my hands, stilling my movement.
I stall, nodding my head slowly. “I have work to do—deadlines this week, my truck needs to be dealt with, and I’d really like to go home and make sure my house is still standing.”
His brow furrows, regarding me peculiarly, as though he thinks I might be insane. “Pretty sure your clients will understand, freckles,” he says calmly. “Jase had your truck moved to a body shop yesterday, and I’ve been watching your house. The only person who’s gone in or out since you got here is Jimmy.”
My eyes widen. Oh God, he’s right. Blood rushes straight to my face and I feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I quickly look away from him, wanting to bury my face in my hands, but can’t with him still holding them tightly.
Of course my clients will understand, and I already knew that Vance is watching my house. I was also there during the little meeting when Jase took my spare keys agreeing to handle my truck.
Maybe he’s right to think I’m insane.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I groan, closing my eyes. “You must think I’ve completely lost it.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says, letting go of my hands and leaning forward, kissing my forehead. “Let me go find the doctor. We’ll get you checked out, and then I’ll take you home, or if you’re hungry, we can grab a bite, yeah?”
I nod. “Okay.”
He pulls away then, standing there for a moment, staring at me as though he’s not quite sure if he should believe me or not, before he eventually turns away and leaves to find the doctor.
It takes a little over an hour for the doctor to make it to my room and finish checking me over. By the time he finishes poking and prodding at me, I’m hungry and grouchy, completely ready to get out of here. My stomach grumbles, begging for food, as he rattles off a long list of warnings and things to watch for, and then I’m discharged from the hospital for the second time in as many days.
We end up at a McDonalds and it surprises me, because Vance is more of a pub and draft kind of guy, but it’s perfect. I don’t eat fast food often, but when I do, this is the place I do it at.
Vance holds the door for me when we arrive, letting me go in first. At nearly midnight on a Sunday, the restaurant is almost empty, with only a handful of people waiting in line. As we move toward the register, lining up, he steps in close behind me, so close I can feel his breath on my skin as he places a hand on my hip, and I try really hard not to think about how awesome it feels to have this man so close.
I look over the menu needlessly. I don’t come here often, but when I do, I always order the same thing: chicken nuggets with honey dipping sauce.
It doesn’t take long before we’re at the front of the line, placing our order, and a chicken nugget and burger meal later, we’re sitting across from each other at the far end of the restaurant with our food spread out before us.
Starving, I open up the honey, soaking a nugget and taking a bite, not able to stop the sudden moan from slipping out at the taste. “So good.”
Vance laughs loudly at my reaction, the sound causing me to gr
in. He reaches over, stealing one of my nuggets and drowning it in honey, before popping the whole thing in his mouth.
“Shit,” he mumbles around the mouthful. “You’re right, that is good.”
I look at him incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had the chicken nuggets here before.”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“That’s just … sad,” I say, dipping my nugget again and popping the rest into my mouth.
Vance shrugs and lets out another laugh, picking up his burger. “I don’t typically eat this garbage.”
Shaking my head, I grin across the table at him as I dig into my food. I already know he doesn’t eat this stuff often, but still, everyone needs to try the chicken nugget meal at least once.
Dinner is fantastic, the food exactly what I needed to clear the remaining drug fog from my brain. I’m stuffed by the time I finish my nuggets and half my fries, and I push the rest aside, not able to eat another bite.
“Was it good?” Vance asks, watching me intently and perhaps a little uncertainly, as though he might be worried that I’m not enjoying it.
“Amazing,” I say. “Best chicken nugget meal I’ve ever had.”
He smirks, jerking his chin toward the fries. “Full?”
“Stuffed,” I respond, pushing them across the table. “You can have them if you want.”
He shrugs a shoulder as he nabs a fry, popping it into his mouth, eyeing me peculiarly as he chews. “So …” he hesitates. “I’ve got some news for you.”
My brow furrows and my stomach drops at his tone. “Good news?”
He smirks, shrugging noncommittally. “Depends how you look at it.”
Ugh. That doesn’t sound good.
My gaze drifts momentarily, contemplating whether or not I want to hear it, before I sigh, glancing back at him. “Okay, lay it on me.”
He cocks an eyebrow as I take a sip of my cola. “You sure you wanna hear it now, because you sound pretty … unsure.”
I sigh. “That’s because I am unsure.”
My response makes him laugh.
“I’ve had a really shitty couple of weeks,” I explain, “and I’m having a good time. I’m just not sure I want to ruin it with news.”
He blinks a few times, taken aback. “Well, I wouldn’t want that,” he says, hesitating again before shaking his head, backtracking. “The news can wait until tomorrow.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope, I’m curious now. Just tell me. Let’s get it over with.”
He takes a sip of his drink before pushing it aside. “Okay, then … I wanna talk about your truck and what the guys found.”
I say nothing, only nodding for him to go on, trying to hide the sudden unease curling within my belly.
“Jase and Wes managed to pull a partial still shot from the security video of the guy that loosened your tire at Constant Pub.”
I blink. Holy crap. It really wasn’t just an accident? I know Vance never thought it was, and deep down I had a feeling he was right, but still, I wanted to believe the guys were just being paranoid. “Someone really messed with my truck.”
It’s not a question, but Vance responds anyway. “Yeah, freckles,” he says quietly. “Someone really messed with your truck.”
“Who was it?” I ask, gazing at him.
“That’s where the news isn’t so good,” he replies. “It’s only a partial image of a tattooed arm holding a tire iron near your tailgate. We don’t know who it is yet, but we’ll figure it out. Cruz has a copy and he’s running the tat through their system. If the guy has a record, we’ll get an ID through that.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Vance shrugs a shoulder. “Then we find him another way.”
I don’t even know what to say. I reach for my cola, clutching the cup in my hands, determined not to freak out. He sounds so confident, as though finding this tiny piece of evidence is actually good news, that it will lead him to finding the jerk that’s been messing with me.
And maybe it will.
Maybe this is good news.
I guess it could be if the guy has a record, and if he had the ink before he was arrested.
“Okay,” I say, nodding once to myself. “Okay, this is good. It’s more than we had before.”
“It is,” he agrees, smirking, as he leans over the table, closer to me. His gaze flicks down to my lips, holding there for a second, before meeting my eyes once more. “Now what do you say we get out of here and get you home?”
Those words, although I know they’re completely innocent, send a tingle down my spine. I’m not sure if they’re from nervousness or excitement. It’s probably both. But hearing him say those words in that low, deep voice of his, when he’s looking at me the way he is, makes my head come up with a whole lot of interesting scenarios involving us somewhere a lot less public with a whole lot less clothing.
I lean into him, seeing the pulse in his throat jump and it makes me grin. It’s nice to know that he isn’t immune to me either.
He kisses me then. It’s quick, just a small peck on the lips, but Jesus, if that little kiss doesn’t make my heart sputter and race.
I have a feeling he’s going to wind up breaking my heart by the time this is over, but in the moment I don’t care. In this very second in time, I’m certain any pain that comes later will be entirely worth it.
Chapter Twelve
Piper
“That’s it.” A cell phone flies across the room, hitting the wall so hard I’m certain it leaves a nick in the drywall. “I can’t take it anymore.”
I don’t look up, keeping my eyes trained on the computer screen in front of me, only vaguely listening to Jimmy. I’ve flipped through these images at least a dozen times over the last hour, thinking that maybe if I look at them enough, one will jump out at me. I hope it happens soon, because I’m running out of time. Vance is going to be here in a little over two hours to take me to dinner, and I really need to finish this last cover before then.
Jimmy’s cell phone chimes again.
And again.
And again.
He lets out a stream of curses, glaring at it from across the room, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it.
Taking a deep breath, I click the next page in my search results.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathe. Relax. Focus.
There’s no point in trying to talk to him. I already know what he’ll say. I’ve heard it all repeatedly over the last few days.
She’s not really pregnant ...
You don’t understand ...
I don’t want to talk about it …
“She’s nuts,” Jimmy continues, ruining my focus once again. “Completely bat-shit crazy.”
I try to ignore him, because honestly, I don’t want to get in the middle of his baby drama. He’s a good friend and I want to be supportive, but each time I open my mouth to say something to him, all that wants to come out is a slew of curses and nasty remarks about being a deadbeat dad. So instead of ruining our friendship, I figure it’s better to pretend that he’s not here and stay out of it, at least until he steps up and talks to Tara.
But ignoring him has turned out to be a useless effort.
He’s been rambling on like this since he woke up and planted his butt in my office. He’s supposed to be in here helping me, but so far all he’s done is distract me.
I click the next page in my search results as I mutter, “Maybe you should just pick up the phone or return her text messages. I bet if you’d just acknowledge her she’d chill out.”
He makes a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat, but says nothing.
His lack of response doesn’t surprise me in the least. He’s been shaky, and edgy, and moping around here for days, avoiding Tara, avoiding his new girlfriend, avoiding … everything.
Shaking my head
, I focus back on the computer screen. The last few days have been … hectic. I’ve been alternating between hiding in my office and venturing out with Vance, working on trying to find the jerk that has been messing with me and caused our accident.
We’ve made progress—sort of.
We got an ID on tattoo guy.
We canvassed my neighborhood.
Each day it’s something new: a new lead, a new place to check out, a new contact to confer with.
Vance is driven and apparently very much in demand. His phone rings constantly, and he’s always on the run to meet a client or handle a crisis with the guys.
It never seems to stop.
Jimmy’s cell phone rings and buzzes, vibrating and rattling against the floor, and he groans, long and loud. “I’m telling you, Pipes, she won’t give up. It doesn’t matter what I say to her. It’s like she completely forgot I was there when the doctor told her there was no way she could have kids.”
Those words draw my attention away from the computer. I look over my shoulder toward the lounge chair in the corner of the room where Jimmy sits, laptop on his knees. “What do you mean she can’t have kids?”
He makes a face at me, one that would probably be comical if it wasn’t for how clearly frustrated he is. “She had cervical cancer. The radiation therapy she had to have caused her ovaries to stop working.”
Those words stall me and my stomach sinks. I gape at him. Cancer? Tara had cancer? Why don’t I know this? “What? When did Tara have cancer?”
Jimmy sighs and his expression shifts, all the frustration dying away at my question. His shoulders sag, his jaw clenching as he regards me with so much pain and guilt it makes my chest ache. “About eight months ago.”
“I, uh ... I didn’t know.” I don’t know what else to say. I make a move to go to him, wanting to comfort him, needing to erase that devastating look on his face, but he lifts a hand, silently asking me to stay where I am, and I drop back into my chair.
“She didn’t want anyone to know,” he says and sighs. “She didn’t want it to be a big thing, to have people stressing and worrying over her. Being the center of attention always freaked her out. But she’s good now. They got it all with the radiation. She still has regular checkups, but that’s pretty normal.”