Chapter 34
Night Club Owner with Alleged Mob Ties Dies
That’s how the headline would read. What else could explain the complete darkness? Jonny twisted his head to the side, but nothing. No shadows, no reflections. He was lying down, but where? Oh shit. Maybe he was already in the coffin. He unclenched his fist and felt warmth—human warmth—skin against skin. He reached farther, and it responded.
“Jonny?”
The darkness said his name. What was this place? Then a flash of light. He clamped his eyes shut. It was too bright. It hurt.
“Are you awake?” the voice asked.
He knew the voice. He opened his eyes again, slower this time, letting them adjust to the harsh light. His vision was blurry, like an unfocused camera.
“Can you hear me?”
He could hear her fine.
“It’s me, Cheryl.”
Right, Cheryl.
“Can you see me?”
Sure, he could see her. Why was she asking him so many dumb questions?
“Please, say something.”
Her voice was shaky and choppy, then her eyes flooded with tears. Damn, he didn’t want to make her cry. He had to concentrate and drag himself out of this foggy Neverland.
“Don’t cry.” Those two words required tremendous effort.
“I can’t believe you’re awake.”
Her voice sounded happy, but hell, she cried harder. She leaned in and hugged him, and she smelled so good. He wanted to hold onto her too, but his arms were weighted down. He glanced around the room, then down at himself. Tubes snaking around his arms, machines hooked up to his chest, and every breath tight like his chest was wrapped in Velcro. What the fuck was going on?
“Try to relax.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had surgery, but you’re going to be fine.”
“Surgery?” He croaked out the one word, his throat raw and dry.
Cheryl called for one of the nurses, and he became the center of attention as they shined lights in his eyes and asked him stupid questions like his name, his birthday, and the year. He stared past them into Cheryl’s eyes, and it all came rushing back. Max holding a gun on him, Max telling him she had betrayed him.
Pain seared through his chest and a steady beeping grew louder and faster. A nurse moved to his side, pushed a syringe into the IV tube and the light faded away.
~ ~ ~
Forty-eight hours ago Jonny couldn’t hold his head up, and now he sat in bed, scraping the very last piece of lime Jell-O out of its plastic container. It even impressed the doctor who moved him into CCU this morning.
Now, Cheryl mentally rehearsed her confession, tossing around the right adjectives and verbs to make what she did seem less awful, less painful. She’d even written some of it down, so he would completely understand the position she was in and hopefully forgive her.
“Are you comfortable?” She fidgeted with the blanket, as her mind froze and her throat dried. The elephant in the room was sitting right on her chest.
“No, I’m starving.” He held up the empty plastic container. “This shit sucks, and I don’t care what they say, Jell-O is not solid food.”
“I’ll go speak to the nurse.”
“No, sit down.” He patted the bed.
She averted her gaze busying herself with smoothing the blanket and tucking in the edges. His dark eyes tracked her, and when she met his gaze she sucked in a deep breath, and the words tumbled out.
“Frank called me the first day we were down here. I was supposed to plant coke on you, or he would hurt Dylan. That’s why the cops came to the club.” She drew in a deep breath. “But I couldn’t do it.” She exhaled as the ten-ton elephant waddled out of the room. “I could never do that to you.”
His lack of response amped her up all over again.
“You don’t remember Max telling you, huh?”
“I remember.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“And?” She braced herself for the worst.
“And nothing.”
“But I . . .”
“I’m not gonna deny what Max said blew me apart, but I saw you taking care of me, worrying about me. The nurses said you were camped out here the whole time I was in ICU, so I knew there had to be more to it. “
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.” He laced their fingers together. “I told you, I trust you.”
And that explained it all. He trusted her, and she had to trust him enough to be straight with him. She’d spent so much of her life deceiving people, she’d forgotten about truth and honesty. To most people those virtues came naturally but learning to trust others, and even herself would be her biggest challenge.
“I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was scared you'd turn me out.”
Jonny struggled to sit higher in the bed, fighting against the IV in his left hand and the heart monitor strapped to his chest.
“Baby, that wouldn’t be possible.” He reached for her. “Because without you the pain would strip the blood from my veins faster than any bullet.”
Her lip trembled as she leaned into him, careful to avoid the IV, but needing to feel the warmth of his body. She’d worried about telling him, when she should’ve believed in him, believed in their relationship.
“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t pissed as shit at you for walking into that room with Max waving a gun around.”
“In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have gotten shot, so it wasn’t a complete success.”
“Forget me, Max could’ve shot . . .”
“But he didn’t, and just maybe I helped you?” She glared at him.
“You helped me for sure, but . . .”
“And you’d be having this same conversation if Eddie tried to save your ass?”
“That’s different.”
“Except for him not rocking that negligee, I don’t see the difference.”
“Eddie and I have each other’s backs and . . .”
“What was I supposed to do? Hide in the bedroom and hope for the best?” She jerked her hand away. “I tried to help, and you’re mad.”
“Hey, c’mere.” He grasped her wrist. “You’re wrong about Eddie. It is different.”
“‘Cause he’s a guy?”
“No, ‘cause I love you,” he shouted in frustration.
“You love me?” She leaned into him, and he hauled her onto the bed.
“Yeah, I do.” He threaded his hand through her hair and drew her in for a kiss.