Chapter 28

Cain

“How much longer do you plan on keeping me here?” I asked and squinted up at the nurse, only because the sun was so fucking bright today, streaming through the private ward’s windows. “Shit, let me rephrase that. How much longer do you think you’ll be able to keep me here, is what I meant.”

They’d held me here for a day already. Much longer and I’d rip this place apart—I had to go see Margot. I had to speak to her. I had to apologize for being a righteous fucking ass, and I had to show her that I was serious.

That everything that’d happened between us had meant more to me than just a couple fucks.

She was mine. She’d always been mine. I’d just been too shit-scared to see it.

The nurse at my side pursed her lips and checked my drip, did her usual fiddle here and fiddle there. She was gray-haired and severe, like Meryl Streep’s less attractive sister with a sharper nose.

“Melody,” I sang her name. “Melody, honey, you know you want to let me outta this bed. You can’t keep a good man down.” Good man phrased lightly in this instance.

I wasn’t good until I’d made things right with Margot.

It’d taken a fucking crash in a Camaro to help me realize that all the hole-filling had already been done. She’d settled my soul, and by ripping her out of it, I’d made things worse all over again.

“We’re not so different you and I,” I said, and winked at Melody the nurse.

She gave me stern nothingness in reply.

“I’m sure you wonder what I mean by that,” I continued, because why the hell not? “You see, Melody, you’re a caretaker, and you look like you really enjoy your job. You’re passionate about it, and I’m passionate too. Do you want to know what I’m passionate about?”

She actually paused, the most reaction I’d gotten out of her since I’d been moved to this ward. Her gray eyebrows lifted.

“About getting the hell out of here,” I said and sat up too quickly. My head throbbed, and I groaned, pressed my fist to my forehead. Fuck, I had whiplash and one arm in a sling—broken like a fucking champ—but none of it hurt in comparison to the idea that I might lose Margot because of my stupidity.

I won’t.

I was determined. And I always got what I wanted. That spelled out a simple truth: I’d work this out and make her mine sooner rather than later. Well, as soon as these assholes let me out of here.

Melody huffed a sigh and made for the exit to the ward and the baby blue walls beyond. The color scheme here only made my headache worse. “Yo, Melody, hold up a minute. We weren’t done talking.”

She paused and looked back at me, then deigned to open her mouth at last. “I can’t let you out, Mr. Foster. Only the doctor can do that, and he won’t be here for another hour.”

“She speaks! And in a voice from the heavens,” I said and threw one arm wide, playing up the drama.

Not even a smile, goddamn. Tough crowd.

“All right, at least let me watch some TV. Please? The remote’s over there, and I don’t feel like getting out of bed attached to this fucking walking prison.” I rattled the wheelie stand from which my IV bag hung.

Melody sighed again. This was her primary mode of communication, apparently. She shuffled over to the counter below the wall-mounted TV, brought back the remote, and dumped it unceremoniously in my lap.

“Actions to match the voice,” I replied.

She clicked her tongue at me and walked out of the ward. Whoever had pissed on her parade would regret it later. Melody had fire in her belly, all right.

I lifted the remote and switched on the TV—anything to get rid of the frustration at being held here when I really needed to be at Get Ink’d. Yesterday. Fuck it, last week. I’d been such a dickbag.

I flicked through and Margot’s face flashed across the screen. I froze.

“What the fuck?”

It was a shot of Margot inside the shop, standing at the reception desk with Nat, shaking her head. “And in other news, reality TV star—and we put that lightly since we only got to see the pilot of the show—Margot Reed has been spotted in talks with a rival tattoo shop owner. It’s rumored that she might sell,” said the too-jaunty dude onscreen. “I gotta say, I was super disappointed that the show fell through. I mean, there was a ton of hype about it, and the first episode was gold, but sources behind the scenes say the action of Margot’s business partner, Cain Foster, ended the contract before it could start. Pity.”

Fucking tabloid news channels. Goddamn.

My blood bubbled. Talking to a rival tattoo shop owner about selling? How was this newsworthy for them? The vultures latched onto anything they thought might intrigue folks and ran with it.

I stared.

A rival tattoo shop owner. She wanted to sell her half of the business? Not a fucking chance. No. This wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t allow Margot to throw away everything she’d worked so hard for and everything I’d almost fucked up.

I let out a dull grunt and switched off the TV instead of throwing the remote at it.

Then, I ripped back the covers and grimaced at the hospital gown I wore. I hadn’t had a chance to change out of it since they’d taken me for x-rays this morning to determine whether there were any other screws loose in my head, other than the regular ones.

I got over it fast. So what if I had to walk down the hall in a dress? Anyone who caught a glimpse of the outline of my dick would realize I was all man before the doubt even entered their mind.

I peeled back the tape on the back of my hand and studied the thick needle in it. “Fuck it,” I said, gripped the end, and drew it out slowly. “Oh, that’s fucking unpleasant. That is seriously an unpleasant feeling,” I muttered. Finally, the needle was out and I tossed it aside, took off the dumb thumb clip thingy and threw that onto the bed too.

Good to fucking go.

I’m coming, Margot.

I stormed toward the exit, the fire that’d always been a part of who I was burning in my belly again. I shoved the door open and nearly knocked over Melody.

She stumbled back, holding a clipboard against her chest, eyes wide, her hair fluffed out next to her wrinkled shell ears. “What are you doing?” she croaked. “Get back into bed. The drip!”

“What?” I shrugged. “It’s not like I stole it or something. You never seen a tattooed crazy man before?” Crazy for a woman instead of just in general. “Excuse me.”

“I can’t let you go.” She dropped her clipboard and tugged on my uninjured arm. “Back into bed this minute! Back into bed until Dr. Scott gets here. Back!”

Back, foul beast! Shit, maybe I had knocked another screw loose.

“Melody, darlin’, you’re not going to get me back into that room until I’ve done what I need to do. Now, either you move or I move you, get it?”

“Back!” She wouldn’t let go, and this old lady had an iron grip. “You’re not meant to walk around. You could be concussed.”

I circled my good arm around Melody’s ample waist, lifted her into the air, her legs kicking, arms flailing, then set her down behind me and waggled a finger in her face. “Stay.”

I set off down the hall, furious shrieks following me, and trudged past shocked orderlies and even a doctor in scrubs. Every one of them stopped what they were doing and stared after me, only realizing after the fact that, yeah, they probably should’ve stopped me from marching off.

The shrieks grew in frequency and number.

A miniature army of people followed me down the halls.

Finally, I reached a desk where a receptionist sat, talking on the telephone. I flashed her a smile, she returned it, then did a double take, stood up, blocking the receiver of the phone, and peered at my gown.

“Hi,” I said. “Mind if I use the phone?”

“What the hell is going on?” A man’s voice thundered down the hall. “What are you all doing here?” He’d spoken to the nurses, but I didn’t turn around to check who it was.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not allowed. I’m going to have to ask you to return to your bed,” the receptionist said. Her name tag read Penelope.

“Penelope, listen, there’s a very important call I have to make, and if I don’t make it, I might lose the woman I love. Can you understand that?” I flashed her that never-failing charming grin.

She pressed her lips together. “No. Back to your bed.”

“Fuggit.” I removed the phone from her hand, as gently as possible, pinned the receiver to my ear, then leaned over the counter and set to work dialing the number with my good hand.

“Dr. Scott!” Penelope called. “Dr. Scott, can I get some help over here?”

I ignored everything but the phone’s squidgy dialing pad. Finally, it rang in my ear.

“Grover and Greene, how may I help you?”

“This is Cain Foster. Put me through to Greene.”

“Just one moment, sir.”

I held the receiver and flashed Penelope another smile. This time, she returned it with a scowl. “Sir, please put the phone down. That’s private property, and you’re supposed to be in your bed. I—”

“Let me handle it, Pen.” A dude in a doctor’s coat appeared beside me. He was all angles—sharp crooked nose, ninety degrees at the shoulders, thin and straight as a rod. “Mr. Foster, what are you doing out of your bed?”

“Oh, hey, doc. I had to make a call.”

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

“No shit,” I said. “I’ve got a killer headache, but this business won’t wait. You see, Doctor, I’ve waited far too long already, and if I don’t act now, I’ll lose. I don’t lose.”

“You’ll lose if you make your concussion even worse. I’ve gotten the result from the x-ray. We need to keep you another day,” Scott said, his crinkled-paper brow folding up. “And that means no strenuous activity. It’s a miracle you’re walking around at all without puking or fainting.”

The line clicked, and I held up a finger to the doctor.

“This is Greene.”

“Thank god. It’s Cain. Listen, I need your help. Remember that contract I sent you a couple months ago? I need you to look at it again, and I need you to change it.” I glanced at the doctor, then shut my eyes and fought back the sudden wooziness. He might’ve had a point about that whole concussion thing, but leaving Margot to deal with this was out of the question.

“Change it?”

“Yeah, completely. I want you to give it all to her. How long will it take you?”

“A week.”

“Faster than that,” I said and opened my eyes again, because goddamn the world spun when they were closed.

“Two days.”

“Better. I’ll be there in one,” I said. “Make it happen, and I’ll make it happen for you, catch me?”

“Yes, sir.”

I handed the receiver back to the shocked Penelope. “Done,” I said. “See, now that wasn’t too much trouble, was it?” If I hadn’t left my own phone back in my apartment I’d never have taken this little trip down the hall in the first place.

“Mr. Foster,” Doc said. “It’s time you lie down.”

“Sure,” I replied, my heart thudding too fast and too hard, my head fucking aching. “Sure, that’s fine.” And in the morning I’d tear out of here again and find her. Find her and make her mine, once and for all.