15
Jackson was as good as his word, a full table setup with real plates, heavy silverware, and dishes such as eggs benedict, quiche, hazelnut waffles, French toast, beignets, the works. The smells in the room made my mouth water.
The chef was really nice, serving me first in the bed while his two assistants served everyone else. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of cutlery and clinking glass. Bill and Oslo weren’t too starstruck to eat, each of them polishing off two full plates of food, with Mia not far behind.
Jackson sat next to me on the bed, making sure I ate. It wasn’t necessary. The food was amazing. Dr. Morris even appeared in the middle of brunch, looked around in some amazement, asked me a few questions, then said he’d be back again in a few hours.
By the time brunch was cleared away, I could barely keep my eyes open. A full stomach and all the visitors had worn me out. Jackson fluffed the pillows behind my head and remained behind when Grams shooed everyone else out. The pain medication had beeped into my IV again.
“Thanks for the food,” I said, “and for taking care of Mia and Grams. I really ’preciate it.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said softly, slotting his fingers with mine. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ll take care of everything, I just need you to get better.”
He closed the blinds on the windows, dimming the room, then returned to my side. Pulling up the chair Grams had been using, he sat down.
“My dad didn’t come.”
“I know.”
My eyes started to leak, though I didn’t know why. “I shouldn’t have expected him to.”
“He’s your father. Of course you should have. I’m sorry he didn’t.”
“Yeah. Well.” Putting emotions into words was hard when I was healthy. At the moment, trying to put what I was feeling about my dad into cogent sentences was completely beyond me.
Jackson leaned forward, wiping away the wet tracks from my cheeks.
“You’re just gonna watch me sleep?” I murmured, my eyes heavy.
“Maybe. Is that okay?”
“Why?”
“Because I can,” he said softly. “The thought of losing you . . . I don’t ever want to feel like that again. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
“You helped,” I argued. “With Grams and Mia . . .”
“Shh,” he said. “Get some rest.”
I pried my eyes open one more time. “’kay, but don’t stay in that awful chair the whole time. It doesn’t look at all ergonomic.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He held my hand until I feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When next I opened my eyes, Oslo was sitting in the chair, messing with his phone.
“Hey,” I said, my voice raspy, “where’s Jackson?”
“You mean your billionaire boyfriend that you haven’t ever mentioned to your family?” he asked.
“It was all over Twitter,” I muttered, adjusting the controls on the bed to sit up. Someone had left a glass of water within reach, and I gratefully swallowed some.
“Yeah. I’m a social-media addict,” Oslo said drily. “I . . . Twitter all the time.”
“Tweet.”
“Whatever. The point is, you haven’t breathed a word of this to us. And now you’re engaged to him?”
“I was bringing him home to meet everyone,” I said. “This just happened first.”
“This?” he echoed. “This is you nearly dying, China.” His voice cracked on dying, and I stared at him, wide-eyed. Oslo was the calm, steady, oldest sibling who had taken more care of me than he should’ve had to after Mom died. Dad had been in such shock, and I’d been so young . . . Oslo had been the one to step up and make sure Bill and I got fed and had clean clothes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t something I did intentionally.”
“I know, I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m not mad at you. You were just . . . being you.”
As always, I felt that stab of guilt for not being more . . . normal. If I was normal, I’d know the right things to say to make him not look at me as though I was a science experiment he liked but didn’t quite understand.
“Do you like Jackson?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He seems nice,” Oslo said. “Bill’s been giving him the third degree. I don’t think he’s stopped asking him questions for the past two hours.”
“Why?”
He gave me a funny look. “Because despite his money, we’re not about to let some playboy toy with you if he’s not for real. If he wants to marry you, he’s going to have to pass muster.”
I didn’t know what to say. Oslo and Bill were performing the age-old ritual of hazing my suitor to ensure he was worthy of my affections. Considering how often I’d fended for myself, this was unexpected. But unlike most surprises, this one wasn’t unwelcome. It made me feel . . . valued. Which wasn’t a feeling I often associated with my testosterone-laden family.
“He’s taking everyone to dinner,” Oslo continued. “Some fancy restaurant. I think a limo is coming to pick us up.” He snorted.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“He’s not going to buy our approval,” he groused. “He can throw his money around all he wants. At least Grams seems to appreciate it.”
I laughed. “Grams thinks he’s the cat’s meow.” My memory still provided idioms on demand, which was a good sign.
Speak of the devil . . . Jackson walked in then. When he saw me sitting up, he smiled.
“You are looking better every time I see you,” he said, wrapping me in a gentle hug. He glanced at Oslo. “Thanks for keeping her company.”
“She’s my sister,” Oslo said archly. “Thanks are unnecessary.”
“Yes, I see by how often you call and visit China that she’s near and dear to your heart.” Not even I could miss the edge in Jackson’s voice.
“Dating my sister doesn’t give you the right to judge our family.” Oslo got to his feet, and I recognized the angry line of his jaw.
“Please don’t fight,” I said. “This really isn’t the time or place for all that.”
“You’re right,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m going to find Bill,” Oslo said. “I’d like to grab a shower. I’m sure he does, too.”
“The car will pick you up from the hotel in an hour,” Jackson said. “Grams and Mia are coming, too, of course.”
“Of course they are.”
There was a bit of a staring contest between them, then Oslo left.
I rested my head against the pillow. “He doesn’t like you.”
“Nonsense. He’s just under a lot of emotional stress because his sister is in the hospital and just underwent brain surgery. We’ll all go to dinner tonight, have a pleasant time, and they’ll relax.”
“I don’t know why they’re being so weird about this,” I said. “It’s not as if it’s unheard of for a girl to bring home a boyfriend.”
“Yes. They just didn’t expect it of you.”
That hurt, but I also knew it was true.
“Chef Rafe is going to bring by your dinner shortly,” Jackson said. “I hope you don’t mind me taking this opportunity to schmooze with your family.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I appreciate you doing all of this. You’ve gone above and beyond.”
“You’re worth much more,” he said with a soft smile. “I have to admit, I carry some animosity toward your brothers for how they’ve treated you in the past, but I’m willing to put that aside in favor of an amiable relationship that puts you at ease.”
“I really want to get out of here,” I said. “We have work to do. Have you and Clark found anything out from the file Mia and I got?”
“Clark is working on it,” he said. “We’ve divvied up duties.”
There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Morris came in. “And how’s my patient doing?” he asked.
“Impatient to leave your care,” I said.
He laughed. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” A nurse walked in behind him with fresh bandages.
“I’ll check in on you later,” Jackson said.
“Okay. Have a good dinner. Don’t let Grams have too many mint juleps. She’ll start hitting on the waiter.”
“Got it.”
The doctor examined me after Jackson left. “You’re doing very well,” he said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll do a CT scan and make sure everything is healing as it should. If it is, then you can go home. How’s your pain level?”
“Not bad.”
“I’ll scale back the meds tonight and see how you do. If you’re feeling too uncomfortable, just buzz the nurse.”
They rebandaged my head, this time with a much smaller patch that didn’t wrap all the way around my head. My scalp itched. It had been too long since I’d washed my hair. It was starting to irritate me.
“Can I take a shower or anything?” I asked. That was getting to me, too.
“I don’t see why not. We’ll give you a shower cap to wear over your hair, and the nurse can help you.”
Great. A stranger watching me wash my privates. Awesome.
“Um, okay. Maybe later,” I said.
They left, and true to his word, Jackson’s chef friend came by later. He left a four-course meal that was way too much for me to eat, but what I could eat was incredible.
I was watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory and trying not to think about how bored I was when the door opened again.
“Clark!” He looked good. He’d changed clothes, too, but still sported a five-o’clock shadow that made my eyes linger. He’d abandoned his disguise save for a Cardinals baseball hat and the fake glasses. “Thanks for coming.”
“I knew everyone would be at dinner. Thought it’d be the best time to come by.” He pulled up the chair and settled in, removing his hat and glasses.
“The doctor says I can get out tomorrow,” I said. “I can’t wait. I’ve had enough of this place.”
“I hear Coop’s been pulling gourmet strings today,” he said. “Impressing the fam.”
“Trying, anyway.” I plucked at my blanket. “My brothers came to see me. Not my dad, though.”
His eyes were too knowing as he looked at me. I had to glance away. “But he’s busy, you know, and I’m fine anyway. So it wasn’t a big deal that he didn’t come.”
“Right.”
I absently scratched at my itchy scalp. “Yeah. Anyway. Oslo and Bill are playing the big-brothers role to the hilt, grilling Jackson. As if he’s some gold digger out to steal my fortune and virtue.”
“What’s wrong?” Clark asked.
I tried to follow his question based on what I’d said, but was lost. “Wrong with what? My brothers? I have no idea. Guilt, maybe?”
“No, I mean you keep scratching. Are you all right? Should I get the nurse?”
“Oh. That. No, it’s just I need a shower. I feel gross and dirty. But the nurse has to help me and, well, having some stranger see me naked isn’t really my thing. I can wait until tomorrow.”
“I can help you.”
I looked at him and laughed. “You. You’re going to help me take a shower.”
He shrugged. “I won’t look.”
I hesitated, but the temptation to be clean was too great. “Okay. There’s a shower cap I’m supposed to wear . . .”
Clark found where the nurse had left it, and together, we managed to get my hair into it and cover my bandage.
“Okay, just lean on me,” he said. “Falling would be a really bad idea.”
He slipped his arm around my back and inside the open back of the gown. My breath hitched at the touch of his skin on mine, but he didn’t seem to react, so I didn’t say anything.
He supported me as we made the slow journey to the bathroom, IV stand in tow. “Stand here,” he said, making me hold on to the handicap bar. There was a folded seat in the shower that he put down. The shower had a hand attachment, and Clark started the water, waiting for the temperature to heat before coming back to me.
“I’m going to sit you in the chair,” he said, “and I’ll be right outside the door. Just call out if you need me.”
“Okay,” I said. Cool air hit my skin and I shivered.
“Turn around.” He undid the ties behind me, then helped slip my gown off my arms.
My cheeks warmed, but Clark was as businesslike as a nurse, helping me into the seat, arranging the IV to stay out of the way, and giving me soap and the hand wand. Clark took a step toward the door.
“Wait,” I said, panicking, “you’re just going to leave me? What if I pass out? What if I get dizzy and fall?”
“Listen, there’s nothing higher on my bucket list than to watch you take a bath, so if you want me to stay . . .”
That made me laugh . . . and blush. “I guess that wouldn’t be very appropriate,” I said. “Just . . . can you stay close?”
“I’ll be right outside the door.” For the first time, I saw his gaze travel from my eyes down my body, then back up. The Adam’s apple moved in his throat as he swallowed. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He stepped out, leaving the door cracked a couple of inches.
It took me a while, and the warm water felt so good that I just let it run over my shoulders for a few minutes. The soap was what Mia had brought—my nonperfumed, sensitive-skin Dove—and I was again thankful for her being so thoughtful.
Finally, I turned off the water and immediately heard Clark speak.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I’m done.”
He was instantly back inside and grabbed a towel. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to me. He helped me to my feet, and I wrapped the towel around me.
It took some doing, but we managed to get back to the bed, and when he sat me on the edge, I heaved a tired sigh.
“That felt good, but now I’m worn out,” I said with a little laugh.
“You’ll sleep well and feel good in the morning,” he replied.
“I really hate to put on that dirty hospital gown,” I said, wrinkling my nose. And that wasn’t my OCD talking. No one would like putting a hospital gown back on.
“Then you’re in luck. I got you a get-well present.”
Bemused, I watched him rummage inside a bag and pull out a bundle of clothing. Unfolding it, he held it up for me to see, and I laughed in delight.
Somehow, he’d found a set of Star Wars pajamas, covered in red-and-pink Valentine’s hearts, with a photo of Han and Leia from The Empire Strikes Back on the chest.
“Where in the world did you get that?” I asked.
“The clearance rack in the kids’ section of Kohl’s,” he replied, unbuttoning the top. “I figured you could probably fit.”
Sure enough, he helped me into the pajamas, and they weren’t too small. Sometimes being short and skinny had its advantages.
Discarding the wet shower cap, I tried finger-combing my hair, which was a no-go.
“Here,” Clark said, holding a brush. “Turn around.”
I turned my back to him, crisscrossed my legs, and waited. The tugs on my hair were slow and exceedingly gentle. It felt amazing, and my eyes drifted closed.
“Can I ask you something?” he said after a while.
“Sure.” I was clean, in fresh pj’s, and my hair was being untangled. Altogether, I was in a much happier place than yesterday.
“Do you remember the other night? In the hotel bathroom?”
I frowned, concentrating. “Um, I think so. I took a bath and Jackson came in.” There was more, and I searched my memory for it. “Oh. I told him. About us kissing. And then he was upset. And I was upset. You were there, too. Did I sleep on the floor?” How weird. Why would I have done that? It would’ve been uncomfortable, not to mention unsanitary.
“The doc mentioned that some of the symptoms you were experiencing might have also affected your personality and reasoning,” he said quietly. “The pressure on your brain . . .” His voice trailed off.
I didn’t speak. He continued brushing my hair. I was thinking, trying to recall all that had been said between Jackson and me that night as well as what Clark and I had said. It came back to me in bits and pieces. Jackson hadn’t mentioned that night.
“I remember,” I said at last. My words made the brush pause in its path, then he resumed.
“And?”
I took a deep breath. “And . . . I don’t want to lose what you and I have. We’re friends, partners, we work well together. Attempting a romantic relationship would be . . . unwise. Especially considering the fact that I am already engaged to marry Jackson.”
“Who says we’ll be working together much longer?”
My eyes slid shut at those words. It was suddenly painful to breathe. “I had hoped . . . perhaps you’d return to Vigilance once this case was resolved.”
“And be your maid of honor? No, thanks.”
“Y-you wouldn’t want to preserve our friendship? Our partnership?” I paused. “I don’t have many friends. And none that are like you.”
He stopped brushing and I turned to look up at him.
“Are you asking me to stay?”
“Well, I wouldn’t ask you to be my maid of honor,” I said. “Besides, that’s a role traditionally reserved for females.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to do, Clark. Tell me the path I can take where I don’t lose one of you.”
His fingers combed through my hair, laying it over my shoulder. “I don’t know, baby. But something’s gotta give.” Setting down the brush, he turned and left the room.
Pulling the covers up over me, I settled back down in bed. I was tired, but in a good way. Getting up and moving had helped me. The pain in my head wasn’t bad, and my tummy was full. So long as I didn’t dwell on the tangled relationships among myself, Clark, and Jackson, everything was hunky-dory.
Something woke me, and for a moment I was disoriented. The room was dark, but I sensed someone in there with me. As soon as I realized that, I also realized they weren’t moving but standing by the bed, staring at me.
Adrenaline poured through me in a cold rush, but before I could react, something moved in the darkness. Another figure was there, and there was a scuffle and grunts. I scooted away on the bed, nearly falling out in my haste to get away, when the door was suddenly flung open, and I saw Oslo flip on the overhead lights.
“Bill!” Relief and anger flooded me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You know this guy?” Clark asked me. He currently had Bill facedown on the bed, his right arm twisted up behind his back in what looked like a very painful position.
“Hey! Who the hell are you? Let him go.” Oslo hurried forward, but stopped at the look Clark shot him.
“Clark, these are my brothers. That’s Bill, and that’s Oslo.” I motioned with my hand. The adrenaline had worn off, but my heart was still racing. “This is Clark. I . . . work with him.”
“Nice to meet ya.” He let go of Bill. “Next time, try not to stare at your sister while she’s sleeping. It’s creepy. Somebody—like me—might get the wrong idea. Especially when you two look nothing like her.”
Bill rubbed his shoulder and glared at Clark, who merely gave him a thin-lipped smile.
“What kind of work do you do, exactly?” Bill asked him.
“Mack here is in tech,” Clark said. “You could say I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy.”
“Mack?” This was Oslo.
Clark passed by Oslo, getting well within the observed eighteen inches of personal space to say, “Yeah. Mack.”
He picked up his discarded jacket and shrugged it on. That’s when I noticed the handgun lodged in the waist of his jeans, wedged against his lower back. “I’ll be back later,” he said to me. He left without another word.
Bill and Oslo turned to me as one, expressions of confusion and disbelief on their faces.
“That guy . . .” Bill began. “Who is he?”
“He’s my partner,” I explained. “He’s more of the . . . security part of what I do, so he’s familiar with . . . you know . . . self-defense and . . . stuff.”
“Self-defense and stuff?” Oslo echoed. “He had a gun. He attacked Bill.”
“He didn’t attack Bill,” I said. “He was protecting me. There’s a difference.”
“Protecting you from what?”
I shrugged. “From . . . everything.”
They shared a look that I couldn’t interpret, but that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Then they must have silently agreed to let Oslo do the talking, because he spoke next.
“I think it’s time you tell us exactly what you do,” he said. “It sounds like you’ve gotten mixed up with some dangerous people.”
I glanced from one big brother to the other and sighed. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you ‘can’t’?”
“What I do is secret. You don’t have clearance for me to tell you.”
Oslo shoved a hand through his dirty-blond hair and turned away. Bill stared at me. “Cool. So you, like, work for the government. In some kind of top-secret job.”
“That’s dangerous,” Oslo interjected. “Is this the first time you’ve gotten hurt?”
Now, I’d been shot, tortured, and beaten, not to mention nearly blown up in a suicide vest, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. But apparently I didn’t have to, because Oslo cursed.
Bill’s expression of admiration changed to concern. “Seriously?” he asked me. “This isn’t the first time?”
I shrugged, noncommittal. I scrutinized Bill, thinking about what Clark had said. We looked alike, right? I mean, yeah, they were both on the blond and tall side with brown eyes, but that was just because they took after Dad, whereas I took after Mom.
“So you’re traveling with both these guys?” Oslo asked. “Jackson, your fiancé, and this . . . Clark . . . your partner?”
“I know it sounds strange—”
“It only sounds strange if you’re involved with both of them,” he interrupted. “Are you?”
“You sound suspiciously like a paragon of familial virtue trying to weigh judgment against the promiscuous daughter,” I said.
“That’s not answering my question.”
“The answer to the question is none of your business.”
“Wow,” Bill said. “Way to go, little sis.” He raised his hand like he was going to high-five me, but I just looked at him.
“My relationship, or lack thereof, with Jackson and Clark is private. As is my job. And I’m sorry that I can’t share any of it with you, but . . . but it’s not as if either of you has been exhibiting any interest in my life until now.”
That made them both go silent. Neither of them met my eyes.
“Dad didn’t even come to see me,” I said. My voice broke in the middle of the sentence. I cleared my throat and swallowed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you two came. But one act of filial loyalty doesn’t give you license to question my judgment or decisions.”
The door opened again and Clark walked in. I saw him through Bill’s and Oslo’s eyes. He must’ve tired of his disguise or decided the lateness of the hour allowed him leeway because he’d discarded it. Dressed in his usual dark jeans and a black long-sleeve Henley overlaid with the black leather jacket, and knowing the gun was at his back, he looked . . . like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. His hair was as black as his shirt, his eyes the blue of a summer sky, but without any of the innocence.
“They still here?” Clark sneered. “That must be a record.”
Oslo began, “Who the hell are you to—”
“We’re going,” Bill interjected, grabbing Oslo by the arm. He yanked him out of the room, throwing a “We’ll see you in the morning” over his shoulder to me.
“You scared off my brothers,” I said. “And . . . I haven’t seen Jackson in hours. What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything to Coop,” he said. “He did the brother-in-law-to-be thing and took everyone out to a nice dinner. Flew Grams here on the private plane. I can’t compete with that.”
“Why would you compete?”
“For you.”
I rested back against my pillow, looking at him. “Why were you here in my room?”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to leave you alone in this place? Some may call it paranoid. I call it better safe than sorry.” He flipped off the lights. “You need rest. Go back to sleep.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, settling back down and rearranging my covers.
“Write the next great American novel, solve world peace, find the cure for cancer.” He tucked the covers around me.
“You’re staying here, aren’t you,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s comfy here, and I’ve got nothing better to do.” He settled in the chair.
It was too dark to see his face clearly. But the fact that I felt more at ease with Clark in the room was undeniable.
“Don’t stay over there,” I said. “That chair looks . . . awful. Come here.”
Clark hesitated, then stood and approached the bed. I scooted to the side.
“Here,” I said. “There’s plenty of room.” I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted him with me. Wanted his warm body right next to me so I could touch him and feel his presence.
Clark toed off his shoes, then climbed gingerly into the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” I was more than fine. The sweet spot inside my chest was warm and sending spirals of happy through me.
He lay down beside me and I rearranged us, putting his arm underneath me and resting my head on his chest. I let out a deep sigh, feeling the peace and relaxation down to my toes. The IV was still irritating, but other than that, it was perfect.
“Thanks, Clark,” I said. “Thanks for being what I need.”
His hand gently cupped my head, and I felt the press of his lips against my forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. I’ll be anything you want.”