As it turns out, hiring a nurse wasn’t such a bad idea. Grazi gave her specific instructions over the phone, and I really don’t have to do much of anything except for grumble my responses when she shows up every day.

My winning personality and charm has already burned through three of them from the agency, and I’m expecting the fourth any minute. It’s a small price to pay for my privacy, and as long as they understand that I’m paying them to sit around and read magazines and ignore me, then everything will be just fine.

The elevator chimes and I adjust my position on the sofa, wondering what sort of atrocity they’ve sent my way this time. And oh, what an atrocity it is.

Purple framed glasses. A halo of messy blonde curls. An outfit that looks like it was picked out of the bargain bin at goodwill. And a temper I didn’t even know Lola had. She marches towards me, and I have the urge to cover my face because I think her head might actually explode.

“Is it true?” she demands.

“So nice to see you too,” I quip. “You look lovely, by the way.”

She crosses her arms in an effort to convey seriousness. All it does it pushes her tits up between the slope in her shirt and has the unexpected effect of making my dick stir in my pants.

Huh.

It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure it even worked anymore.

“Julian told me everything,” she seethes.

These are not the words I want to hear, and if I could walk, I’d kick his ass for real this time.

I have limited options in this scenario. When a woman challenges you unexpectedly like this, you better be ready to go to war. You better have your battle paint on and your armor in place before you decide to speak because chances are that whatever you say won’t be the right thing.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to—”

Lola’s face turns red, and I’ve picked the wrong option.

Abort.

Abort.

“Just tell me the truth,” she orders. “Was Ryan driving that night?”

I look for an exit, but it’s of no use to me anyway. I can’t move fast enough in my current state. I have no choice but to endure this conversation. “Does it really matter?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she screeches. “Of course, it matters! Why would you lie to me about that? Why would you take the blame for something you didn’t do? You let everyone believe it was your bad decision that killed Ryan. I hated you for years and I—”

She stops abruptly, and her face falls as something occurs to her. “Oh my god. You didn’t want me to know.” She collapses into the chair across from me. “You didn’t want me to know that girl wasn’t with you that night. Is that it?”

The pain in her eyes lances through my dead heart when she looks up at me with watery eyes.

“Why?” She forces the question out. And I know Lola well enough to know that her mind is full of chaos right now. She’s trying to make sense of this. My decisions. My rationale. She’s blaming herself. And then me. And then herself.

“You wanted me to hate you?” she asks.

“No.” My voice is too rough, and I can’t convey how much that isn’t true.

“Liar,” she whispers. “You’re such a liar. Oh my god, Daire. You could have just told me. I would have left you alone. I would have—”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Of course, it was.” She stands up, and I can’t let her leave like this. But I can’t move either. Because the nurse isn’t here to help me up and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Lola.

“I’m such an idiot,” she mumbles.

She turns away and won’t look at me. This can’t be the last thing I remember about her. We’ve been through too much already, and I know if I let her go out that door believing what she does, I’ll never see her again.

The choice should be simple, but it isn’t. Lola deserves better than this. I’m crippled. Bitter and caustic and cruel. She could do so much better. But it’s in my nature to be selfish, and that’s the part of me that wins when she punches the button on my elevator.

“I lied because I thought it would hurt you less. And it only seemed fair to punish myself for my actions that night. I might not have killed him, but it feels like I did.”

She pauses. Turning slowly, she levels me with her gaze. “You expect me to believe that?”

I shrug. “There’s no reason to lie now. It’s the truth. Do you honestly think I’d serve time in jail just to avoid your affections?”

She’s quiet. And when the elevator arrives, she doesn’t move. But I still hold my breath for ten seconds anyway. There’s so much more I want to say. Words that I’ve never been good at. Human interaction is not my forte. I can read people. I can see what they want. That’s easy. But intimacy is hard.

I’m trying to formulate a pitch. A way that I can salvage this and make myself marketable to her after everything I’ve done. But then the elevator chimes again and I didn’t even see her reach for the button.

It only takes me a second to realize that she didn’t and this is the worst possible timing for what appears to be the actual hot nurse I requested from the agency. She’s leggy and blonde, and when she steps into the foyer, I know it’s all over. Lola’s going to run, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.

“Afternoon, Mr. Daire,” leggy blonde says. “I’m Stephanie. The agency sent me over to assist you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lola murmurs. I want to wipe away the horror and pain on her face. I want to explain, but Stephanie decides that now is a good time for an icebreaker. She reaches out for Lola’s hand with a huge, toothy smile.

“You must be the girlfriend? Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

Lola doesn’t return the sentiment as she dodges around her and steps into the elevator. I call out to her. This isn’t how this should have gone down and what the fuck did I ever do to fate?

“It isn’t what you think.”

She shakes her head, and I don’t have to be a mind reader to know there’s no coming back for this. The doors are closing, and I was wrong. The last image I have of her won’t be her back, but her face. Her broken eyes and her resolve to exterminate me from every memory she’s ever had. She’s slipping away, and it would take a miracle for me to fix this.

It comes when the doors are mere inches apart, and her eyes swing to my wheelchair.

Guess the cat’s out of the bag.