I WOULDN’T HAVE THOUGHT THE ER would be so packed on a weekday morning, but I guess in the third largest metropolis in the U.S., emergency rooms must have a constant flow of bodies. Accidents, illness, crime related injuries; we see it all as we take our seats in the waiting room, me still on Stone’s back like an idiot.
I’m sure I could walk on it. Certain of it. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else other than myself. I know I said I hoped his back would hurt tomorrow, but I was just giving him hell. If he gets down on his back from carrying me I would feel bad about it. But Mr. Bossy Pants insisted that if it is fractured or broken, I could cause further damage by walking on it.
We find a couple of seats in the back corner, mostly away from anyone hacking up a lung or bleeding from anywhere. When Stone sits in the chair beside me, I notice the way the muscle in his jaw flexes.
“I told you your back would hurt. Hell, you probably need to be seen worse than I do now.”
“Are you trying to emasculate me completely? You weigh what? One-twenty? One-twenty-five?”
“One-thirty.” I stick my tongue out at him, grabbing a magazine from the table in front of us. “Between the lakefront and the parking lot, you probably carried me two miles.”
“I’d say we’re even.”
“Even?”
“I got to squeeze that ass the whole way. So, who’s the real winner here?”
“Yeah, well, I bet your forehead’s gonna have a bruise from how many times I smacked you, too.”
“Worth it.”
I roll my eyes at him, thumbing through the home improvement magazine in my lap, making a mental note to pick up some paint for the guest bedroom turned nursery. Or soon to be anyway.
“You know you don’t have to stay, right? I can take a cab or call my parents or something.”
He shakes his head.
“What about Bruno? Don’t you need to take him home?”
“Thorn has a key to my truck. I messaged him before we left Lake Shore, so he’s probably already been by to get him.”
I look at him, eyes knowing but not in the mood to argue. Around us everyone is quiet, watching the television or sleeping, but I feel the need to fill the silence.
“As much as I’m at the hospital, I should get like a VIP pass that sends me straight backs.”
“So, it wasn’t Bruno’s fault? You’re clumsy like this all the time?” he smirks, one eyebrow raised.
I shake my head. His expression changes and I feel a small pang of sadness that I quickly shake off. I don’t talk to anyone about Madi. In fact, I can only think of a handful of people outside of our parents that I’ve ever talked to about her situation. But I want to tell him.
“My best friend, Aston’s daughter, has been in the hospital for six months and I go see her just about every day. She’s in a coma and we don’t know yet if she will come out of it.”
He sits forward, elbows on his knees and eyes cautious and curious. “What happened to her?”
I think about that night because I’ve never really had to tell this story again after talking to the police. Aston and Liz never wanted all the details because the ones they read in the police report were more than enough.
“Well, do you want the long or short version?” I give a half-hearted smile, trying to lighten the mood of what I’m about to say. He looks around the waiting area.
“We’ve got time for whatever you want to tell me.”
I nod slowly, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Madison wanted to go out and celebrate me passing the bar exam, but before we left, her boyfriend, Damon, showed up, and per usual, he and I got into an argument. I’d just had enough of him and the way he treated her and I couldn’t take his bullshit control tactics anymore. I gave her a shitty ultimatum, told her if she stayed with him, she was going to lose me. When she didn’t answer, I lost it, screamed at them both, telling them they deserved each other. Then I stormed out of her apartment on the third floor and went up to mine.” I look away, pain beginning to creep into my features. I pick at my nails, emotions growing thick and making it impossible to look at him.
“When you’re friends with someone, basically sisters from birth, you have your share of disagreements. But the longer I sat in my apartment, the more different this one felt. After twenty, thirty minutes, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I headed back down and in the elevator, this sort of urgency set in. I tried to run when the doors opened, but it was like there were lead weights tied to my ankles. Until I saw the door to her apartment was cracked open, then I knew. I knew why I’d had this sick feeling in my stomach all those months they’d been dating, why my skin would crawl when he was in the room, and why I wanted her as far away from him as possible.” I look up at Stone, his posture full of unease. I consider stopping, but I’ve already gone too far, now.
“There was so much blood. You couldn’t even see her face. Her blond hair was bright red and clung to her everywhere. I stood there in shock until she made a sound in the back of her throat that told me she was still alive. After I called for help, everything happened in a blur.”
“God, Lydia. That’s—” He cuts himself off, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know what to say. That’s shit nobody should ever have to see. But if it hadn’t been for your quick action, she wouldn’t have a fighting chance.”
A tear falls down my cheek and he reaches out to capture it with his thumb.
“Yeah, well, maybe if I’d acted months before, or stayed that night and kept my mouth shut and just dealt with the fact that she was with him and there was nothing I could do about it, maybe things wouldn’t have gone down like that.”
“With someone capable of that, it wouldn’t have mattered. Even if you got her away from him, odds are he would’ve found a way.”
“Are you capable of that?”
As much as some people would feel like an asshole for asking this, I don’t. I can’t help that this entire experience has shaped the way I view people who get thrills out of violent acts. I don’t fear him, and I may even go as far as to say that safety isn’t an issue when I’m around him. But if he’s capable of beating a grown man with his bare hands, then who’s to say he couldn’t do the same to me? Madison wanted Damon enough to date him for months, to allow herself to become pregnant with his child. So, is it not safe to assume that she was sharing a bed with a man she didn’t know? A man who had fooled her?
“Never. Do you ask that question to everyone?” His eyes relay pained curiosity. I’m sure he wants to know if I only ask him this question. Honesty is the best policy.
“No. I should’ve asked Damon, but I’ll have to settle for starting with you.”
“Why would you loop Damon and me into the same category?”
“Because he was a fighter just like you—in the underground.”
Silence falls between us, his eyes narrowing in confusion, yet understanding, momentarily processing what I’ve said. But when he speaks, his words sound like the crack of a whip.
“Ah, well, that makes perfect sense. That’s about like expecting one of these doctors to kill you because Kevorkian was a doctor. Sounds legit, right?”
My eyes narrow at his knee-jerk response to my concerns.
“Lydia Norberg?” a nurse calls me back and I feel the leaden weight of our unspoken words between Stone and I. I go to stand and walk back, but he moves quickly in front of me, waiting silently for me to climb on, and I do.
Being able to walk out of the hospital in an air cast is a welcome relief. Of course, the only thing I could think about while I was in the ER was the words left hanging between us and the fact that neither of us attempted to say anything to persuade or comfort the other.
“Stone.” For the first time since leaving the hospital, he looks at me as we come to a red light mere blocks from my apartment. I can tell he’s far from an emotional man, but there are many in the depths of his eyes now. “Thank you for bringing me and staying despite our conversation earlier.”
“Do we need to go pick up your prescription?”
I press my lips together, understanding that this is his deferral technique.
“The pharmacy will deliver.” I turn slightly toward the passenger door, physically and emotionally tapped out for the day. I get it. I really do. We all have things we don’t want to talk about and ways that we deal with things. But Stone seems to have more than the average. He’s closed off and I’m unable to penetrate that barrier to delve deeper into who he is. I think he’d sit and listen to me talk about myself or whatever else I could come up with, but asking him questions and getting him to talk about himself is out of the question.
Yet, he’s here, taking me back and forth from the emergency room and walking me up to my apartment. There’s a part of me that knows that’s just the right thing to do, but the bigger part of me says this is just Stone. I’m learning through his actions because God knows I’m not getting to know him through words.
I unlock my door, Stone’s hand having stayed on the small of my back from the time he helped me out of his truck till now. My skin itches to shake him off or pull him in, I’m not sure which. Because I’m so inside-out that all I want to do is lay down and let my head shut off completely.
“Where do you want to lay? Couch or bed?”
“It’s fine. Really, I’ve got it from here.”
He ignores me, moving to situate the pillows on the couch before I lay down across it. When I do, he pulls the throw from the back and drapes it over me. He disappears around the couch toward the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of water, setting it on the coffee table in front of me.
“Anything else you need right now?”
“Are you missing work?” He glares at me. “Still?”
“We start a different, smaller job tomorrow. I’ll split my crew to finish up the other job when my permits get reinstated.”
I consider my next words, having figured out how private Stone is and wondering if I’ll cross some sort of boundary with him by asking.
“Why is Cameron coming after you so hard? It’s obvious this is about something other than the incident with Rush.” I pull my sweatshirt over my head, sweat and emergency room feeling dirty on my skin.
“Do you have a bath or shower?”
I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Both. Why?”
He doesn’t answer, just turns to go into my bedroom and bathroom. When he comes back and stalks toward me with intent, I’m confused as he picks me up from the couch, carrying me into my bedroom.
“Stone, what the hell?” When he sets me on the counter of my vanity, it’s impossible not to remember the hotel. Or the desk. Or that entire weekend. He reaches for the air cast, undoing the straps and easing it from my foot. “Stone,” I demand. He hesitates and looks up at me.
“You’ve been for a jog and sat in a fucking emergency room all morning.” He walks to the bathtub and turns on the water, running his hands under the flow, testing the temperature. “So, are you going to let me help you, or are you going to fight me?”
“I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”
“And what? Take the chance of slipping in the shower or not being able to get yourself out of the tub and turning a minor injury into a serious one?”
The look on his face borders on murderous and I’m not sure if it’s his genuine need to help or the fact that I won’t let him that’s boiling his blood. I’ve learned enough about him to know that he doesn’t back down, he doesn’t lose. So, I find myself relenting before I even open my mouth.
“Fine.” I toss back as much attitude as he dishes out, pulling my shirt over my head and removing my sports bra before he even has time to move. He stands stock still, eyes dropping near imperceptibility to my chest before stepping over to me. His eyes stay glued to mine as he eases me from the counter.
“Keep your weight on your good ankle.” His hands find the waistband of my joggers and push them and my panties down my hips slowly, following them down until he’s kneeling before me. He removes one leg and then the other, eyes coming up to meet mine as I watch his every movement, captivated and hating myself for it.
He lifts me into his arms and carries me over to the tub, easing me over the side and into the water with slow and careful attention. He checks the water temperature again, adjusting to add more heat.
I can feel the question, him wondering if he should stay or give me privacy. He stands up straight, eyes roaming my body before settling on mine, I’m sure reflecting the conflict of questions and emotions I feel. Without a word, he turns, taking three steps toward the doorway.
“Wait.” I flinch at the sound of my voice. He stops and turns his head back to look at me. I swallow thickly. “Stay.” My voice cracks slightly. “We don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but stay. Please,” I repeat my request, forcing my voice to reflect the confidence I don’t have right now.
He turns completely, seemingly reasoning with himself, or me, or the universe for all I know. He moves to sit on the vanity stool beside the tub, elbows going to his knees and fingers intertwining.
“For the record, I like talking to you.”
He looks up from his hands to meet my gaze.
“I’m just not always the best at answering questions.” I hide the surprise that tries to creep onto my face and try my hand at nonchalance for a change.
“Okay. So, I won’t ask any.” He smirks at me. “What? I’m completely capable of talking about nothing.” His smirk morphs into a full-toothed smile and I’d never admit it to him or anyone else, but my heart stops beating for an entire, beautiful minute.
And all I can think is, God help me, but I’m in trouble.