Chapter 24
I JERKED awake in the middle of the night. Someone was in the room with me. I thought it might be the night nurse, and tried to scrub an itch by my eye, but was too drowsy to lift my hand. They must have upped the dose on my medicines because even my tongue felt numb. I finally opened my eyes, rolled my head to one side.
A figure sat slumped in the chair by my bed, head bent into one hand with elbow propped on knee, other hand extended and resting on the back of my hand. I knew that silhouette.
“Ryder?” I whispered.
He stiffened slightly, raised his head. The only light in the room slipped pale and watery from under the door, just enough to see his face.
Had he been crying?
“Delaney.” Spoken so softly, though there were only the two of us in the room. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” My heart picked up a beat.
Was there something else that had happened? Was someone else hurt?
“I shouldn’t have left you. I should have stayed. This is my fault. Us. This. All this.”
He wasn’t making any sense. He looked angry.
“I got shot. That doesn’t have anything to do with you. Part of the job. My job.”
He shook his head once, his eyes going hard, lips pressed in a frown. He was pulling away, even though he hadn’t shifted an inch. He was leaving me. Ending us. Even as he sat right there, his hand on mine.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, soft, and so very, very cold. “Last night was a mistake.”
“No,” I breathed.
He went on as if I hadn’t spoken, his words even, almost recited. “I left this morning because I realized you got the wrong idea. That it might be something more than one night. I was just up for a good time. Curious, after all this time of knowing you, what it would be like.”
He shrugged, patted my hand, and pulled back. “But you wanted something more, right?” He lifted one eyebrow and gave me a smirk I wanted to smack off his face. “I’ll still help out with the rally. If you want me to work a different shift, there’s no hard feelings.”
He sat there. As if it were nothing. As if last night were nothing. As if I were nothing.
Jerk.
“You are not breaking up with me in a hospital, Ryder Bailey.”
“I am.”
Silence stretched out around that statement, a hungry blackness growing between us.
“We can still be friends,” he said.
“Can we?” My heart was screaming, my stomach sick. The power song roared and raged in my head and my body hurt. But for Ryder Bailey, I smiled. “I think that’s over now too,” I said calmly. “No hard feelings.”
He glanced away from my gaze, swallowed once, then met my eyes again. There was nothing to read in his expression. Nothing in his body language that matched the pain in me.
Bastard.
“All right, then.” He stood. “I’ll be going. Maybe I should check in with Myra about my hours?”
“Maybe you should leave. Now.” I hated that my voice shook.
He didn’t move. For a moment, his mouth tugged down at the corners. His hands, loose at his side, clenched into fists, and then let go. “Goodbye, Delaney. Get well soon.”
I turned my head and closed my eyes. The sound of his footsteps grew quieter and quieter. I heard the door open, letting in the softer sounds from the hall, and then he was gone.
The room was silent, but nothing inside me was. I felt the hot slip of tears down the curve of my cheek and gritted my teeth against a sob.
I would not let that man make me cry. I would not let him break my heart. I wiped angrily at my face and breathed until I was under control. I was done with this place. With this pain. But even though I was angry, every muscle in my body was heavy, tired, and begging me to surrender to the medications flowing through my veins.
I closed my eyes, slipping, losing my grip on wakefulness. The medicine dragged at me, tucking me breath by breath down into sleep.
I didn’t know how much time passed, but when the nurse gently touched my arm, I woke.
“How are you feeling, chief?” she asked.
“Uh, good. Better. I’m ready to leave.”
My heart lurched with the memory of Ryder, but I shoved it aside. I had more important things to deal with.
Dan Perkin had shot me in broad daylight. He’d shouted something when he’d done it. Even through the haze of pain, he’d sounded panicked more than victorious. Almost like he hadn’t expected the bullet to actually hit.
He might have finally come to his senses after pulling the trigger. That happened often enough with crimes of passion.
But Myra said Dan hadn’t thought the gun was loaded. He was claiming complete innocence.
What if he really was innocent?
I took a deep breath, stuttered to a stop as my left side caught fire, waited out the pain, and carefully exhaled. Bad, but not bad enough to keep me in bed. I’d gotten enough sleep. What I needed now were answers.
“I want to be released,” I told the nurse. “Can you bring me the forms?”
“Your doctor wants to check on you before you’re released.”
“I’m leaving.” I pushed the covers away and slipped my legs over the edge of the bed. “Take out the IV, please. And get me the forms to sign.” Then, in my best chief of police voice. “Now.”
It took more than that to convince her, but I was determined. She finally gave in.
Someone, probably Jean, had brought in a pair of black sweatpants and another one of Dad’s old Grateful Dead T-shirts. Good enough. I took some time getting into my clothes and zipped up the black hoodie with FIGHTING BARNACLES across the back of it.
I was out of breath, a little woozy. But I got my shoes on and rested for a couple minutes until my head and hands stopped shaking.
Walking wasn’t great, but not impossible if I just took it a little slower than my normal pace. I kept my arm across my ribs to keep them from jostling too much.
The nurse shook her head at me as I passed the front counter. She handed me a bag of medicines with instructions on how many to take and when.
I thanked her, set my sights on the front door, and, with my pink balloon bobbing above me, headed into the night.