24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
M ICAH
Carly sits in stony silence beside me as we navigate back down the hill. She hasn’t said a single word since she got into the car, resolutely staring out the window and pretending like I don’t exist.
Not that I blame her. Now that she put my actions into perspective, I’ve been a grade-A ass to her this whole time.
I yelled at her for sticking up for me.
Then had sex with her and coldly flew her out like she was a hooker.
Then I show up without warning and assault a guy who I’m still not convinced is just a friend.
Still, I can’t even believe I did all that. Especially that last part. It was like something else came over me, some green-eyed demon. I rarely cause a scene like that when I’m sober. And I never do so out of jealousy.
I don’t get jealous. Ever.
But when I saw that man holding her, with her smiling up at him and the bastard smiling right back down at her as though he had every right to… I can’t lie. I saw red for several seconds and it blinded me. My mind blanked. Rationality ceased to exist.
All I know is that I wanted to punch his face in so he could never smile at her again.
Which is an unhinged thought to have, admittedly. More than that, it’s scary that I almost acted on it.
Sure, the idiot attacked first, but I took it a little too far, and probably would have kept going and snapped his wrist if not for Carly calling me out on my bullshit.
And she did it in front of all those people too. I nearly chuckle. I didn’t expect that from her either. I might not mind causing a scene, but I know Carly does.
Over the weeks we’ve known each other, I’ve gleaned how private and low-key she usually is and can only imagine how mortified she’s feeling right now.
My amusement dies when I sneak a look at her. She’s not finding it very funny. And this whole fiasco is my fault.
I screwed up. On so many levels.
I stare at the open road, and wonder how to fix the mess I made.
“I’m sorry,” I say even though the word feels too inadequate. I try to inject more of my sincerity into my tone. “I mean it. For how I acted with my grandfather... I… When he said what he said, I didn’t know how to react. I thought it had ruined everything. And then I did ruin everything. But at the same time, I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, and I acted like an ass because it’s my defense mechanism and…” I sigh because this is coming out all wrong, an endless jumble of words I can’t put together right. What’s happening to me? I’m usually more eloquent than this. “Is this making any sense to you?”
“What do you want, Micah?” she says, steel-toned. “I know you don’t want to talk to me just to apologize to me, so tell me what you really want.”
Guilt slices through me. She read me accurately again. I didn’t come all the way here just for an apology even though I should have. I came because I want her back.
But now that I’m faced with the truth of what I did, I almost don’t have the guts to even ask that of her. Maybe I should let the idea of using her for the ruse die. I can’t use her if it’s going to hurt her, and putting her in my Grandfather’s path will do at least that.
“I don’t want anything,” I say instead. “Just for you to forgive me.”
“You could have done that on the phone.”
“I tried. You had me blocked.”
“Oh,” she says. She probably forgot that she did it too.
“You also sent back the money that my accountant sent you.” The man informed me on the way here that the deposit had been reversed.
She shrugs. “Well, I assumed since our deal was done, then there was no need for you to pay me anymore.”
“You thought wrong,” I say. “Even if our deal is done, you still fulfilled your part. You’re at least entitled to that money. More than that, in fact. I want you to have it.”
She doesn’t seem pleased with the concession. Instead, she eyes me suspiciously.
Why?” she asks. “Is this your way of trying to buy me back?”
“No, Carly.” She really does think lowly of me. And the worst part about it is how close she comes to being right. “This is my way of saying that the money is yours. We had a deal and you did your part. I’m the one who screwed up. So even if you take that money and tell me to get lost again, it would still be yours. I’ll accept your wishes without any problem.”
It’ll be a tough pill to swallow. I would hate to pretend-date any other woman, and also losing Carly proved painful in general.
But I’ll do it if that’s truly what she wants.
I can feel her staring at me.
“Why?” she asks again, quietly this time. “Why are you doing this?’
I should probably say something meaningful right now, something profound and charming that would win her back and make her forgive me for all my stupid mistakes. Something suave and smooth, something typical of the quintessential sweet-talker himself.
“Damned if I know,” I answer honestly instead.
She snorts and turns back to stare out the window.
We arrive at the hospital in due time, pulling in front of a white several-story concrete building with rusted iron stair railings. Carly rushes out ahead of me as I park the car, and by the time I catch up, she’s marching in through the sliding entrance doors the inner air slightly warmer than the outdoors.
Like most hospitals, there’s a septic scent in the air, the murmur of endless chatter, the consistent beeps of machines, and the occasional droning of the call system above us.
Carly’s steps are clipped and agitated, and her hand grips the strap of her bouncing tote bag slung across her shoulders. She strides down the hallway through the emergency entrance, approaching the nurse’s desk with a determined look on her face.
“Hey, Gracie,” she says to the pleasantly plump elderly woman who was in the process of reaching for something on the other side of the aisle.
Gracie smiles kindly at Carly. “Hey, Carly. Are you here for your dad?”
“I was told he was brought in.”
“Yup. He’s in Room 5 down the hall. Someone kicked his ass and practically left him for dead right on a park bench. It must have happened sometime during the night too, because Officer Jensen only found him while doing his morning patrols.”
“Jesus,” Carly whispers in horror and Gracie nods her sympathy. Then she shifts her attention to me, her eyes flaring with that familiar gleam I see in many women’s faces.
I wink in return. “How’s it going?”
“Well, hello, handsome,” she croons. “I think I’ve seen you around here before. The night of the shooting. You brought Declan and Emma to the hospital, right?”
“Yeah, I was there,” I say. I remember plenty of things about that day. Driving into town to look for Declan and hearing that he’d gone alone to save his daughter from pearl smuggling kidnappers. He wasn’t back yet and Emma was nearly in a panic, so I went with her to rescue him.
We got there in enough time to find Amelia making her way out of the forest herself. While Emma and Monty, the bodyguard, went off to find Declan, I carried Amelia back to the car, protecting her.
And then the gunfire started.
After that, the details get a little foggy. The adrenaline kicked in and all I remember is flashes of images: Declan getting dragged out by Monty and Emma, sporting a nasty gunshot wound, trying to get him to the hospital along with his daughter crying in the back seat and Declan threatening to lose consciousness.
Everything after that and until Declan was declared stable was a fog. I was just operating on autopilot at that point. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone close to death since my brother. The trauma of that night doesn’t necessarily haunt me anymore, but I’ve been less enthusiastic about going to hospitals since then.
So it’s very likely that I did meet this woman that night and just don’t remember her. Of course, I’ll never tell a lady that though.
So I wink at her and say, “You know, I felt we had met before too, but I thought it was only in my dreams.”
It has the desired effect. The woman snorts and says, “Boy, stop blowing smoke up my ass.”
Carly cringes a little and then rolls her eyes before heading away to hospital room five.
“We’ll talk,” I tell the nurse, and she chortles as I follow Carly.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Carly mutters.
“Nope,” I say and she shakes her head. “And you have to admit that was a good one to come up with on the fly.”
“No, it wasn’t.” But I can almost see the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.
Oh yeah, I’m getting her to smile again. We’re getting there.
And then she draws the curtains open and the smile disappears entirely.
There are four people in the room, all looking at Carly. Well three of them are. The one in the bed, Carly’s dad, is currently unconscious, with tubes going in and out of his mouth, a bruised cheek, and swollen eyes.
A dark-haired woman who looks like a thinner, more severe-faced version of Carly is sitting beside him holding his hand. Opposite them is another shorter woman and then a man who appears more annoyed than concerned.
“Took you long enough.” The sitting woman talks to Carly first. “I told you your father was in the hospital and it took you almost an hour to get here.”
“Sorry, Mom. I was all the way at the Pink Hotel across town.” She approaches the bed tentatively. “How is he? Gracie said he got beat up by someone.”
“Yeah. Probably borrowed money from the wrong person for booze and didn’t pay back,” the man grouched.
Carly’s mother nods.
“Stupid fucker. I told him drinking would be the death of him.”
“And it’s gonna be the death of me too! How on earth am I going to pay that hospital bill? Your bastard brother should have just stayed home like I told him to and none of this would have happened.”
As they spoke the other woman had her eyes trained on me. Unlike with Gracie, I feel zero inclination to joke around with this lady or even smile at her. So I just blankly stare back at her.
“Who are you?” she finally asks.
Carly turns and gestures to me. “This is Micah,” she says. “My—”
“Boyfriend,” I don’t know what causes me to say it but the minute I do, Carly’s eyes pop open beyond belief and she gapes at me.
Still, I maintain composure. “I’m Carly’s boyfriend.”
There’s a second of shocked silence and then everyone starts talking at once.
“You are?”
“Carly’s never had a boyfriend. I’m her aunt, I would know.”
“You’re way too good-looking to be her boyfriend.”
That last sentence makes me frown at the speaker: Carly’s mom of all people.
And you’re way too heartless to be her mother dances on my tongue but I refrain from saying it. I already know how sensitive Carly is about her family.
Instead, I attempt to smooth it over with humor. “If you ask me, I’m the one punching way above my league.”
“Yeah right,” Carly’s mother snorts like I just said a joke and my dislike for the woman deepens.
“I’m serious. Carly’s a beautiful woman and smart. Smarter than I ever was and more driven too, putting herself through college. I got my whole tuition paid when I was her age and I still dropped out.”
“We’ll see if she finishes,” the other woman, Carly’s aunt, adds and I instantly dislike her too.
“You look familiar,” the man, probably Carly’s uncle, says. “I feel I’ve seen you on TV or something before. Are you a singer?”
“No,” I say but it only makes the man peer at me with even more suspicion.
“He’s Declan’s friend, Uncle Allan,” Carly says, and suddenly their eyes all light in interest.
“Declan Tudor? The billionaire?” Allan says. And then they look at me with renewed interest, eyes tracking my clothes.
“Carly’s boyfriend,” her mother murmurs. The frown is gone from her face, and there’s a new respect in her eyes as she looks at me. I recognize it for what it is.
And I hate it.
Carly on the other hand looks mortified.
Especially when her mother turns to her and says, “How are we going to pay for this, Carly?”
There was enough suggestion in her tone to make me frown. There are three adults in the room. Why is it on her?
But Carly doesn’t complain. She simply swallows and says, “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”