Chapter 44
forty-four
I sit hunched in one of the only hard, plastic chairs available. On one side of me, a homeless man snoozes with his mouth hanging open; on the other, a woman wipes at her bleeding chin, looking like she lost some sort of fight.
I drop my face to my hands, bending over my own lap. Even when I squeeze my eyes shut, I can’t get certain images out of my head. The flicker of the burned-out streetlight across from the alley we found Christian in. The way his arms bobbed limply when Graham hauled him off the pavement. The tint of his skin—blue from the cold, bathed in flashing red ambulance lights.
I hailed another cab to follow them to Mount Sinai, despite Graham trying to push his keys into my hand and send me home to wait for him comfortably. I couldn’t bear the thought of him waiting in the hospital alone, especially if his brother doesn’t make it.
The EMTs believe he was dosed with fentanyl, an illegally-manufactured opioid that dealers often try to pass off to junkies. Apparently, fentanyl ODs are more deadly than other narcotic overdoses.
Graham comes striding out of one of the triage rooms, wild-eyed. His beautiful suit is ruined, with dirt and alley sludge ground into the knees and something else smeared over the jacket’s shoulder pad. He rushes up to the front desk and starts emptying his wallet, flinging cards and cash onto the counter. I hustle to his side, hurrying to block his wad of cash from the rest of the waiting room.
“ Dios mío, pinchao , the last thing we need is for you to get rolled on our way out.”
“I can’t find the goddamn insurance card,” he growls, ripping out more cards. “He doesn’t have his ID—I don’t know if he’s an organ donor and?—”
I place my hand over his, stilling him. “Shh. It’s okay. I can look through your wallet for the insurance card, but there’s a chance you have it on your phone already. Did you call your dad? He might know about the organ donation thing.”
Graham grits his teeth through multiple deep breaths. His eyes snap shut. “If he finds out about this, he’ll stop contributing to Christian’s tuition.”
Curse words explode in my head, but I hold my tongue. With a nod, I gather his cards and cash, scanning through them. “Here.” It’s an insurance card; no way of knowing if it’s expired or if it covers his brother, too, but it’ll get the administrators off his back. The nurse at the desk takes it before turning away.
“What did the doctors say?” I ask.
Graham pushes both hands through his hair and pulls on the back of his neck. “His heart stopped,” he rasps. “Twice.”
“Oh, Graham.”
I throw myself at him without thought, winding my arms around his neck and holding him close. He squeezes all the air out of me, murmuring into my hair. “They have to put him under for a while to give his brain time to rest. The doctor told me to come back in the morning. Emergency room’s overcrowded, so after I’ve given them his info, they want us to go home.”
Us. Home .
He means his place. I don’t even want to correct him.
We don’t speak the whole way back to the Lower East Side. When his front door closes behind us, I finally take a deep breath.
I don’t know when or how, but Graham’s place has come to feel like our shared reprieve from all of this insanity. At the island, I kick my heels off and unhook my earrings while he slides out of his jacket, vest, and tie.
“Does that big tub in your bathroom work?” I whisper.
Graham seems distracted. He frowns at his cufflink while he tries to undo it. “I’ve never even tried it, but I assume so. You want a bath?”
I sweep my hair over my shoulder, presenting him with my zipper. “We’re both amped up and stressed. I thought we could take one together; unwind a little before we try to sleep.”
My dress gapes open at the back. He slips his hands in, roaming them over my sides and wrapping his arms around my middle. His forehead falls to my shoulder. “That sounds like heaven.”
In short order, I fill his tub, add some bath oil, and lay out a stack of towels. He joins me in the bathroom, wearing only a pink pair of his signature silk boxers.
He pauses on the threshold, drinking in the sight of me in my panties and bra. “One day,” he says quietly, coming closer. “Will you wear that outfit for me again? I want a chance to strip you out of it properly.”
I run my hands over his naked chest, up to his shoulders. “Yes,” I whisper, enjoying the broad strength under my fingertips. “Unhook me?”
He unclasps my bra and watches me shimmy out of my panties, his gaze hot despite the tense lines marring his forehead. When I lower myself into the foamy water, he strips and climbs in behind me, pulling me into his lap and nestling my ass against his erection.
One arm curves around my belly while the other hand spreads over my throat, tilting my head to give him a place to rest his. He murmurs into the crook of my neck.
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight. And being here, now.”
I sigh. We have so much to figure out. His brother and my father. My changing living situation. His company hanging in the balance. My job. His friendship with the Strykers.
How will I tell my boss? Maybe Graham will want to tell him alone? Or with me? I know we have to say something now that Graham and I are… whatever we are. But do I really want to, if it’s going to cost me my career ?
For the moment, I just want to breathe . I know Graham needs that, too.
His lips brush over the top of my shoulder as his fingers find the indentations my thong left in either hip. His thumbs rub over the marks in gentle circles. When I shift on his naked lap, he rumbles.
“Jules,” he grunts quietly. “Stay still.”
I almost dare him to “make me,” but I don’t want to bait him while he is down. Instead, I turn my face to snag his gaze.
One strong hand slips back up to the column of my throat. It tightens slightly as he stares back at me. An unfathomable look fills his eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Tell me, sexy lawyeress,” he murmurs. “After the events of tonight, if I say something crazy, do I get to plead temporary insanity later?”
I can’t quite squash my smile. “Possibly. Depends on exactly how crazy it is.”
He matches my half-smirk. “In that case, I don’t think I’ll take my chances. I’ve had hellish luck this week. And this”—he hugs me closer—“is one thing I’m not willing to gamble on.”
Joy shimmers through me. The flurry of sparks melds into the thick cloud of apprehension crowding my lungs. Filled with a bittersweet slurry, I press my forehead into his.
“Me neither.”