Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
PHOENIX
“I can’t believe that was you singing,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual as we walk down the darkened street in the general direction of our hotel. “I’ve had that song on my playlist for years.”
Atticus’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “I’m wounded you didn’t recognize my voice.”
“It sounds different on the recording.” I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter across the cobblestones. “More…processed, I guess.”
“That’s because my father insisted on layering it with about fifteen vocal tracks and enough reverb to drown a small country.” Atticus shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the evening chill. “Said my natural voice wasn’t ‘commercial enough.’”
The bitterness in his tone catches me off guard. I’ve spent the last hour trying to reconcile the Atticus I thought I knew—privileged, arrogant, coasting on family connections—with the man I watched pour his soul into a battered guitar in a dive bar.
“Your natural voice is better,” I say before I can stop myself.
His head turns, those green eyes catching mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. “You think so?”
“Don’t fish for compliments. It’s beneath you.”
“Nothing is beneath me, firebird. I have absolutely no shame.” But his smile softens into something almost vulnerable. “Thank you, though.”
We’re halfway back to the inn, the three of us walking in a formation that feels deliberate. Atticus beside me, Mason three paces ahead, his shoulders rigid as steel beams. He hasn’t spoken more than two words since we left the bar.
I’ve given up on trying to figure out what’s going on with him.
“Have you ever thought about going back to it?” I ask, partly because I’m curious and partly to fill the silence.
“Back to what?”
“Just you and a guitar. No production. No fancy studios. Just… raw.”
Atticus laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The industry doesn’t work that way.”
“Since when do you care how the industry works?”
“Since my father owns half of it.” He kicks the same pebble I did, sending it bouncing ahead of us. “Some chains are harder to break than others.”
“That sounds like an excuse to me.”
Full lips pursed, Atticus eyes me narrowly. “You couldn’t have liked the song that much since you walked out before I even finished.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I just needed some air.”
“Sure you did.” Mason’s voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and accusatory. He hasn’t turned around, but his shoulders have gone even more rigid. “That’s why you came back in smelling like cigarettes.”
The defensive spike of irritation wars with guilt in my chest. I’m an adult. I can have a cigarette if I want to. But the look on Mason’s face—not anger, exactly, but something closer to disappointment—makes me want to confess everything.
Instead, I pivot. Hard.
“I met someone outside,” I announce, with no clear idea why I’m even bringing it up. “This cute alpha who saved me from a biker. Very hot. With ocean eyes. And a claiming bite, unfortunately.”
The words tumble out in a rush, and I watch Mason’s expression shift from irritation to confusion to something I can’t quite read.
Atticus raises an eyebrow. “Ocean eyes, huh? Tell us more about this alpha.”
“His name is Judah Daniels,” I continue, grateful for the distraction.
“He has this whole rugged fisherman thing going on. Very solid. Very…real.” I’m babbling now, but I can’t seem to stop.
“And he was so polite. Not in that fake Hollywood way, but genuinely considerate. Like he actually cared whether I was okay.”
“Can’t be that good of an alpha if he’s claimed and still sniffing after you,” Atticus grouses, sounding genuinely perturbed.
“He wasn’t sniffing, you ass. He just wanted an autograph for—“
“What kind of flowers do you want to get for Stephanie?” Mason interrupts, voice flat.
I blink at him. “What?”
“We need to get flowers. For Stephanie.”
I stop short. “Wait, why? I thought she was just at the hospital getting checked out. I assumed she’d be discharged by the time we’re supposed to leave.”
“Stephanie is in the ICU,” he explains, voice very carefully neutral.
My heart drops. “What? I thought she was just getting checked out. She didn’t seem that bad when we left last night.”
“I guess she got hit harder than we thought.” Mason’s thumb scrolls through what must be a text or email, his face illuminated by the blue light. “She’s in the ICU.”
“Jesus.” Atticus moves closer, reading over Mason’s shoulder. “When did you find this out?”
“Just now. She has a sister in Phoenix who’s her emergency contact. The sister got a call from the hospital a few hours ago and just sent me a message. She won’t be able to make it out for a few days.”
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the October air. Stephanie and I aren’t exactly friends—she’s always been more of the studio’s ally than mine—but the thought of her lying in a hospital bed with tubes and machines keeping her alive…
“We should visit her,” I say.
Mason’s head snaps up. “What?”
“We should go to the hospital. See how she’s doing. The hospital can’t be that far away.” I’m already on my phone, pulling up directions. “We can call a rideshare.”
“Phoenix.” Mason’s voice has that edge—the one that means he thinks I’m being unreasonable. “It’s almost ten PM. Visiting hours are over.”
“So? We’ll say we’re family.”
“They’re not going to let us in.”
“They might,” Atticus interjects, earning a glare from Mason. “It’s probably worth a try. Stephanie doesn’t have anyone else here.”
Mason looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t bother to try.
The sliding glass doors of Harmony Harbor General Hospital part with a pneumatic hiss, releasing the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and recycled air. A nurse looks up from the intake desk, her expression shifting from boredom to recognition as we approach.
“Can I help you?” she asks, eyes darting between the three of us.
I step forward, summoning my most sincere smile. “We’re here to see Stephanie Gerber. She was admitted earlier today.”
“I’m sorry, visiting hours ended at eight.” The nurse—her badge reads “Nancy”—glances at the clock on the wall. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow between ten and six.”
“We understand, but we just found out she’s in the ICU.” I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “We’re her family. We flew in as soon as we heard.”
Nancy’s eyes narrow slightly. She doesn’t believe me. Not even a little bit.
“Ms. Gerber’s emergency contact is listed as her sister in Phoenix. We don’t have a record of any other family members.”
“Cousins,” Atticus says smoothly, stepping up beside me. “Twice removed. You know how it is with extended family—always the last to know.”
He gives Nancy a smile that should be registered as a lethal weapon. The full force of Atticus Sloan’s charm, deployed at point-blank range. I’ve seen that smile melt hardened publicists and industry veterans. Nancy doesn’t stand a chance.
Her eyes widen. A flush creeps up her neck. “My goodness. You’re Atticus Sloan.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose…just for a few minutes.” She taps something into the computer before handing us visitor passes. “I hope your cousin recovers soon.”
Mason makes a sound that might be a suppressed snort.
“Thank you so much.” Atticus leans on the counter, his voice dropping to that velvet register that makes my skin prickle. “We really appreciate your understanding.”
Nancy buzzes us through the security door, pointing us toward the elevator. “Third floor. ICU is to the right. Room 307.”
As the doors close behind us, I turn to Atticus with grudging admiration. “That was impressive.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs, but there’s a smugness in the gesture that makes me want to elbow him in the ribs. “The ladies love me.”
“You and your Jupiter-sized ego.”
“Can’t have one without the other, firebird.”
The elevator deposits us on the third floor, where the lighting is dimmer and the atmosphere more subdued.
A nurse’s station sits at the center of a circular layout, with glass-fronted rooms radiating outward like spokes on a wheel.
Most of the rooms are dark, but a few glow with the blue light of monitors and machines.
The head nurse—a woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun—looks up as we approach. Her gaze slides over me, dismisses Mason entirely, and lands squarely on Atticus.
“Can I help you?” she asks, voice warm in a way that makes my teeth clench.
“We’re here to see Stephanie Gerber,” Atticus says, deploying The Smile again. “Room 307?”
The nurse doesn’t even check her computer. “Of course, Mr. Sloan. Right this way.”
I exchange a look with Mason that says everything. Of course she knows who Atticus is. Of course she’s falling all over herself to help him. Of course the rules don’t apply to someone with his level of fame and that face.
I try not to be annoyed by this. I fail spectacularly.
And then the nurse starts describing Stephanie’s condition and I forget about anything else.
Helen leads us down the corridor, her white shoes squeaking on the linoleum. “Ms. Gerber is stable, but she did experience a traumatic brain injury. Right now, we’re keeping her sedated to allow her brain time to heal. Hopefully, she won’t have to stay here in the ICU for more than a few days.”
“What exactly happened?” Mason asks, his professional mask firmly in place.
“So she’ll recover?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intended.
Helen’s expression softens slightly. “It’s too early to say for certain that she won’t have any problems down the line, but she’s young and otherwise healthy. Luckily, despite the doctor seeing some slight swelling on the MRI, there was no bleeding in the brain. She’s very lucky.”
I just stare at her, completely unable to figure out how to respond to that.
“Phoenix?” Mason’s hand touches my elbow, steadying me. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I straighten my shoulders, pushing the thought away. “Let’s go in.”