Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
I burst through the automatic doors of LeConte Medical Center like a woman possessed, my feet barely touching the polished floor as I sprinted toward the information desk.
Jase and Nash's voices echoed behind me, calling my name, but I couldn't slow down.
Not when Graham was somewhere in this sterile maze of corridors, hurt because of me.
Simon stood near the reception desk, his face grim. The moment he spotted me, he stepped into my path with his hands raised.
“Joy, you need to slow down.”
“Where is he?” The words tore from my throat. “Where's Graham?”
“He's still being examined. The doctors are working on him right now.”
“I want to see him. Right now.” I tried to push past Simon, but he gently caught my arm.
“You can't. Not yet. They need space to work.”
“I don't care what they need.” I wrenched free and marched to the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman with kind eyes looked up at me. “I need to know where Graham Wallace is. He was brought in from a car accident.”
The woman's fingers clicked across her keyboard. “Are you family?”
“I'm his girlfriend. We live together.”
“I'm sorry, but I can only release information to immediate family or the emergency contact listed in our system.”
My hands pressed flat against the cool surface of the desk. “Then who is his emergency contact?”
“A Mr. Simon Clark.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I spun around to face Simon, fury rising in my chest like a tide.
“You're his emergency contact?”
Simon shifted uncomfortably. “Joy, let me explain.”
“Explain what? That my boyfriend, the man I love, listed someone else as his emergency contact instead of me?” My voice cracked on the last word.
“It's not like that. Those forms were filled out years ago, before he met you.”
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Right. Right. Of course. Then tell me how he is. Please.”
Jase and Nash flanked me now, their presence solid and reassuring. I tried not to focus on the crushing realization that no matter how we felt about one another, I wasn't Graham's next of kin.
“If you can't tell me how he is,” I said, “tell me what happened.” I glared at Simon.
Simon glanced at Jase and Nash, some unspoken communication passing between them.
“He thinks his brake lines were cut,” Simon told me reluctantly.
The hospital lobby tilted around me. Cut brake lines. Someone had sabotaged Graham's truck? Someone had tried to kill him?
“We don't know that for certain,” Nash said quickly. He glared at Simon. “You haven’t taken his truck into Thatcher’s yet.”
“The hell we don't,” Jase shot back. “You saw the photos from the scene. Those lines were sliced just enough so that they’d start leaking as soon as he started driving.”
Because of me. My stalker had escalated from psychological warfare to attempted homicide, and Graham had paid the price.
“Joy.” Simon's voice seemed to come from very far away. “Joy, you're hyperventilating. You need to sit down.”
I pressed my hands to my knees, trying to force air into my lungs. The guilt felt crushing, a weight that threatened to drive me to my knees right there in the hospital lobby.
“This is my fault,” I whispered.
“No.” Simon crouched in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? This is the fault of whatever sick bastard is after you.”
The automatic doors whooshed open, and Trenda's voice cut through the chaos in my head.
“Where is she? Where's Joy?”
Relief flooded Simon's face as his wife hurried toward us.
“Thank God you're here.”
Trenda took one look at my face and immediately shifted into protective mode. “What's going on? How's Graham?”
“He's stable,” Simon said. “Broken ribs, concussion, dislocated shoulder. They're still running tests.”
“And Joy hasn't been able to see him because she's not listed as his emergency contact,” Jase added.
Trenda's expression darkened. “That's ridiculous. Simon Clark, you fix this right now.”
“Trenda, I can't just—”
“I don't want to hear it.” Trenda's voice carried the authority she used with her daughter. “That woman has been through hell, and the man she loves is lying in a hospital bed. You figure out a way to get her in there, or I will.”
The force of Trenda's anger on my behalf broke something loose in my chest. Tears I'd been holding back since the phone call to Jase spilled over.
“Please,” I whispered. “I just need to see him. I need to know he's okay.”
Simon looked between his wife's determined face and my tear-streaked one, then sighed. “Let me talk to the nurse in charge or a doctor.”
Twenty minutes later, we stood outside Graham's room while a nurse explained his condition. Two broken ribs. Severe concussion. Dislocated left shoulder. Cuts and bruises covering most of his body. He was lucky to be alive.
Lucky.
The word felt like a mockery.
“He's sedated for the pain,” the nurse continued, “but he's been asking for Joy since he arrived.”
My hand trembled as I reached for the door handle. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted me.
Graham lay propped against white pillows, his face a map of bruises and cuts. His left arm was immobilized in a sling, and I could see the bulk of bandages wrapped around his ribs. But his eyes were open, and the moment he saw me, his entire face transformed.
“Thank God,” he breathed.
It was as if I floated to his side of the bed, my hands hovering over him, afraid to touch anything for fear of causing more pain.
“You're okay.” His good hand found mine, squeezing with surprising strength. “Tell me you're okay.”
“I'm fine.” The words came out as a sob. “Graham, look at you. You're the one who's hurt.”
“This?” He gestured weakly at his bandaged form. “This is nothing. Just a few bumps and bruises.”
“Bumps and bruises?” I stared at him in disbelief. “You have two broken ribs and a concussion.”
“Could have been worse.”
A doctor in scrubs appeared in the doorway, chart in hand. “Mr. Wallace, I'm Dr. Martinez. How are you feeling?”
“Ready to go home.”
Dr. Martinez smiled. “I'm afraid that's not happening for at least three days. The head injury was serious, and we need to monitor you for any complications.”
Graham's jaw tightened. “Doctor, I need to protect my girlfriend. There's someone after her, and I can't do that from a hospital bed.”
“Mr. Wallace, you can barely sit up without assistance. You're not protecting anyone until that brain of yours has time to heal.”
The finality in the doctor's voice left no room for argument.
“I'm staying,” I said before anyone could object.
“Joy, you don't have to—”
“I'm staying.” I squeezed Graham's hand. “I'm not leaving you.”
The hospital chair had clearly been designed by someone who'd never spent a night sleeping in one. After night two, I was longing for Graham’s recliner. The crick in my neck was no joke. Gray morning light filtered through the blinds, and Graham's steady breathing told me he was still asleep.
Voices in the hallway caught my attention. Familiar voices.
“Both brake lines were severed with a sharp blade. This wasn't an accident,” a voice said. It took me a moment to recognize who it was. Roan. He knew his way around a car… or truck.
“Motherfucker,” Seth's voice carried clearly through the partially open door. “This bastard tried to kill him.”
“And nearly succeeded,” Randy added. “If Graham hadn't been as experienced a driver as he is, if he hadn't known how to handle a vehicle at that speed…”
My stomach clenched. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing even, pretending to be asleep in case they peeked into the room.
“So, what's our next move?” Seth asked.
“We find this piece of shit and end him,” Jase said flatly.
“The police are involved now,” Randy reminded them. “Attempted murder changes everything.”
“Good,” Seth said. “Maybe now they'll take this seriously.”
“Nash was always taking this seriously,” Simon admonished.
“Gentlemen, I need you to leave this area,” a woman said. “You’re blocking our hallway.”
Their voices faded as they moved farther down the hall, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of my guilt. Graham had nearly died because of me. Because some twisted individual wanted me isolated and alone, willing to kill anyone who stood in his way.
I opened my eyes to find Graham watching me, his hazel gaze the most alert since he’d arrived.
“How long have you been awake?” I asked.
“Long enough to know you heard them talking.” His good hand reached out toward me, and I took it. “And long enough to see that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you're blaming yourself for something that's not your fault.”
I couldn't meet his eyes. “If…”
“Stop.” His voice was firm despite its hoarseness. “This is not on you, Joy. This is on whatever sick fuck is stalking you.”
“But if you had died—”
“I didn't die. I'm right here.” He squeezed my hand. “And I'm not going anywhere.”
The simple words broke through the wall I'd been starting to build around my heart. I leaned forward, careful not to jostle his injured ribs, and pressed my forehead against his good shoulder.
“I was so scared,” I whispered.
“I know, baby. I know.”
We stayed like that for long minutes, drawing comfort from each other's presence. Finally, I pulled back and wiped my eyes.
“I should go get us something to eat. See if I can find you something better than whatever they're planning to serve you here this time.”
Graham's smile was tired but upbeat. “Hospital food isn't that bad.”
“Liar.”
I kissed his forehead gently and headed for the door. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”
The waiting room was empty except for a few scattered magazines and the lingering scent of disinfectant.
I settled into one of the uncomfortable chairs and pulled out my phone so I could call Roxie to bring some food from the restaurant she was at.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a long wait, but it probably would be.