Chapter Twelve
L iz glared at the overhead light. One would think that people in hospital beds shouldn’t have to deal with the eyeball scorching, brain pummeling fluorescent lights upon waking from drug-induced slumber.
Her head, her body, her arm…she hurt everywhere. Including her chest, where her heart was. The heart that had gotten a pounding when she’d told Odin and Trouble about the Russians, and before that when Trouble tried confronting her about Erika.
Groaning, she raised her good arm to rub at her dry eyes. Narcotics always dried her out, which was one reason on a long list of reasons that she rarely took them. Now, however, she was grateful for them.
Reaching down, she grabbed the toggle with the button that would release morphine into her IV. Thankfully, the nurse had ordered the auto-feeder after Liz woke up that first time. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a hospital on earth that could give her the drugs necessary to rid herself of the man sleeping in the chair beside the bed.
She’d woken several times in the night to see that he was still there. Each time, he was on his phone doing whatever MC VPs did, or he was passed out. She was sure that he’d been watching her while she was sleeping, and she had no idea why he was still there. She was nothing to him—less than nothing. He’d proven that ten years ago, and every time they’d encountered one another since she’d started working for the Savage Raiders. It seemed like he’d taken every opportunity to remind her she was replaceable, and that he had replaced her—repeatedly throwing Amelia in her face, openly kissing the woman, touching her practically naked body, letting her suck him off right there where everyone could see it, and taking her upstairs to his room. He’d been so fucking blatant about how much he didn’t respect Liz or their history, that she couldn’t understand why he was giving her the time of day.
But then…she remembered.
He wants to talk about Erika.
She rolled her eyes. More likely, he wanted to get in her face about the fact she’d kept Erika a secret from him. Why he wanted to do that when he’d very clearly stated to Bitch Bonnie that he’d never wanted kids, she had no idea. Well, he could bitch about it all he wanted; she didn’t have a drop of remorse in her body about it. And she’d tell him that, too. As soon as the morphine kicked in, and it didn’t feel like she’d been curb stomped by two Russian goons.
“You’re awake,” Trouble’s deep, raspy voice rumbled from the chair beside her.
She smacked her still dry lips and replied, “Yep.” Even that single word sounded like she’d choked a frog. Before she could reach for the pink plastic water pitcher on the table beside the bed, Trouble was there, pouring water into a clear plastic cup with a straw, and holding it out to her.
She blinked at him, his expression blank, his hands steady. She reached for the cup, but he stopped her.
“I got it. Drink it slow,” he commanded gently.
Gently? Why was he being gentle? Trouble, Savage Raiders MC VP, wasn’t a man of gentleness, he was a man who kicked ass, chewed glass, and pissed brass. There was nothing gentle about the man she’d been reintroduced to two years ago.
But the Trouble she’d met at Tipped, the Trouble who’d held her and laughed with her into the night, and who’d encouraged her to share her dreams and hopes with him…that Trouble had been gentle. He’d been the man of her dreams, the man she’d never thought she’d ever find, the man who’d actually made her believe that all the angry, ugly words thrown at her in her years in the foster system weren’t true. That she was worth love and affection and protecting.
But it had all been a lie. He had been a lie.
She glared up at the man staring down at her, his features impassive, like he was wearing a mask, but the mask was slipping.
She leaned up just enough to place her lips around the straw and draw a mouthful of water into the parched desert around her tongue. She groaned, closing her eyes at the sensation of cool water refreshing her dry mouth. It was so sweet. Taking one last draw, she opened her eyes and looked right into the face of a ravaged man.
Emerald had turned to aged moss as desire heated the darkening orbs. Her body, though beaten to shit, didn’t care. It only wanted to answer the call to mate that his eyes were blaring, eyes that were glued to her mouth where it was sucking on the straw. Pushing the straw from her mouth, she sat back, wishing her body wasn’t such a slut. She was in pain, broken, and she had a bad history with the sexy biker, she certainly didn’t want her lady parts getting excited about him and what his eyes promised, because she knew that though his eyes said one thing, his intentions were not the same.
As if hearing her thoughts, Trouble blinked, and the heat banked instantly. And what was left….
Despite looking as hard and unruffled as ever, there were dark smudges under his eyes, blond scruff on his usually clean-shaven cheeks, the usually well-groomed beard along his lower jaw and over his chin was looking a little unkempt—like he’d been pulling at it, and a weariness in his frame that told her he was wiped.
A tightness she recognized squeezed her chest, making her breath catch. She was gazing upon the man she’d love more than life, the man who’d crushed her heart without a second thought, the man who’d also, more than likely, saved her life—so it was okay to feel sorry for him, right? It was alright to let those old feelings of concern and worry, and the need to comfort and care for him to rise, just a little. Right? Because that was the only way her heart was allowed to feel anything remotely like interest in his well-being. Hell, maybe it was the doctor in her, worried—professionally—about whether he’d gotten enough sleep or if he’d eaten anything, or even if he’d left her hospital room to get some fresh air.
She stared at him, unblinking, but on the inside, she was rifling through her feelings, trying to find the ones that made the most sense, because there was no way she still loved the man standing beside her bed, his expression just as conflicted and filled with concern as hers probably was.
Shit.
“How’re you feelin’?” he asked, his voice cracking. He coughed into his fist, swallowed, then asked, “You need anythin’? Iced tea, cherry Kool-Aid?” He smirked, his green eyes warming.
She couldn’t help the snicker that escaped.
“What about cherry Kool-Aid in my iced tea?” she teased, her heart jerking at an old, dear memory. She’d been studying for her entrance exams, and she’d been thirsty as hell, and when Trouble had asked her what she wanted, she distractedly listed off two beverages and several snack options. Trouble grunted, headed into the kitchen, then returned minutes later with a bowl filled with pretzels, popcorn, gummy bears, and crumbled up Oreos—all together. And in his other hand was a glass of what looked like red tea. The man had taken her requests literally, mixing sweet tea and the last of her pitcher of cherry flavored Kool-Aid for her thirst quenching.
She’d laughed, taken the snacks and drinks from him, then blown two hours of study time blowing him, then studying one another.
“You’re rememberin’, ain’t ya?” his deep, heavy drawl pulled her back to the present, the memory one of the many she’d pushed away to help build the walls necessary to heal from the heartbreak. At one time, she’d truly believed that Trouble was the man she’d spend the rest of her life with, that he was a man who truly cared about her…had truly loved her.
But he didn’t.
Sucking in a breath, the smile on her face long gone, she tore her gaze from his and said, “Not anymore.” Waving off the cup of water he still held in his hand, she laid her head back and fought the urge to close her eyes, to close him out. “I don’t need anything except to get out of here. The doctor come by while I was sleeping?”
She knew what was coming, that he had questions. And she’d rather get it over with now so that once she was discharged from the hospital, she could get the fuck on with her life, once and for all. Of course, now she’d have to deal with the complications of a baby daddy…and whatever the hell Lyle had gotten their clinic mixed up in.
“Doctor came by about an hour ago, said you’d probably need another day or two before he could discharge you, something about monitoring the way the bone and metal rod look in your arm.”
She sighed, nodding. It was probably Dr. Faison. He’d want to make sure there weren’t any issues with the metal rod fusing properly with the bone, so they’d heal without infection. Infection and broken bones were a recipe for quick and painful death.
“That doctor….he, uh, he one doctor you worked with in medical school?” Trouble asked, a strange look in his eyes. Interest. Like he needed to know so he could put a puzzle together.
She furrowed her brow, but answered, “Yes. I told you that.” Obviously, he hadn’t been listening when she’d mentioned it before. “He was my supervisor and mentor for my rounds in orthopedics. Why?”
“Here, at Summerlin?” he asked, this time his voice held a note of a plea, like he was hoping her answer was something other than what he already knew it would be. But…why? What the hell was he really asking?
“Yes, here . Typically, medical students from UNLV do their practical rotations and even their residencies here or at University Medical. I could rotate between the two hospitals because of my desired specialty in osteopathic medicine.” She tipped her head to get a better look at his face, a face that had suddenly gone white. “Trouble? What’s going on? What’s with the questions? Are you…are you feeling okay?” Hell, the man looked like he was going to hit the floor. “Sit down before you fall down, asshole,” she barked. His hands shaking, he stumbled backward until he collapsed into the upholstered chair he’d been sitting in when she woke up. Then, he did something she’d never seen him do before: he crumbled. He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders slumped, and his back bowed as if under a tremendous weight. Before her was a broken man.
“Trouble…” she rasped, and his body jerked as if her voice hit him like a bullet. She swallowed back the burn of tears in her throat. To see him like this…. Her heart ached for him, and she had no idea what had happened, what had finally broken such a strong, proud, arrogant badass.
“You never left…” Trouble muttered, his voice barely carrying across the room to where she was laying
“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. “Left where?”
He sighed, then shook his head. “Vegas.” He lifted his head and stared dead at her, his green eyes intense as hell. “You never left Las Vegas.”
She pinched her lips together, all the more confused by his words.
“Of course, I didn’t leave Las Vegas,” she snapped. “Why the hell would I do that? I had a full ride to UNLV; I’d be an idiot to turn down free medical school.”
He chuckled humorlessly, the sound raising goosebumps on her arms and neck.
“ Of course , she says…” he murmured, shaking his head.
Was he having a nervous breakdown?
Warily eyeing to door, her gaze jerked back to Trouble when he launched to his feet. She stiffened and stared at him as he began to pace, his fingers thrust through his hair, his face stormy, his body vibrating with tension.
She swallowed, suddenly fearful—not of him but for him. What the hell was happening here?
“Trouble?” she tried, but when he continued his agitated pacing, she tried again. “Erik?” she said softly, and immediately he halted mid-stride and whirled to face her. He dropped his arms and fisted his hands at his side.
His eyes stole her breath.
Dark. Green. As dark as an ancient forest night. As green as the Amazon just after a sky shattering storm. And pain. So…much…pain that it ripped a whimper right out of her throat.
“Erik?” she gasped.
He shook his head slowly, deliberately.
“What about Stanford—I know you got that scholarship to Stanford,” he barked, then raised his arms to thrust his fingers through his hair once more.
God, what the hell was he going on about? Obviously, this was bothering him.
“What about the scholarship to Stanford? I didn’t want to go—”
“Not want to go to the better school with the better program? Why the hell not?” He was practically shouting, and Liz was getting pissed the fuck off.
“There was no way I was going to Stanford. They offered me a scholarship, yeah, but it was a partial scholarship, covering only the tuition. I would have had to cover my own books and materials, on top of living and food expenses. Have you seen how much it costs to live in Stanford, California? I’d have to sell my goddamn kidneys and my lungs to afford rent, let alone food to eat. To go there, I’d have to work full time to pay for the basics, and to take a full load on top of that, on top of caring for a baby ? Yeah, that would have been impossible. So, no, I didn’t go to Stanford, because it wasn’t fucking practical.” She narrowed her eyes at him, taking in the beaten dog look on his face. “Why? What’s the problem with me going to UNLV instead of Stanford? Why does that matter?”
He closed his eyes, dropped his arms once more, and heaved a slow, loud sigh.
When he opened his eyes again, it was like the storm had stopped, but it had left devastation in its wake.
“It matters because you were supposed to leave Las Vegas and go to Stanford…” he replied in a measured tone, his eyes begging her to connect the dots. In a blink, his eyes flashed from disbelief to agitation. He growled, then cursed. “You were supposed to go to Stanford, goddammit, that’s why I—”
He clamped his mouth shut before he finished, leaving what he didn’t say hanging there in the air. Like a chandelier made of shit and shame.
Liz sucked in a breath as memories began to shift, to reform, to become clearer. Suddenly, it all made sense, every heartbreaking, soul-crushing, life-altering detail of what happened in that fucking bar ten years ago.
Slithering, crawling, skittering—anger rose within her as everything took on a new light.
A new light she couldn’t quite grasp…until she did.
He’d cheated on her…to force her to leave.
And it had worked.