Chapter 32
thirty-two
Rosie
“Where is he?” I demand, pacing from one end of the tiny hospital room to the next. It smells like antiseptic and the window won’t open, neither of which is helping my state of mind. “What’s going on? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?”
“He’s in surgery,” John says, and even though it’s for the hundredth time, his gentle reassurance is unwavering. “The doctor will be here as soon as there’s news. In the meantime, I’d be more comfortable if you got back into bed.”
I open my mouth to argue, and he cuts me off.
“Or at least sit down for more than thirty seconds at a time. Wrap yourself in that blanket over there and please drink something. You’ve got a head injury and you’ve lost blood. You need to rest.”
I gingerly touch the bump on the back of my head where I fell and hit the wall, then scowl at the dressing on my upper arm, covering the shallow gash where Lauren’s bullet grazed me.
It’s not deep enough to require stitches, so when the emergency room doctor realized who I was and predicted the spectacle I’d create waiting to be treated in a public space, she ushered me into the first empty room she could find.
A nurse took my vitals and drew labs while the doctor dressed my wound.
Neither one of them would tell me anything about Finn, and now I’m stuck in this room under observation.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, but at John’s firm look, I drop into the green-plastic covered armchair, throw the hospital blanket over my knees, and pick up my cup of water. “Tell me again how you knew Lauren was in my dressing room.”
“Miss Thorne—”
“Please, John.” My voice wobbles, and I lift my chin, hoping that if I pretend I’ve got it together, I’ll have a chance of getting through this before I totally fall apart. “Tell me again.”
He nods from his position on this side of the closed door.
“I didn’t feel right waiting for you in the car, so I was already in the studio when I got the call from Drew.
He was on the phone with Finn when Lauren entered your dressing room, and Finn left the line open so Drew could hear everything.
I don’t know how long Drew waited to call me—not long, I’d guess.
Less than a minute or two for me to have reached you when I did.
I ran, but the first gunshot sounded when I was still out in the corridor.
She shot again after I opened the door, and Finn was down by the time I gained control of the weapon. ”
I shiver and lift the blanket over my shoulders, wishing I’d thought of it sooner when the blood stains on my peach-colored dress disappear beneath the thick cotton.
“Security apprehended the shooter,” John continues, “and I applied first aid to Finn’s wound. He was unconscious at that point, but I was able to stanch the flow of blood until paramedics arrived. We traveled by ambulance, he went straight to the operating room, and—”
“And I ended up trapped in a confined space with no way of knowing if Finn’s alive or… or…”
I curl in on myself, too afraid to cry in case I never stop, too terrified to consider that the man I love might have sacrificed his life to save mine.
“He’ll be all right, Miss Thorne,” John says gently. “Finn’s tough and he’s been through worse than this.”
“Thanks, John.” I lift my head and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “And you called his family to let them know?”
He nods grimly. “They’re on their way.”
“Good.” I inhale deeply to get on top of the fear and overwhelm. “That’s good. Thank you.”
There’s a tap on the door, and I jump up expectantly as John opens it to see who’s there. A glare crosses his face, and he tries to close the door again but is stopped by whoever’s on the other side.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” John says, voice ominous. “I suggest you remove your hand before I remove it for you.”
“John? Who is it?” I take a frightened step backward, knowing in my head that he’d be a lot more forceful if the threat was real, but scared that someone knows I’m here and was able to find the room where I’m hidden.
John’s face darkens. “It’s Chip Daniels.”
“It’s Chip?”
My head is too foggy to work out why or how he’s here, but a fountain of rage suddenly explodes in my blood.
Unmanageable fury at Chip and at Lauren and at the world for giving me Finn if all I was ever going to do was lose him.
Under the rage is so much fear, but I don’t want to be scared now. It’s so much easier to be angry.
“Let him in,” I order quietly. “I want to see him.”
“Miss Thorne, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care. Let him in.”
Chip steps through the open door, dressed as always in an expensive suit with his dark hair coiffed to within an inch of its life.
He spares John a disdainful look before he crosses the room and takes me in his arms. I accept his embrace, arms stiff by my side, breath stuck in my lungs, and that white-hot anger bubbling higher and higher.
“I came as soon as I got the call,” he says, releasing me with a flicker of distaste for the blood on my dress. He surreptitiously checks that none rubbed off on his designer jacket. “Are you all right?”
He talks like we haven’t been estranged for a month, like I didn’t dump him days before our wedding, like he owns me now the way he owned me then.
Chip always treated me like a recalcitrant child, one that needed a firm hand and hard rules instead of love, trust, and respect.
One look at him now, in his tailored suit with that shiny hair and the distance in his eyes, and I realize nothing has changed.
“The call?” I ask. “What call?”
“From the hospital. I’m your emergency contact.” He lifts his hand to brush my cheek and when I flinch from his touch, his jaw feathers with anger. “They want to keep you overnight because of the knock to your head, but they’re chasing down your labs so I can take you home as soon as possible.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not without Finn and certainly not with you.”
Chip’s nostrils flare, and he glances once at John before he rolls his shoulders back.
We have an audience, even if it’s a single person who will never breathe a word of what happens here today, but Chip always puts on a show when there’s somebody around to watch.
Nothing matters more to Chip than appearances.
“You’re not thinking straight,” Chip says, his voice smooth and soothing. “You’re in shock and you’ve had a head injury. The best place for you is home, in your own bed, where it’s safe and I can take care of you.”
“Home?” My voice cracks, then rises in pitch. “Home? You mean the house I made for us even though you were hardly ever there? You mean the bed you used to fuck my assistant when I wasn’t in it?”
Chip blanches but his eyes get hotter. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Because it suits you to keep your infidelity a secret? Too late, Chippie. The cat’s out of the bag.”
I’m losing my grip, and maybe I’ve left my body, because I can see myself unraveling in real time. The scary thing is it feels good to let loose.
“Are you going to mention the fact that I practically left you at the altar?” I demand.
“Are you going to acknowledge the disgusting lies you fed to the media? Are you going to man up and admit to smearing my brand and my reputation to save your own? Or do you expect me to take the blame for all of it the way I used to do? Are you here so I can apologize? Because I’m telling you now, in no uncertain terms, that is never going to happen.
” Tears well in my eyes as I think about how different my life would be if I hadn’t acted on that impulse to run toward Finn.
“I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for any of it. ”
A vein in Chip’s neck pulses with his anger.
“Okay. You want me to say it? Fine. We were both wrong. We both made mistakes, but we can fix it. We’ll apologize.
We’ll go to therapy. It’s not too late to save this.
Save us. We belong together, Rosalie. You know that as well as I do.
” His calculating eyes slide to my bodyguard again. “Let’s talk about this later. At home.”
“Are you stupid?” I hiss, and when John takes a concerned step toward me, I stop him with a flung-out hand.
“Do you know who put me here?” I ask Chip. “Do you know who tried to shoot me and did shoot the man I love? A beautiful, brilliant, big-hearted man who is now in surgery fighting for his life because he put his body between me and the next bullet to come out of that gun?”
I’m shrieking now, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I can’t believe the gall of this man.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Arrogance and narcissism are pages one and two of the Chip Daniels playbook, but for him to come here and think he can treat me like he always has… It’s more than I can handle.
Chip swallows. He knows the answer, and when he refuses to say it, I laugh. It comes out wet with tears, yet so, so dry.
“You did this,” I say. “You played me, and you played Lauren. The difference is when we found out who you really are, I broke free and she just broke. She wanted what she thought I had and all you wanted was some action on the side.” I laugh again and shake my head.
“Lauren wanted me dead and it’s all because of you. ”
“You’re hysterical,” Chip says in a low, taunting voice I know so well.
How many times has he used this tone to make me feel small, weak, and helpless?
Too many to count. Enough to know I’ll never be victim to it again.
“And you’ve bumped your head. This isn’t like you, Rosalie.
I’m here to help. You love me, I know you do, so let’s—”
“Get out,” I interrupt, the last of my rage peaking at his words. I’m about to collapse with the fear that’s edging closer and closer, and I’ll never forgive myself if Chip witnesses my weakness. “Get out now.”
He doesn’t move, his tall, lean frame taking on a stubborn stance. “Rosalie—”
“Walk out before I ask John to throw you out.”
John strides over like he’s been waiting for the green light, and his hand lands on Chip’s shoulder with a meaty thwack. “You heard,” he says. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Get your hand off me,” Chip snarls as he violently rolls his shoulder, and John scowls as he shoves him toward the door.
“Never contact me again,” I say to Chip as he walks out of the room and out of my life. “If you need to discuss business, do it through my lawyer. Oh, and Chip?”
He turns his head, eyes cold enough to turn my stomach, and I lift my chin because he’s not getting any more emotion from me.
“If you ever so much as look my way again, I swear to God I will air every dirty secret, every questionable business deal, every private moment we ever spent together, and I won’t stop until your career is beyond resuscitation. Do you hear me?”
Chip’s gaze finally grows hot as I speak the only kind of language he understands.
“Forget you know me, Chip,” I say. “Forget you ever met me. Forget you know my name.”