2. Led Astray
TWO
LED ASTRAY
GIGI BAYMONT
Unimaginable agony slams into my head, plunging me into darkness. I’ve never experienced pain like this—never a car accident, a sports injury, a broken bone; just the occasional headache from work stress. Lucky, until now.
This relentless pounding won’t stop. Where am I?
I try to open my eyes, only to be met with blinding light and blurry images. Muffled voices swirl around me as I struggle for clarity, trapped as if inside a fog-filled glass box.
Help! I cry, but no one comes to my rescue. My fists pound against the invisible barrier, catching no attention. I scream once more with all my might…until someone gently places warm hands on my cheeks, grounding me, waking me.
“Gigi? Gigi? It’s okay. You’re in the hospital,” a familiar deep voice with a slight southern drawl soothes me—softer than usual.
“Jackson?” I croak, my throat dry. Forcing my eyelids open, I see the face of an attractive man sporting just enough dark five o’clock shadow to drive a woman crazy, even though he’s a little blurry around the edges and I haven’t any idea of the time. Still, his gaze is filled with concern—something uncharacteristic of him for me.
In my confusion, I’m tempted to slide my thumb seductively along his full, inviting bottom lip just to feel how soft and kissable it is. He’s touching me, and it’s only fair I return the favor.
“I’m here, G, er… Belle and Davis are too,” he adds quickly, withdrawing his hands and slipping them into his pockets, leaving my cheeks still warm from his touch. But why does he seem so worried? Jackson usually treats me as someone to tease and spar with, nothing more. Besides, he’s supposed to be off in some faraway place, saving the world from bad guys, and we’ve never been particularly close. Tolerating of each other by osmosis, I suppose, since we co-exist in the same close-knit group of siblings and friends that have been together since high school.
Suddenly, the fog in my glass prison finally lifts, and clarity strikes me like another blow.
“Jackson?” I repeat, scrunching my face as I come to my senses. I tug at the oxygen tube attached to my nose, eager to discard this ridiculous contraption.
“Whoa, darlin’. Hold it,” he growls through clenched teeth. So much for his softer side—although that sexy growl might be acceptable if that’s how he shows care. Despite all his flaws and all the ways he’s pestered me over the years, I secretly can’t help but have a crush on him.
Ugh, stop it. I don’t have time for this.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake. Gigi, that wasn’t funny. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Belle scolds, delivering a sisterly slap to my arm.
“Bells, come on. Leave her be. I was in a coma, and I don’t recall you slapping me that hard. Besides, she’s only been out for about an hour compared to the length of time I was out.” Poor Davis and what he went through when involved in a hit-and-run accident a couple of years ago that nearly ended his life. He pulls my sister close into his side. Protecting her or protecting me from her? Maybe both.
Belle was so patient with him as she waited for him to recover, utterly devoted no matter how long it took for him to realize his love for her.
I’m relieved he finally got his act together. Married and expecting their first child, they’re like relationship ideals to me—even though I’m in no hurry to settle down. With the Love Beach Buzz now mine since Dad retired, and a five-year career plan that trumps any man’s distractions, I might as well start collecting battery-operated “survival gear” to take care of myself when certain urges strike. I’m too busy for a man.
“You’re right. I just can’t stand the thought of losing my sister. I’m due this summer and my baby needs an auntie,” Belle explains softly, rubbing her barely noticeable, enviable belly.
“I’m not dying. Though this pounding in my head feels like it could be the closest thing to death,” I complain, raising an arm to the side of my head to pinpoint the source of the pain—only to have a large hand intercept it.
My breath catches as electricity pulses around my wrist, drawing my eyes to meet the bluest pair of aqua orbs I’ve ever seen; they could rival the waters of Passion Cove, one of my favorite spots in Love Beach.
“Stitches. Don’t touch, G.” Jackson calls me G, like it’s too much trouble to say Gigi. He’s the only person I’ve ever allowed to shorten my already tiny name. I don’t even know why I tolerate it.
“Enough of this. I have work to do. Belle, get me out of here,” I insist, trying to sit up despite the crippling pain. In an instant, Jackson’s hand presses firmly against my shoulder, guiding me back down. Sparks of energy crackle between us. An undeniably awkward mistake.
Oh, I get it now—my head must have been hit so hard it scrambled like eggs. I’m clearly reading too much into things. He’s probably frustrated he even has to touch me.
I shove his hand away, determined to handle this on my own, ready to bust out of the hospital if need be.
“What the heck were you doing at the docks this late, anyway? Our small town is usually safe and quiet, but you know certain spots can be trouble. You should’ve called me and Davis to let us know where you were,” Belle chastises, treating me like a child.
I almost retort, then remember that Jackson was at the docks—and while I was slipping in and out of consciousness, I distinctly recall hearing Davis too as they drove me here.
I shoot them a glance, both of them remaining silent, giving me the eye. An acknowledgment passes between us. Belle remains unsuspecting and kept in the dark, typical of police work to sometimes keep details under wraps from loved ones. Which means the tip I received about trouble at the docks was spot-on. And I should be grateful they were there—what if the attack had been worse?
I shudder, but before I can ponder further, the doctor enters with a nurse trailing behind. I’m off the hook from answering Belle’s worries for the moment.
“Gigi. I’m sure I don’t have to ask how you’re feeling given your injury,” Dr. O’Rourke greets in his usual charming manner, a kind smile on his face. He and his staff have run the Love Beach Clinic for years—some things in our small town really never change, and I love that. But with everything that I am, I have big plans for the Love Beach Buzz. Someday, it’ll be more than a sleepy little paper for a tourist beach town.
“I’ve never felt this awful before,” I admit.
“Apparently, someone struck you on the head with a blunt object.” He glances over my chart as everyone steps aside to let him near me. “Let’s check you out now that you’re awake.”
He spends a few minutes assessing me—shining a light in my eyes for responsiveness, testing my coordination with some simple tasks, and asking questions. When he and the nurse help me sit up straight, dizziness overwhelms me, accompanied by a wave of nausea. My gasp tells enough to the doctor about my condition.
After examining my wound, he nods, leaning against the bed as I settle back. “Seventeen stitches. You’re lucky Jackson got you here quickly; otherwise, the bleeding could’ve been much worse.”
“Do you know what hit me? Did anyone see who did this? What happened?” Even in pain, my inner journalist begins firing off questions—many I end up keeping to myself.
The doctor looks at Jackson for confirmation. “None of us witnessed what happened.” That’s all the man says, clamming up. I take it as a sign he won’t talk in front of certain people in the room.
The doctor makes a note in my chart. “While you were unconscious, we did a CT scan to rule out internal bleeding or fractures. From what I see, you have a mild concussion. I’ve prescribed pain medication—stronger than what you’d get over the counter—but be aware it will make you sleepy. No driving. Follow the medication instructions carefully. The nurse will go over your wound care, and most importantly, you shouldn’t be left alone for the next twenty-four hours. When you sleep, someone should wake you every two to three hours to check on you.”
After rattling off a few more instructions—most of which I barely catch as new questions pile up—he mentions he’d like to see me again in about a week, before leaving the room.
“Belle, get me home,” I demand as soon as the medical staff exits the room.
“I’m going to have to stick my foot down there. Belle experienced some cramping and spotting last week and her ObGyn ordered her to rest and reduce stress. I have to get back to the station, and I don’t want her to be left alone to watch you,” Davis interjects, still holding his protective arm around her.
“Cramping? I had no idea. Belle, why didn’t you tell me?” I shoot at her with accusing eyes. We usually tell each other everything—almost.
“It’s nothing—” she begins.
“It is a big deal. We’re talking about your health and our baby,” her husband corrects.
“How about Dad then? I could drop you off with him, Gigi, and stay for a while,” she suggests. I shake my head vehemently.
“Are you kidding me? I just took over the Buzz, finally convinced Dad that the paper is in good hands—mine, and that he’s safe to retire. If he finds out I was chasing a story and got hurt, he’ll be furious. I’m already working my ass off to prove I can handle this.”
“I’ll watch over her,” Jackson offers.
“What? No way.” I scoff. “Look, I’m fine, everyone. I’ll take the day off and work from home. I’ll be as good as new by tomorrow.” To prove my point, I try to get off the bed but, as my feet hit the cold linoleum flooring, I wobble. My head spins wildly like a stray spaceship lost in the universe, until Jackson’s hands catch me, steadying me—especially the one resting at the small of my back, where apparently I’m exposed under the hospital gown. Our bodies are so close, our faces nearly touching, our breaths mingling—it does nothing to quiet the hurricane of emotions inside of me.
“I got you, G.” There’s that softening of his eyes and voice again. It’s too easy to fall for it, when a voice inside of me says I should know better than to trust Jackson. Belle clears her throat, snapping us out of it. Somehow, he retrieves my things from behind him and shoves them into my arms. “You should get dressed. I’m about to let go now. You alright? I need to step out and make a call.”
Speechless, I can only nod as he leaves me leaning against the bed, watching him exit the room like a bat out of hell—a cute one with an amazing ass in jeans. But I rebel at the thought; if he’d caught me like that in his arms yesterday, my first impulse would’ve been to knee him in the groin. Today… I’d like to tour his groin with my tongue.
Belle clears her throat again, and I jerk my head away from Jackson’s magnetic pull.
“Actually, Jackson is right. He’s clearly the best option for you. I can see you’d be in his enormous hands—er, in good hands, I mean. Davis, shall we go?” she says.
“Yes, dear,” Davis responds with a wink.
“Stop it, you two. You know damn well there’d never be a thing between me and Jackson. Belle, please help me get dressed,” I beg.
Davis kisses her cheek and leaves the room. As soon as the door shuts, I open my mouth to scold Belle for playing matchmaker—but then I stop. All these swirling questions about what happened at the docks probably have answers only Jackson can give. So I take a deep breath and resign myself to this unwelcome invasion of his presence in my life, whether I like it or not.