Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
CALLUM/CASH
Now
Colliding Towers & Sharp Realities
Sometimes the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.
I’ve been standing at this hospital reception desk for what seems like five minutes, and I’m about to lose my mind.
“I need to know where Livianna Hemings is. The paramedics told me they were bringing her here.” My insides continue getting wrecked as panic crawls through every cell of my body.
The receptionist at the emergency room desk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a name tag that reads “Sandra,” types something into her computer.
She frowns at the screen and types again. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have anyone by that name in our system.”
“That’s impossible. The ambulance brought her here less than an hour ago. She was in a car accident in Malibu. They cut her out of the car with the jaws of life.” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “She has to be here.”
Sandra’s expression softens with sympathy, but her answer doesn’t change. “I understand you’re worried, but I don’t show a Livianna Hemings admitted to this hospital.”
“Then check again. Maybe you spelled it wrong. H-E-M-I-N-G-S.”
She types slowly and deliberately, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name.”
This doesn’t make any sense. The paramedic specifically told me they were bringing her here.
“Sandra, can you check recent admissions? Car accident victims from the last hour?”
“Sir, I can’t give out that information without authorization from immediate family members.”
“She could be dying!” I explode as my nerves are shot.
Several people in the waiting area turn to stare. Fucking hell. I probably just tipped off everyone who recognizes us that Livianna’s been in an accident. This is one situation I really don’t want the media to get wind of.
I lower my voice, but the desperation bleeds through anyway. “Please. I just need to know if she’s okay.”
Sandra glances around, likely checking whether security needs to be called. “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but I can only give information to immediate family members. Are you related to Ms. Hemings?”
“Her parents and brother are on a yacht somewhere near Spain. It’s not easy to reach them. I’m the closest thing to family she’s got right now.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not the same as immediate family.”
My hands curl into fists on the counter. I wanna scream, demand answers, and tear this hospital apart until I find her. But none of that will help Livianna.
“See this dried blood.” I hold my hands out to show Sandra. “It’s Livianna’s. I was with her when she wrecked. They told me they were bringing her here. Please, if there’s anything you can tell me, I need to know.”
Sandra gazes at me with a stream of empathy. “All I can tell you is sometimes famous people are admitted under aliases to protect their privacy. I know who you are and I know who she is. She’s likely here under one of those, but I can’t see that in my database.”
I step back from the desk, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs.
Think, Cash.
There has to be another way to get the information I want. The detective. The cop who took my statement at the scene gave me his card. Maybe he knows something.
I pull out my phone and realize it’s still Livianna’s. “Goddammit!”
I storm out to my car and tear her purse apart. My phone is at the bottom of her bag.
“Finally!”
I find Detective Martinez’s card in my wallet. I dial the number as I stomp toward the emergency room doors, pacing along the sidewalk.
It rings three times before he picks up. “Martinez.”
“Detective, this is Cash Mayze. We spoke at the accident scene in Malibu about an hour ago. The one with the black SUV that fled the scene.”
“Right, the hit and run victim. What can I do for you?”
“I’m at the hospital where they told me they were taking Livianna Hemings, but they’re saying they don't have anyone by that name. Do you know if they used an alias to admit her, or did they take her somewhere else?”
There’s a pause. “Hold on, let me check.”
About fucking time someone helps me.
I march up and down the sidewalk, my free hand raking through my hair.
People move past me. Some rush in with injuries or sick family members. Others leave with relief or grief written on their faces. The world keeps spinning while mine has stopped.
“Mr. Mayze?” Martinez’s voice comes back on the line. “Sometimes with high-profile individuals, they use an alias for privacy reasons. It looks like from the investigation’s point of view, she would be someone who would fall under that rule.”
“Right. So how do I find out what name they’re using?”
“You’ll need to speak with someone in administration or have a family member contact the hospital. I’m sorry, but I can’t help with that.”
A deep growl rumbles from my chest. “There has to be something you can do. I was there when it happened. I held her hand while the paramedics cut her out of the car. I need to know if she’s okay.”
“I understand, but hospital privacy laws are strict. Your best bet is to contact her family.”
“They’re away on vacation with limited Wi-Fi. Is there a way you could vouch for me and help me find out more information about her?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t count on it. If I were you, I’d find her family and let them know. That’s your best bet.”
“Thanks for your help, Detective.” I end the call more upset than I was before.
I’m about to dial Bren’s number when movement catches my eye. A luxury sedan pulls into the emergency parking lot, tires squealing as it whips into a spot. The back door flies open before the car fully stops.
A man emerges, and I freeze.
Tall, broad shoulders, and in expensive clothes that probably cost more than my tour bus. His dark hair is slightly disheveled. He moves with the confidence that comes from owning rooms and commanding attention without trying.
Jaxon Crowne.
The man who backed Mayhem when we needed it most. The venture capitalist who helped me escape Leon Baker’s stranglehold. The guy who met with me in Paris and gave me the surveillance jewelry that saved my life.
He’s here. At this hospital. Running toward the emergency room entrance like his existence depends on what he finds inside.
What the hell is Jaxon doing here?
The question barely forms before the answer slams into me with the force of that SUV hitting Livianna’s car.
My King.
Jaxon Crowne is the man she’s been seeing. He must be the man she was driving to meet in Malibu. And if that’s so, he’s the man who got her pregnant.
I stand frozen on the sidewalk as he hurries past me without a glance. His only focus is getting inside.
He doesn’t notice me or register my presence. His complete being is locked onto something, or more like someone who’s in that building.
The world tilts sideways, and my limbs go numb. My vision narrows to that spot where Jaxon Crowne just disappeared through the automatic doors.
Jaxon. It’s been Jaxon this whole time. Her boy-toy from Paris and here in the States. They must be one and the same.
How did I not see it?
Just the other day, I wondered, but let Cooper talk me out of it. It was easier that way.
But now…
Shit!
Jaxon’s been her mentor. He’s rich enough to own a bunch of houses, like Guns said her fling had. And his office is right next to Livianna’s.
Fucking hell.
It’s so damn obvious. She moved back to LA about the same time as he did. What was it? One week apart?
If my math is adding up, she’s been seeing him for well over two years. The thought makes my stomach churn.
If all this is true, Livianna’s probably in love with him. My heart shatters, and I sink into oblivion. I lose my breath and try to get my head straight.
Her phone, the one with his messages, the one that says “My King” because that’s what she calls him, is in my pocket burning a hole in it.
I pull it out and stare at the screen. If only I could unlock it and check her messages to confirm what I already know to be fact.
All I can do is glare at those emergency room doors. How much do they really mean to one another? How long have I been fighting for a future that never existed because she was already his?
Then it circles back to me in a rush. The baby.
She’s pregnant with Jaxon Crowne’s kid.
And I’m standing outside while he’s in there with her, probably getting all the answers I can’t have because he’s the one with deep connections and can make things happen.
He’s her king and I’m just the fool who didn’t see the crown until it was too late.
I shove Livianna’s phone back in my pocket and force my legs to move. Being out here on the sidewalk accomplishing nothing isn’t gonna help her.
I need to get inside and find out if any of this nightmare has a chance of ending without complete devastation. It’s highly unlikely, but I can dream.
The automatic doors slide open and I step back into the emergency room. The fluorescent lights are bright, and the antiseptic smell is strong.
Everything about this is wrong. It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where nothing makes sense anymore.
I scan the waiting area. Chairs and cheap couches, a television mounted in the corner playing some show nobody’s watching, and a fish tank to help visitors pretend their life isn’t about to collapse sit around the room. And people, so many waiting for news about their loved ones.
That’s when Jaxon’s voice cuts through.
“I need information about Bridget Parks. She was brought in from a car accident about an hour ago.” Jaxon’s tone is controlled, but there’s an edge underneath it. Desperation masked by authority.
I stop mid-stride and position myself near a pillar where I can see the reception desk without being readily visible. Sandra’s still there, her tired eyes now dealing with a man who commands rooms just by existing in them.
Bridget Parks. Of course he knows the alias, while I’m out here floundering like an idiot.
He’s Jaxon fucking Crowne. He’s the man who can make billion-dollar deals happen with a phone call. He probably has allies in every hospital in Los Angeles.
I grind on my molars, and take in a much needed breath of air because I’m about to lose my shit. If I don’t calm down, my hands will be around his throat for taking what has always been mine.
Sandra types into her computer, her expression shifting to something more professional. “Yes, Ms. Parks is here. She’s currently being evaluated by the trauma team. You can sit in the waiting area and someone will come update you as soon as they have information.”
“I need to see her now.” Jaxon leans forward, his palms flat on the counter. “I need to know the extent of her injuries.”
“I understand, sir, but the doctors are working on her right now. As soon as they have an update, someone will come find you.”
There’s a beat of silence. Jaxon’s shoulders tense, then he stands straight.
He appears to be trying to maintain control, but the cracks are forming. The way his fingers curl against the counter. The tension in his spine.
He’s terrified. Just like me.
“Very well.” Jaxon’s words come out clipped. “Where do you want me to go?”
Sandra gestures toward the seating area. “Right over there. Someone will be out soon.”
He nods and turns away from the desk.
That’s when our eyes meet.
For a split second, neither of us moves. We’re frozen in this moment of recognition that changes everything.
His expression is stone-like. Of course it is. He’s used to being in stressful situations and has probably practiced his solid stance for moments of high volatility just like this.
“Cash.” He dips his chin as if he were expecting me.
“Jaxon.” I keep my voice calm even though I’m fuming inside. “Funny running into you here.”
He glances around at the visitors in the waiting room, calculating whether this conversation should happen here or somewhere private.
But there is no more privacy. The truth is out now, standing between us like a third person demanding acknowledgment.
“We should talk.” He gestures toward a corner of the room that’s relatively empty.
“Yeah, I think we should.” I follow him.
I slip my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking. Or from doing something stupid, like throwing a punch at the man who helped save my life and stole my future in the same breath.
We stop near the windows overlooking the parking lot. Dusk is upon us, and I can’t help but note the dreadful metaphor. Darkness is creeping in.
We’re two men standing in a hospital waiting room, bound together by the woman fighting for her life somewhere beyond those double doors.
Jaxon speaks first. “Before I assume, why are you here?”
“Better question is why are you?” I’m not about to give him the power in this situation just because of who he is.
I did that before with Leon, and it ended terribly. Cash Mayze is no longer the “stupid boy,” the name Leon loved to call me.
Jaxon stares hard into my eyes. He’s still unreadable, and I’m doing my damndest to mimic him.
After a few beats, he nods. “It seems we’re here for the same reason.”
“Yeah, I bet we are.”
“What do you know about it…the car accident?”
“I was following her and saw the whole thing.” The admission makes me shudder.
He grimaces as something flashes across his face. “You saw it happen?”
“Every second of it.” My voice cracks despite my best efforts. “There was an SUV that slammed into her car, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
He swallows, his hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. “Is she… What was her condition?”
Well, let’s see how I can phrase this without wanting to murder him.
My pulse accelerates. “Oh, she’s in a condition all right.”
“What does that mean?” He shakes his head as the wrinkles on his forehead deepen with concern. “Was she conscious?”
“Barely.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
The baby. She said, “The baby.”
But I don’t tell him that. Not yet. Not when I’m unsure he knows what I’m talking about. Not when there’s genuine confusion mixed with terror in his eyes.
“She was hanging by a thread when the paramedics got there.” I lean back against the window and cross my arms over my chest. “But she’s strong. She’ll make it through this.”
“She has to.”
We stand in silence for a moment. The TV and hushed conversations fill the air. That’s all there is between us.
The last five years crumble in on me. While I was fighting for my life, they were building one together.
I jut my chin out, needing one final answer. “How long has it been?”