Chapter Three
Penelope
The next few nights continued on as planned. By day I worked on the merger with Storm Media, and in the evenings, I hung around Max, with Madeline there as much as I could have her. Every day our resident patient continued to heal—the bruises on his knuckles clearing, the color coming back into his face—and every day Max assured me that we were doing the correct thing. And every night I tried to remain impartial about the fact that Neal still hadn’t come out of his room. Or even talked to me.
Everything I knew, I knew because Max told me. All that changed the night that Max staggered into the penthouse, a pale, sickly look on his face I’d never seen. I’d immediately sent him home early, with strict instructions to not come back until he was feeling better. He apologized a hundred times, letting it slip that his girlfriend, who was an aspiring chef, had brought home food from the restaurant she worked in and was also not feeling well.
Church appeared in the hallway, offering to drive the other man home, and I went to check on Neal. As I entered quietly, a soft noise came from the bed. My eyes flickered to Neal, thinking he was awake, but he remained still on the bed, sleeping.
He must’ve been a large man once. Even now, his body was broad, reminding me that even as a nutrient-deficient man experiencing homelessness, he’d been able to take down two of my attackers. I wasn’t sure if he had military training or something else, but he had dispatched them like a professional. And while that was probably supposed to worry me, I wasn’t concerned.
He'd had a chance to hurt me, and he had chosen to help instead.
My eyes moved back to the television buzzing on the wall of Neal’s suite, nodding along to the introduction of my favorite documentary series. This one was about ancient Egypt, and I was so engrossed that I almost missed the movement. But under the covers, against my calf, Neal’s leg flexed and stretched. I rolled over and rose up onto my knees so I could look down at him. Sure enough, a moment later, the muscles in his face twitched, a frown deepening the corners of his full lips. The nurses had trimmed his dark beard, sprinkled with silver, while he was in the hospital, and I found I enjoyed the fact I could see more of his face now.
I put down the hummus and carrots I had been grazing on and inched forward still on my knees. “Mr. Crowe?”
A soft mumbled response reached my ears. I slipped off the side of the bed and bolted to his head. “Mr. Crowe, do you need something?”
The man’s head shook a little, but his lips didn’t move again. “I’m right here.” I slipped a hand into his. “You get your rest. Whenever you're ready to wake up, I’ll be right here.”
My heart pounded as I waited, and after a breath, the heavy hand in my grip gently squeezed me back.
Grinning, I bit into my lip and waited to see what my rescuer would do next.
***
Neal
Clarity. It was a strange thing to feel at this moment, especially since the ceiling I was looking up at was clearly not my own.
But fuck it, it looked pretty, all clean white lines, with a thread of dimly lit interior lights around the outside. Far better than that hospital bed that I`d briefly looked up into. A soft pressure came again, squeezing around my fingers. And that voice, the one I felt like I'd heard a hundred times. It was low, gentle, lyrical.
I craved it now. And when it stopped, I almost whimpered, wishing for more of that sweet relief.
I squeezed with my hand again, searching for that pressure. And thank God the voice spoke again. This time it was utterly clear, my mind finally catching up with my wakefulness.
“There you are. It’s okay, Mr. Crowe. We’ve got you.”
She knew my name. My real name.
Fuck, I remembered now. The past week came blasting through my memory.
That voice had been so familiar. The woman from the street. The woman who had brought me home. I’d been listening to her every evening this week, when Max wasn’t looking too closely.
She was here, touching me, and fuck if it didn’t feel fantastic. Where the fuck was Max? This was going all wrong. I struggled to sit up and apologize for ever darkening her doors.
“Max went home sick.” Her voice cleared as my focus returned. “Sorry. You’re stuck with me tonight.”
My good elbow began to slip, and slowly I fell back into the softness of the bed. God, I was weak still. Once I’d been a menace, a powerhouse, someone strong enough to protect and defend.
Even if I hadn’t done it for the right people.
Those slender fingers stroked briefly over mine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Mr. Crowe. Do you need anything?”
“Neal,” I grunted out. I hated my last name “Call me Neal.” I wanted to open my eyes—to see her face again, to see what she looked like, to make sure she wasn’t worried, because that was the last thing that I’d ever want for her. But my eyes stubbornly closed once again.
A moment later, delicate fingertips brushed over my cheekbone. “Shh. It’s okay, Neal. You’re safe.”
I swallowed, darkness lurking at the edges of my mind. I wanted to tell her, I wanted to blurt it out, but I couldn’t. I wanted her to know I didn’t deserve her kindness or her soft words. I was a bad person, a stupid person. I was unworthy of anyone’s love and care— most certainly hers. But darkness crashed over me, and I knew nothing else.
The next time I woke up, natural light illuminated every corner of the room, showcasing just how expensive it truly was. There was a second bed beside mine, the blankets still thrown back on it, a small sitting space against the windows beyond that, and at my feet, the wall beyond was covered in a huge wardrobe, a widescreen TV, and farther down, a bathroom was brightened by a series of large bright lights.
Opulence, perhaps, but it was so strangely warm and welcoming that I didn’t feel the immediate panic of being trapped as I feared I might.
I cleared my throat. “Max. What the fuck did you give me last night?” I finally got out, the words rough against my dry throat.
The voices, unfamiliar, stopped immediately, and a moment later, a young guy’s face appeared above me. “Good morning, sunshine. She gave you exactly what I told her to give you. Was it too much?”
I grunted.
Max nodded as if I’d said something intelligible. “You’re looking much better,” he said conversationally, resettling the blankets around me. “Let’s plan on a short walk today, just to get some fresh air. And maybe we can be done with the heavy-hitting meds. What do you think?”
I blinked. “Will that short walk be taking me away from here?””
Max raised a brow. “You’re not a prisoner here, Neal. You’re welcome to go home whenever you want. Although I’d recommend putting up with this horrible situation”—his brows rose sarcastically— “at least until the stitches come out in a few days.”
I glanced between the smiling young man and the door to the hallway I’d only seen once. “I’d like to get back to my life as soon as possible.”
Max’s smile dimmed. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“I’m grateful,” I hurried to say. “I just… I can’t be here.”
“No problem. We have physical therapy coming in twice daily starting tomorrow, and we’ll have you back up and running in no time.” Max patted my arm. “Considering everything you've been through. you’re a pretty fit guy. I don’t think it’ll be any kind of issue getting you ready to go.”
After an hour of strange and slightly horrifying investigation into my current conditions, I was finally sitting at the edge of the bed, Max at my side, watching the news as I tugged a sock onto my foot. Everything was harder. My muscles, which I’d always considered an asset, were sluggish and strange to my commands.
Frustration clogged my mind once again. I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. It was the number-one rule I’d made after—I’d made after everything. I could not get attached; I could not get involved.
Fuck.
Max sat with me for a bit longer, enduring my grumpy silence far longer than any sane person should. When he finally rose sometime later, I was surprised by the pang of loneliness that settled over me when I heard him chatting with someone out in the main part of the home and then finally the front door closing.
Ah yes. This was the part of the night he actually took off. I think he had a girlfriend or some nonsense he wanted to see. Which meant I was now alone with Penelope and her daughter, the one and only Madeline Dougherty. I hadn’t had a clue who she was until Max had rattled on about how excited he was to be working with the YouTube star’s family.
And by alone, I mean there was a bodyguard the size of the Brooklyn Bridge parked somewhere between their rooms and me. Max had mentioned that the girl had been staying elsewhere while I was recovering. Even more reason to get the hell out of here. I was displacing a teenager from her home. That couldn’t be healthy.
I slowly stood, straightening my limbs with an awkward grimace. I didn't feel sore today. It was more that certain parts of my body had simply forgotten how to function. Slowly, I moved towards the door. I needed to thank Penelope Doughtery, at the very least, for housing me. I might be a cold, miserable human, but I had manners. Or I’d had manners.
I moved quietly from my room, finding myself in a central living space, with a giant television on one wall, a dancing show playing. But instead of Penelope, there was a young girl there on the sofa, seated next to Mr. Brooklyn Bridge. The man smiled friendly enough, but I didn’t miss the carefully veiled threat in his movements as he stretched out his legs and settled once more next to her.
The girl's head snapped up, looking first at her guard then following his eyeline until she met my eyes.
“Mr. Crowe.” She stood up, a hesitant smile on her lips. “How are you feeling? I’m Madeline. by the way, Penelope's daughter.”
I shuffled into the room, rubbing distractedly at the bandage under my T-shirt. “I know who you are.”
She appeared surprised then delighted. “You do?”
“Google still works, even if my arms aren’t sure they do.” I moved closer, coming into the light of the show as a waltz came on. I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Madeline’s smile deepened. “Sorry. I love these shows. I know they’re super cheesy, but I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the sparkles? Maybe it's the dancing? Either way. I—”
“I came to say thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For housing me. I’ll get out of your hair as quickly as possible. You have my word.”
Madeline straightened, her face aging a dozen years. “You saved my mother’s life and possibly our company's future. It’s the least we can do.” A practiced line but delivered well. I almost saluted her.
My thoughts must’ve been running slow still, because suddenly Madeline was coming closer, circling me quickly before taking out her phone and snapping a picture of me. I grunted, my hand reaching for it instinctively.
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t keep borrowing my uncle's clothes. You’re twice as wide as Adrian, and I'm guessing you didn’t bring any shoes for your physical therapy.”
I scoffed.
Madeline cocked her head knowingly and typed some more into her phone. “You want out of here, that's fine, Mr. Crowe, but you’ll leave in clothes that fit and with limbs that function at 100 percent.”
My eyes narrowed, but she only laughed. This was an unusual kid. “Don’t underestimate us Dougherty girls, Mr. Crowe. We don’t do anything halfway. Do you have anything on your calendar for tomorrow?”
“My calendar?”
“Oh geez, sorry…” She turned to Mr. Brooklyn Bridge. “Hey, Church, does Mr. Crowe have any appointments tomorrow?”
“Why would I know?” The other man didn't bother to look at his phone, just stared at me, eyes stony, a quiet smile on his face.
“Perfect.” Madeline clapped. “Then tomorrow we’ll get you some clothes. We can’t very well have you wandering around town in hand-me-downs.” She leaned in with a wink. “Especially at your age.”
My jaw dropped and I stared at her. I’d always told myself if I got the opportunity to have children, I would’ve loved them, done anything and everything for them. But this girl, she was a whole new league of wild. Ignoring my slack-jawed status, she picked up the book she’d been reading and calmly strolled past me, down the hallway that must lead to her bedroom.
Church didn’t move from the sofa. I cleared my throat, my hand gripping the back of the couch.
“She’s…”
Church shifted forward, slowly raising his bulk up until he stood. While he was only an inch or two larger than me, he was in pristine health. “She’s incredibly loved by everyone in this building. You should know that. She and her mother are very important to a great number of people.”
I stiffened. “They brought me here.”
Church gave me a long look. “I wanted you to know.”
“Message received. Thank you.”