Chapter Fifteen
“Wake up.” Someone clapped their hands loudly somewhere near Amelia’s head.
She grudgingly opened her eyes and blinked a few times to adjust to the bright light and her surroundings. Weird surroundings.
Ah, yes. Hospital room. It took her another few seconds, but Amelia slowly began to recall the accident. Being rushed into an ambulance. Doctors shining lights in her eyes. Look at that. Her memory seemed to be working fine, despite the concussion they said she had.
She was pulled from her thoughts by someone making clicking noises at her. Then a finger was shoved right in front of her face. “Can you follow my finger?”
Amelia frowned, trying to focus on it before realising it wasn’t a doctor at all. It was Bridget Clemonte.
“Bridget? Why did you wake me?” Amelia said crankily. Her head immediately protested and she groaned. She remembered she’d been trying to sleep the pain away, which clearly wasn’t working.
“The doctor said if you fall asleep, someone needs to wake you up to test your cognitive function every few hours.”
“He said that to the nursing staff.” Amelia wasn’t that far gone. Sore and on meds, yes. But she knew what the hell was happening.
Bridget swept an arm around the room. “Well, they’re not here and I am. So, follow my fucking finger.”
Amelia was fairly sure that Bridget wouldn’t be able to recognise a neurological issue either way, but she followed the finger anyway to shut her up.
“Excellent,” Bridget said like she was a professional. Hadn’t she played a doctor in a sitcom before? Amelia was sure that was the extent of her medical training. “Do you know why you’re here?” Bridget asked. All she was missing was a stethoscope and a clipboard.
Amelia carefully turned her head to the side and gave her a deeply unimpressed look. “You led me down a dodgy path on that stupid golf cart, that’s why. I told you those things were dangerous.”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t see the giant rock. At least I managed to swerve it.”
“You should have followed the damn arrows.” Amelia shifted and winced, instantly regretting the move.
That’d be the cracked ribs and the broken wrist. It could have been a lot worse, she supposed.
“Why are you still here? It must be late.” It was dark outside now.
Early evening, at least. Amelia wasn’t sure how long she’d slept for.
“Oh, gee. Thanks for staying with me, Bridget,” she said in a deeply offensive impression of Amelia—frankly, for an actress, she could have done better. Bridget scowled at her. “I’m going to need a two-hour appointment with my massage therapist after sitting in that blue chair for half the day.”
Amelia tried not to giggle at the thought of Bridget Clemonte being forced to lounge on cheap plastic. “Okay, okay. Thank you for staying with me in the chair of doom.” That didn’t explain why she had, but it had been kind of her regardless. Amelia could acknowledge that.
Bridget took her seat again in said blue chair. “The studio is freaking out about you suing them because there were no seat belts in those damn things.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “I’m not suing anyone. I’m fine.” Shit happened. She’d lived. Move on.
“You’re lucky. I’ve never seen a golf cart flip before. They’ll be finding pieces of it for weeks.”
“As long as they’re not finding pieces of me.”
“Hey,” a quiet voice said from the doorway.
Amelia turned her head too quickly and winced again. “Imogen, hey.” She smiled automatically before remembering things between them were still strange.
Imogen shifted her weight from one foot to the other, awkwardness written all over her face.
Amelia honestly hadn’t expected her to come.
Or even know she was hurt. “Do you, um, can I come in?” She immediately shook her head at herself.
“Sorry, I see you already have a visitor. I can wait in the waiting area.” She hooked a thumb behind her.
Bridget rose from the blue chair with her biggest show smile. The one reserved for fans and paparazzi. “Nonsense. You come right in.” She strode toward Imogen, hand outstretched. “Bridget Clemonte.”
Imogen gave her hand a shake. “Imogen King. Good to meet you.”
“Ah, the girl who hates celebs,” Bridget said like she meant it in friendly jest, although Amelia knew better. “You probably don’t know who I am then, huh?”
“No, I know you,” Imogen said evenly. Imogen didn’t seem impressed, nor unimpressed. Just indifferent. “Your face was on the side of the bus stop beside my flat for about six months last year.”
Bridget, who had been preening moments ago, suddenly looked thrown.
Like she didn’t know how to act when someone wasn’t screaming or fawning all over her.
“Yes. Right. On many a bus stop, I’d imagine.
” She cleared her throat. “Well, I need a coffee anyway. From somewhere decent. So, I’ll let you two…
catch up.” She turned and raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Amelia, then gave Imogen a nod and strolled out of the room, heels clicking on the linoleum floor.
“Thank you,” Imogen called after her. She turned back to Amelia once she had disappeared. “So, that’s the infamous Bridget.”
“The one and only.” Amelia tried to sit up properly against the pillow, but it was difficult when moving hurt and she only had one working hand.
Imogen rushed toward her. “Here, let me help.” She gently manoeuvred Amelia into a more upright position.
“Thanks.” Amelia carefully relaxed back against the pillow. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. How did you know I was here?” It wasn’t like anyone would have known to call her.
“The accident was all over the internet. Then I took a chance on where you would be, and thankfully, I was right. But I wouldn’t have quit until I found you.”
“Why?” Amelia knew she sounded a bit brusque, but Imogen had blown her off all week. She wasn’t trying to punish her, but she had a right to ask questions.
“Because you were hurt and I had to get to you,” Imogen said without hesitation. “I needed to know you were okay.”
It sounded more like a sympathy visit than anything else, which was nice, but not exactly what Amelia was hoping for.
“Well, as you can see, I’m a bit battered and bruised, but all in all, I’m fine.
” She licked her lips, which were unnaturally dry.
“Was that the only reason you came?” She heard the vulnerability in her own voice and hated it.
But if Imogen wanted to go and blank her some more, Amelia wasn’t going to stand in her way.
Imogen walked around the bed and took a seat in Bridget’s abandoned blue chair. She leaned forward and carefully took Amelia’s unbroken hand, rubbing her thumb along the back of it. “That’s not the only reason, Amy. I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve hardly spoken to me all week. Your choice.
” Amelia had been the one initiating the small amount of contact they’d had.
“You didn’t have to miss me if you didn’t want to.
” Was it the concussion or the meds that were making her pick a fight?
Maybe it was a mix. Imogen disappearing on her hadn’t helped either.
Imogen at least had the decency to look ashamed. She stared down at their joined hands. “I’m sorry about that. I was confused, and scared, and…you know why.”
“Those girls recognised me, and you freaked out,” Amelia said quietly. She had sensed the shift as soon as it happened.
Imogen nodded. “I did. And freaking out about that made me freak out about everything else as well. I’m not proud of it, but it’s what happened.
” She looked up at Amelia, her eyes shining with tears.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you, Amy.
I saw that article and was terrified I had.
” The tears spilled over, and Amelia softened at the sight.
Who was she kidding? She was terrible at being a hard-ass anyway.
She tugged on Imogen’s arm to pull her in for a hug.
Fuck the ribs. “Come here.” Amelia held her close, balancing her cast on Imogen’s shoulder.
She breathed in, taking in the familiar scent of Imogen.
Like fresh sea air mixed with something sweet.
“Most of those articles were being overly dramatic. You know that’s what they do.
As you can see, I’m fine. They’ll likely make me work again within a couple of days. Time is money and all.”
She felt Imogen chuckle. “That’s probably true. You said they’re sticklers for a schedule.”
“Oh, complete.” Though now she was pretty sure they’d pay for a stunt double for any additional scenes involving golf carts. Maybe Amelia would take a page out of Bridget’s book and insist on it.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Imogen said, pulling back just enough to cradle Amelia’s face—Amelia leaned into it automatically. “I know we have a lot of things to talk about, but not right now. You need to rest. Can I just sit here with you for a little while? Would that be okay?”
“Just sitting with you sounds perfect right now,” Amelia replied.
Because yes, they had a lot to talk about.
There were issues that hadn’t just disappeared because Amelia had been in an accident.
And they had to decide once and for all if they really could have a future together or not—without all the back and forth.
But Amelia was tired. And sore. And all she wanted to do was hold Imogen’s hand and know she was there with her.
The next thing Amelia knew, it was morning. She went to rub her eyes with her good hand when she realised that she was holding onto something. Imogen’s arm.
Imogen was still there. Sitting in the blue chair, folded forward onto the bed with her arms resting across Amelia’s legs. Her head rested on one arm, breathing slow and even. She must have slept that way all night.