Chapter 22
The Stranger in His Bed
Summer
The glass doors slide shut behind us. The light inside is too bright, the hospital scent fills my nostrils, smelling of bleach and something metallic that makes my stomach churn.
Constance and Adelaide flank me like guards, but it doesn’t help.
My skin prickles with unease as we approach the reception desk.
The woman behind the counter smiles automatically, then blinks at me—my red-rimmed eyes, damp hair sticking to my cheeks—and her smile falters.
“I’m looking for Benedict Harrow,” I manage, voice raw. “He was brought in tonight.”
Her fingers hesitate over the keyboard. She types, pauses, her expression pinching like she’s holding something back. She forces a tight smile. “One moment, please.”
Constance shrugs and Adelaide makes a confused face.
She disappears through the door behind her desk. The seconds stretch, too long. My stomach knots tighter.
The door opens again—but it isn’t the receptionist.
It’s a man in uniform. Boots striking tile. A badge glinting under fluorescent light. His eyes sweep the room, then lock on me.
“You,” he says, pointing, already closing the distance. “Come with me.”
Before I can even breathe, his hand clamps around my arm. Firm. Unyielding.
Shock tears through me.
“What—wait—”
“Get the fuck off her….” Constance shouts, pulling on his hand. Adelaide stands in shock, not saying a word.
The receptionist looks over, phone in hand, likely ready to call for security.
The deputy pushes Constance’s hand away and tugs me forward, hard enough to jerk me off balance. Panic flares, my heart lurching—
And then a snarl cuts the air.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
I whip my head around. Jacob.
He’s come from the vending machine at the corner, a can slipping from his hand, fizz hissing across the floor. His eyes are locked where the deputy’s hand bruises my arm. Then he’s moving. Constance releases her hand and immediately retreats, making sure she’s not caught in the middle of a storm.
The crash echoes through the reception as Jacob slams into the deputy, ripping his hand off me. Papers scatter, the receptionist shrieks. Every head in the waiting room snaps toward us.
Jacob pins him against the counter with his forearm, his voice a low, venomous growl. “You got a death wish, touching my woman like that?”
The deputy gasps, caught between shock and panic. “Sheriff—I didn’t—I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t know what?” Jacob snarls, pressing harder. “Didn’t know you were one grab away from leaving here in a body bag?”
“Jacob, don’t make this any worse than it already is,” Adelaide says, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugs her hand off. “It’s Sheriff Darnell to you,” he says, slow, menacing. “Especially in front of my men.”
“Please—” the deputy stammers, hands raised, eyes darting to the frozen staff around us. “Sir, I just need to speak with her. Privately.”
“Fine, but you don’t take her anywhere without me.” Jacob’s lip curls, eyes black with rage. “Ladies, wait here.”
Constance nods. Adelaide still unable to make eye contact.
“Sheriff,” the deputy pleads, sweat beading his forehead. “Just give me five minutes. Not here. A quiet room. It’s not—” he swallows, voice cracking. “It’s not about her. It’s about him.”
The word hangs heavy.
Jacob studies him, like he’s deciding whether to break his jaw anyway. Then, finally, with a growl deep in his throat, he shoves the deputy off.
“Five minutes,” Jacob says, voice like steel. “And if you so much as glance at her wrong again….”
The deputy nods frantically, rubbing at his throat. “It won’t happen, Sheriff. Please… this way.”
The deputy stands stiff-backed as he holds open the door to the corridor, like a man who’s wandered into a lion’s den and knows it. His eyes avoid Jacob, avoid me, as though the truth he’s about to spill is too heavy to look anyone in the face.
“This way, sheriff.” He gestures, and I notice the red blemish of embarrassment and fear crawling up his cheeks.
He shows us into a room that’s just at the back of the reception area. It’s small, with only room for a hospital examination bed, a computer that sits on a desk and two chairs. Jacob leans against the hospital bed, but I remain standing next to him.
The deputy clears his throat. “The man in ICU… he… he isn’t Benedict Harrow.”
The words seem to suck all the air out of the room.
My pulse slams in my ears.
“That’s… no.” I laugh, “That’s not possible.”
The deputy drags a hand across the back of his neck, eyes flicking to Jacob before landing uneasily on me.
“The John Doe came in rough, sir. Real rough. Carter’s the one who brought him—said he found him collapsed near a bar on Main.
” He pauses, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands, as though the paper might soften the blow.
“Doctors said his injuries were bad enough they had to put him into an induced coma. Safer that way.”
Jacob’s jaw tightens, the muscle twitching. “Go on.”
The deputy nods quickly. “The hospital contacted Benedict Harrow’s next of kin. He’s been listed missing for months, so they came in hoping….” He swallows. “But after seeing him, both of them said the same thing.”
His voice drops.“That man in the bed isn’t their Benny.”
My stomach twists. “But… I saw him. I know him. I—”
The deputy cuts in. “The real Benedict Harrow vanished six months ago. No leads, no sightings. Whoever this guy is… he walked into town wearing Benny’s identity like a second skin. On paper it’s airtight—ID, payroll, everything.”
Jacob’s hands ball into fists. “So someone used a dead man’s name and slid right under my nose?”
I press my palms against my knees, trying to hold myself still, but my whole-body trembles. Every time I thought Benny was saving me, listening to me, caring for me—he wasn’t Benny at all.
Who was he?
“I trusted him,” I whisper, bile burning my throat. “God, I trusted him.”
Jacob doesn’t take his eyes off the deputy. His voice drops lower, darker, like it’s being dragged from somewhere dangerous. “And your first move was to drag her in here? To put hands on her like she’s your suspect?”
The deputy swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ma’am, I apologize for the way I approached you. It wasn’t right—”
“Enough,” Jacob snaps, stepping closer until the man’s back hits the wall. His size, his fury, swallows the room whole. “Not one word in her direction. Not one fucking breath.”
The deputy’s gaze flickers, caught between fear and pleading. “Sheriff—”
Jacob leans in, his words a hiss, vicious and final. “Just remember, she’s my woman. And I own your fucking badge. You want to keep it, then every question you have for her, you ask through me.”
“Yes, Sheriff.” He nods, stumbling for the door. His boots squeak on the tile as he vanishes. The door shuts.
And suddenly it’s just me and Jacob, the fluorescent light buzzing, my chest heaving like I’ve been drowning.
I whisper, barely audible, “If he’s not Benny….” My throat tightens, tears threatening. “Then who is he? There must be a mistake.”
Finally, Jacob stands and turns to look at me. His eyes are dark enough to burn. He leans, bracing his hands on the wall either side of me.
“I don’t know.” His voice is steady, lethal. “But I’ll find out. And when I do….” His jaw flexes, every word bitten off with promise.
We make our way back toward the reception, the sterile hum of the hospital lights filling the corridor. Constance and Adelaide are exactly where I knew they’d be—slouched in the plastic chairs by the vending machine, arms folded, legs crossed, expressions thunderous.
A laugh almost escapes me. The sight drags me straight back to high school, to the times they sat outside the principal’s office after being caught sneaking out or mouthing off. Same postures, same defiance—just older now, sharper around the edges.
Constance was always the worst of the two, never able to stomach authority or take no for an answer. Adelaide followed her lead more often than she’d admit. So, the image of Jacob storming through earlier—taking me and a deputy with him while leaving them behind—must’ve burned.
The moment they see us, the storm clouds break. Both women shoot to their feet in perfect sync, anger and relief warring across their faces.
“Hey, what was that about?” Constance asks, concern radiating from her expression.
“It was nothing, just a formality,” Jacob answers for me. “It’s all under control. But now, we’re heading up to Harrow. He’s in a coma, so no need for you two to stick around.”
I look to Jacob, confusion pulsing through me, but then remember who he is.
The Sheriff of Rosefield. He’s used to keeping things under wraps until he has the whole story and every ounce of information.
Plus, he’s trying to protect me. He wants me to head into Benny’s room with a clear head.
He wants to avoid any more mental conflict and what ifs.
“No, we’ll wait.” Adelaide says softly, forcing a small smile. “We’ll be right here for you Summer.”
I nod my head, and lean forward, putting my head between my two best friends and wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. They both hug me back, Adelaide plants a kiss on my ear and whispers “We’ve got you.”
When I pull away and turn back to Jacob, he’s stood, arms folded, looking bored. I pull a what the fuck is your problem face and move to him. He immediately unfolds his arms and holds one out to me. Embracing me when I get to him.
“ICU is on the second floor. We can wait for the elevator, but it’s a shit show here, always one out. Stairs might be best?”
“How do you—”
“Most crimes end in injury Summer. I spend more time here than you’d like to think.”
Obviously, I hadn’t considered that his role involves regular hospital questioning. Nevertheless, he guides me with his arm.
“This way, baby.”
I turn to my girls and give them both a thank you smile. They both throw one back at me.
The door creaks open, the smell of antiseptic rushing out like a wave. Machines beep in slow rhythm, too steady for how violently my heart is pounding.
I step in first. And stop. The sight of him knocks the breath from my lungs.
Benny—no, not Benny—lies there like something already half gone.
His face is covered with swollen bruises, purple and black blooming across the bones I used to know.
His lip is split, his cheek stitched. A rigid white band circles his mouth, holding a plastic tube in place that hisses with each breath the machine forces into him.
His chest rises shallowly. Drops.
A nurse at his bedside checks the monitor with brisk efficiency.
“He came in with a punctured lung,” she says matter of fact, like she’s reporting the weather. “Multiple rib fractures. Trauma to the head. Whoever did this….” She frowns, noting something down on her clipboard. “Well, it looks like he was attacked by a gang, at least three of them, I’d guess.”
Her words rattle around in my skull. Three of them. But I know the truth. There was only one.
I glance sideways. Jacob stands just inside the door, broad shoulders filling the frame, his expression smoothed into professional neutrality. But his eyes betray him. A flicker of pride. Satisfaction. The tiniest curl at the corner of his mouth.
The nurse doesn’t see it. But I do and my stomach twists violently.
She finishes her notes, adjusts the line running into his arm, and finally slips out with a soft, “I’ll give you some time.”
The door clicks shut and silence presses down.
I stare at the man in the bed. The stranger I thought I knew. Jacob’s hand covers mine, warm, firm. He leans close enough that his breath brushes my ear.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, low enough only I can hear. His thumb strokes slow circles into my skin, the softness at war with the steel in his voice. “I’ll find out what’s going on. I promise.”
I swallow hard, my throat raw. My eyes flick back to the battered body on the bed.
And for the first time, I don’t know if I want him to wake up at all.
The hallway feels longer on the way out. My legs drag, every step weighted with what I’ve just seen. The smell of antiseptic clings to my skin, and in my head, I still hear the hiss of that machine pushing breath into him.
Jacob’s hand is a steady weight against my back as we push through the double doors into the waiting area.
Constance and Adelaide are already on their feet, faces pale, eyes wide. They rush toward us the second they see us, questions spilling out before we even reach them.
“What happened? How is he?” Constance’s eyes dart between us.
I stand there, frozen. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Adelaide grips my hands, her touch warm but shaking. “Summer… please. Talk to us.”
Jacob steps forward, cutting through the panic. His voice is blunt. “He’s not Benny.”
Constance blinks at him, confusion hollowing her eyes. “What? What do you mean?”
Adelaide looks between us, swallowing hard. “Summer?…”
I force the words out, my voice barely my own.
“The hospital called Benny’s brother. He came in tonight.” A breath shudders through me. “He said the man in that bed isn’t him.”
Adelaide’s grip on me falters, her hand slipping from mine like she’s lost her anchor. Constance sits back into her chair, eyes hollow, mouth parted. Confusion adorning her face.
Jacob doesn’t give them time to argue. He strides to the front desk, each step heavy, controlled, a predator moving through prey. The receptionist straightens, nervous under his shadow.
“The second that man opens his eyes,” Jacob says, his voice low and lethal, “I want a call. Direct to me. No one else.”
The woman swallows, nodding quickly. “Yes, Sheriff.”
He leans in just a fraction, his stare pinning her in place. “If someone else hears about it before I do, I’ll know.”
She scribbles his number down, cheeks flushed, and nods again. Satisfied, Jacob turns back, his gaze sweeping over me, Constance, Adelaide.
I wrap my arms around myself—all I can see is the battered stranger lying in that bed, breathing through a machine, carrying Benny’s name like a stolen coat.
And I wonder if I ever knew him at all.