Chapter 78 #2
“Your wife sustained a significant impact to her right temporal region. We’ve run a CT scan. There’s no fracture and no intracranial bleeding, which is what we were most concerned about.”
I let out a breath that empties my entire body.
“However, she does have a concussion. A serious one. The laceration on her temple required eleven stitches. Her wrists have second-degree rope burns that we’ve cleaned and dressed. And she has significant bruising to her ribs and left hip.”
Eleven stitches. Rope burns. Bruised ribs.
My brother did this.
“We need to monitor her overnight. Possibly longer, depending on how the concussion presents over the next twelve to twenty-four hours. Head injuries can be unpredictable. We’ll be checking on her regularly—pupil response, cognition, balance.”
“But she’s going to be okay?”
He nods. “She took a hell of a hit. But she’s going to be okay.”
My knees almost buckle. I put my hand against the wall. “I need a private room for her,” I say. “The best you have. No shared ward. No interruptions. Security on the door. Name your price.”
The doctor blinks. “We do have a private suite on the fourth floor, but it’s typically reserved for—”
“Name your price.”
He studies me for a beat. “We can sort that later. I’ll make the arrangements,” he says quietly.
“Thank you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a fold of cash. Press it into his hand. “This is for your time. And your discretion. Nothing about my wife’s admission goes on any system that isn’t locked down. No visitors without my authorization. Nothing.”
He pockets the cash and nods. “You can see her in about twenty minutes. I’ll have someone come and find you.”
He walks away. I press my forehead against the wall and close my eyes.
She’s going to be okay.
I say it three times inside my head. Let the words settle. Let them become real.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. Not my phone. Hers. The one Ace found at the airport. I pull it out. The screen is cracked but functional. Her father is calling.
I stare at it. Watch it ring. And I hesitate. Because I don’t know what to say to him.
I’ve never met this man. Never spoken to him. Everything I know about Richard Jackson comes from Lola. He has the fashion empire, the pressure he put on her, and the conditional love delivered in the shape of obligations and events.
He’s calling because his daughter was supposed to be at his birthday party. And she’s not.
Fuck it. I answer.
“Lola? Where are you, sweetie? The car’s been at the airport for two hours and—”
“Mr. Jackson. This isn’t Lola.”
Silence.
“Who is this?” His voice shifts instantly. “Why do you have my daughter’s phone?”
“My name is Hunter Sterling. Lola has been in an accident. She’s in the hospital in Arizona.”
The silence that follows is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
“What kind of accident?” His voice drops. His authority wavers. Here is the father. The worried one. “Is she—is she okay?”
“She’s okay. She has a concussion, and she needed stitches, but the scans are clear. They’re keeping her in overnight to monitor her. She’s in good hands, I’ve made sure.”
I hear him exhale. “What happened?”
“That’s a conversation I’d rather have in person, Mr. Jackson. But I need you to know that she’s safe. She’s being looked after. She’s got a private room and the best doctors in the state.”
A pause. I can hear him processing. “You said your name is Hunter Sterling. How do you know my daughter?”
I rub my hand over my face. “I’m the man your daughter married, sir.”
The silence stretches so long I check the screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.
“Married,” he repeats.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
I can hear him breathing. Can practically hear his brain recalibrating everything he thought he knew about his daughter’s life. “And you’re the one looking after her right now? In hospital?”
“I haven’t left her side since it happened. And I won’t.”
He clears his throat. When he speaks again, the sharp edge is gone. What’s left is the voice of a man who is scared for his child. “Is she really okay, Hunter?” He uses my name.
“Tell me the truth.”
“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, Mr. Jackson. She fought like hell today. And she’s going to be fine.”
I hear something catch in his throat.
“I know this isn’t how you expected to find out about us,” I say. “And I know you probably have a hundred reasons to hate me before we’ve even met. I’m not what you pictured for her. I know that.”
“You don’t know what I—”
I cut him off. I know the truth about what he thinks just by talking to me on the phone.
I ain’t no city boy. But I am rich.
“But I love your daughter. And she loves me. And I’m asking you to give me a shot before you make your judgment.” I pause. “Come to my ranch. See how your girl is living. Meet your grandson.”
“Grandson?” His voice pitches up.
I chuckle.
“My boy. Wyatt. He’s six. And he thinks the sun rises and sets with Lola.”
I hear a sound on the other end that might be a laugh or might be a sob. “She always was good with kids,” he says quietly. “Better than we ever were with her.”
That stops me. Because it’s the most honest thing I’ve heard from a man I’ve known for ninety seconds. “Mr. Jackson. Your daughter didn’t run away from you. She ran toward something. And I’d like to show you what that is. Show you how much we adore her.”
The line is quiet for a long time. Long enough that I can hear noise in the background. His sixtieth birthday. And instead of celebrating, he’s standing in a hallway, finding out his daughter is married and in a hospital.
“I’m coming to Arizona,” he says.
“You’re welcome anytime.”
“First thing tomorrow.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’ll send you the address. Would you like to use my jet?” I ask.
“I’ll use mine. But I appreciate the offer,” he tells me.
“When she wakes up, tell her—” He stops and clears his throat. “Tell her I’m proud of her. Even though she never believes me when I say it.”
My eyes sting. I have this feelin’ everything is going to work out just fine. “I’ll tell her.”
“And Hunter?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you for being there. For looking after my girl.”
I swallow hard. “It’s not a job, Mr. Jackson. It’s a privilege.”
He hangs up.
I stand in the hospital corridor holding my wife’s cracked phone, and I don’t know what to do with the feeling expanding inside my chest.
Maybe Richard Jackson isn’t what I expected either.
A nurse appears at the end of the corridor. “Mr. Sterling? Your wife is asking for you.”
I’m moving before she finishes the sentence.