Page 38 of Chase

Fuck, my head hurts. I lift a hand to my skull and my fingertips meet soft fabric. With my eyes firmly closed, I lean back into the pillow which isn’t my own—it’s too hard. I wiggle my neck in an attempt to release some tension, but it doesn’t work. A spasm holds my muscles taut.

“Where the hell am I?” I mutter, not wanting to open my eyes and face the day. The events of last night are blurred, a mess of static images in my mind that I can’t organize into a coherent order.

“Varley Medical,” a familiar voice replies unexpectedly. I freeze, unsure what to say. “You can look at me. It’s your leg that’s broken, not your eye sockets.” Hesitantly, I crack open my right eye. The bright strip light is harsh against the darkness of my lids. “Do you have a headache?” the voice says sharply.

“Everywhere aches,” I reply, and Josie giggles. I attempt to now open both eyes, blinking to give myself time to adjust to the light. It’s a painful but necessary task.

“That’s not surprising. Most men who fall off a building would be a splatter of bones and flesh on the pavement. But not you, Russell Chase, no—you manage to land on a deckchair and merely break your leg. In all, it’s quite remarkable.”

Once I manage to focus, I see her sitting on a dark blue chair beside my bed, dressed casually in simple jeans and a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. Her hair is pulled high into a ponytail and secured with a bright red band. One leg is flung over the other, and long fingers drum on her knee. There’s no doubt she is a striking woman, but my previous attraction to her has vanished. My desire for any woman other than Samantha ended the night I met her.

“What on earth were you doing climbing up the outside of the building anyway?” she asks, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward.

“That is none of your business, Josie.” Pain sears through my skull and my vision blurs. I need to speak to Connor; from what little I remember, I well and truly fucked up. The only clear image I have is him and the look of disgust on his face when he saw me in his apartment. “Is my brother here?”

“He went home once he knew you weren’t going to die.” She stands, then brushes down the front of her jeans with her palms, removing invisible dust. Her facial expression tells me she’s unhappy at my lack of explanation. “This is my day off. I only came in to see you were all right.”

“And I appreciate that, but I don’t remember fully what happened. How did I get here? And what’s wrong with me?”

“I told you, you fell off your building and broke your leg. A displaced tibia to be precise, so expect to be six weeks before bearing weight and fully ten weeks before walking normally.” Pieces of my recollection start to fit into place, and my argument with Connor becomes more vivid. “You also have a mild concussion, but there should be no long lasting effects. You at least know who I am.”

“I could never forget you, Josie,” I say.

She places a hand on my arm lying on the bed. Her skin is surprisingly cold against mine. “As much as I would like to believe that, you’ve forgotten me.”

“You’re married,” I remind her, not for the first time. “I don’t want to talk about our friends-with-benefits arrangement, it’s in the past.”

She tsks through her teeth but squeezes my arm gently. “I miss you,” she whispers, sullenly. The sternness in her eyes dwindles and for a moment, the strong, independent woman I know looks uncertain.

“We’re still friends,” I assure her. “But I don’t sleep with married women. I told you that when you chose to go back to him.” She swallows visibly, and her mouth opens as if to speak then recloses. “That decision marked the end of our sexual relationship.”

“It wasn’t even a relationship,” she murmurs before turning away, then lifts her hand to wipe at her eye.

“Not a long-term one, but we both knew that. We agreed, Josie. This isn’t about me or the fact we ended,” I say, taking a stab in the dark at what could be wrong. We’ve been friends for years, since I met her freshly out of law school and she needed representation for motoring offenses. Ever since, Josephine Rivera has floated in and out of my life when it suits both her and me. “What’s going on? I know when you’re hiding something.”

“Nothing,” she says, then her pager beeps. She glances down at the message. “I need to go. The organ transport team will be here in ten minutes. I have a kidney for a patient being removed as we speak.”

“I thought it was your day off,” I ask, confused.

“My colleague, Dr. Winslow, is performing the surgery, but I like to oversee the dispatch of the organs.” Her eyes are fixed on the doorway, and she shuffles from foot to foot, clearly keen to be on her way. “I’ll send a nurse in to help you get comfortable.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Assuming I’m still here.”

She glances over and smiles softly. “I’m keeping you in for a few days for observation.”

“Is that not extreme for a broken leg?”

“But you also had a bump to the head, and head injuries no matter how minor are something I take extremely seriously. Especially when it comes to the people I…” She trails off, and I see a flush at the base of her neck and behind her ears. She clears her throat before continuing. “When it comes to people I care about.” I watch as she leaves the room without looking back.

Left on my own, I try to wriggle up to sit and immediately regret the movement as my leg almost snaps in two. Instead, I lie staring at the blank white ceiling, watching the fan spin around at the center of the room.

My remembrances of the night before begin to merge more fluidly. I recall being in my apartment drinking whiskey, then scaling the ladder as I’ve done dozens of times these past weeks. Samantha and Connor had been once again having fun on the sofa, and with the sliding doors to the balcony cracked open a fraction I could hear the conversation between them.

She had been on her knees with his dick in her mouth when I’d heard the words I dreaded. “I fucking love you,” Connor said so quietly it was barely audible, but there was no doubt in my mind what the phrase was. My sanity snapped, and I stalked into the room, standing over them as she worked on him. His hands were in her hair as he encouraged her to take all of him. I remember my brother looking up at me, and his eyes popping wide. Then the whole of hell let loose.

The door opens, disturbing my memories, and Samantha walks in. She’s dressed in her pale blue nursing uniform, which hangs shapeless from her curves. Wide, nervous eyes meet mine, and I see her take a breath before approaching the bed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Chase,” she says professionally. “Would you like to sit up?”

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