Page 51 of Jett in Jeopardy

I knew Daniel was well aware of what he was asking of me. His gaze caught and held mine, his blue eyes unusually intense.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah… um… give me a second.”

I grabbed my coat from my office, shot off a quick text to Cilla and Damien to let them both know I’d been called away for an emergency, then I followed Daniel and Alistair out the door, stopping only to lock it behind me. My hands shook badly, and it took three tries before I finally got the key in the lock.

I can’t do this. The words beat against the inside of my skull as I followed Daniel and Alistair to Daniel’s ancient SUV parked at the hotel.

This was my worst nightmare come to life. It was as if I were reliving the same experience I’d had with Ryan. Only this time, it was Jett. Would I get to the hospital only to be told I was too late? Would Jett’s lifeless body be all that waited for me when we finally got there? My stomach lurched, and I gritted my teeth, locking my jaw in a desperate attempt to keep its contents inside me.

Despite the frigid temperatures outside and the thin warm air pumping from the SUV’s rattling heater, cold sweat slicked my skin. My heart thudded too fast against my chest.

Already, that acrid hospital smell, a mix of cleaners and antiseptic and death, burned inside my nose and sinuses, turning my stomach. Would I even be able to go inside the hospital and smell that terrible stench for real without throwing up?

It didn’t matter. Jett was in there hurt, and he needed me, and goddamit, I wouldn’t let him down. I would force myself through the doors, emptying my guts the whole way if I had to, just to make it to Jett.

I had managed to avoid the hospital since Ryan had died, but even after six years, little had changed. From the moment we stepped past the main sliding doors opening with a soft swoosh, the hospital stench wrapped around me worse than I remembered.

For a split second, I saw myself making my way to the emergency department, telling the nurse behind the desk who I was there to see. Only for her face to turn pale while she asked me to wait for the doctor to speak to me.

But that was all six years ago. Ryan was dead, and Jett was alive.

The three of us took the elevator to the second floor, where Grier had told Alistair that Jett had been transferred to a room. Sawyer was waiting for us in the hallway.

“How is he?” Alistair asked.

“He’s pretty beat up,” Sawyer said. I didn’t know him as well as Jett and his other roommates, but the few times I had seen Sawyer, I couldn’t think of him ever looking so pale and serious. “His nose is broken, a couple of fingers, and he’s bruised up. He has a mild concussion, so the doctor wants to keep him overnight.”

“What about the person who did this to him?” I asked, despite the cold panic at being back here humming beneath my skin, a dull rage smoldered low inside me. If I ever got my hands on whoever did this, I’d show them what a beating really looked like. “What do the police know about him? What are they doing to get him?”

Sawyer blinked as if he was confused. “Jett knew the guy. He gave the police his name. He’s another student. It’ll just be a matter of time before he’s arrested.”

It made sense that Jett knew his attacker. Perhaps this is the same person who’d been stalking him for months,andthat he’d been another student. I just hoped Sawyer was right about the police finding him and arresting him quickly.

“I want to see him,” I said, needing to see he was going to be okay for myself. I needed to touch him and feel the warmth of his skin for myself, hear the soft whisper of his breath, so I could know firsthand that he really would be okay.

“Grier’s with him now. He’s only allowed to have three visitors at once,” Sawyer mentioned, watching me with a faint frown.

“Why don’t you relieve Grier,” Daniel interjected. “We’ll get a coffee, and you can have some time alone, then you can swap out with his friends.”

Sawyer pointed me to Jett’s room. The door was open, and I poked my head past the opening. Grier was sitting in the chair next to Jett’s hospital bed, where Jett was lying with his eyes closed, bandaged and bruised.

My stomach swooped at the sight of him, the nausea churning in my guts intensified. How could anyone do that to him?

Grier must have heard me in the doorway as he looked up, and his eyes widened. “Hey.”

Before I could say anything, Jett’s eyes fluttered open. He turned in my direction, wincing.

I tensed and closed the distance between me and the bed. Up close, he looked even worse. His nose was swollen, a strip of white medical tape over the bridge. Dark purple bruises darkened the skin under both eyes. His bottom lip was split and swollen, and his index and middle fingers on his left hand had been splinted and bandaged.

A dizzying mix of rage, fear and relief surged inside me. I was furious someone could have done this to him, relieved he was there in the hospital bed, battered and bruised, but alive at least, and terrified at how easily I could have lost him—like I’d lost Ryan.

“I’ll leave you guys to talk,” Grier said, standing. He turned to Jett. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Jett nodded, and Grier slipped quietly from the room. We were finally alone.

“Hey.” My voice scraped like a rusty hinge, and I reached out to brush his tangled curls back from his forehead, as much to assure myself that he was real and safe as to push his hair back from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

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