Page 8 of Hell of a Mess
“Just see what you can find out, Jayda. I don’t need a fucking lecture.”
The pull drew me back in, and I couldn’t stay awake longenough to hear any more.
No one was speaking when I woke up this time, but without looking, I knew I wasn’t alone. I could feel the other presence in the room. The stabbing pain in my side was the first time I’d felt anything since arriving here. Wincing, I tried to breathe slowly so that it hurt less.
“Guess the morphine has finally made its way out of your system.”
It was him. The timbre in his voice stirred something inside me that blanketed the rest. It might not numb the pain, but it made it less important.
My eyes opened immediately. I was greeted by the smooth white ceiling. The room wasn’t dark, but the bright light overhead wasn’t on. There was a smaller light near the door that spread throughout the room.
Turning my head to the left, I looked over to see him sitting in the leather chair. He appeared relaxed. His legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. How tall was he? He’d looked several inches taller than the doctor—or was I remembering correctly? That was all so fuzzy.
A book in his lap caught my attention, and I tried to read the cover. He held it up.
No Country for Old Menby Cormac McCarthy. The cover felt…familiar. Had I read that?
“I don’t have much in the way of female reading material, so I’ve been reading you this,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
He’d been reading to me. My chest felt a warmth rush through it as I stared at him, saying nothing.
“It was too damn quiet in here, and you needed to wake up,move around, eat.”
I didn’t want him to leave. Staying silent would likely make him feel unwanted, and that wasn’t the case. I tried to sit up some, and the stabbing pain stopped me.
“OH!” I gasped, gripping the covers tightly with my good hand.
“Easy there, overachiever. I didn’t mean you needed to move right now,” he told me as he stood up, dropping the book onto the chair before closing the space between us. “Here, drink some water,” he suggested and reached to pick up a glass of ice water. The sight of it reminded me how thirsty I was.
Three
Luther
They’re more blue than green, I mused, trying to label the exact shade of her eyes as she stared up at me.
I’d known the moment she woke up because I’d been watching her breathe for the past hour. I could tell when it changed from that of a restful slumber.
“Here,” I said, reaching for the fresh glass of ice water that Jayda had fixed her before going upstairs to make dinner. “Drink.”
She started to lean forward, and I shook my head to stop her, but it was too late.
“Ah,” she gasped as she closed her eyes tightly with a pained expression tightening her otherwise plump lips.
“I’ll put the straw in your mouth. You don’t move. Not yet at least. Wait for the doc to get here. He will get you up.”
Her gaze snapped open. “Get me up?” she asked softly.
I nodded. “Yep. You gotta move, but for now, just drink.”
She hesitantly took a small drink, then seemed to realize how thirsty she was and began to drink more. I knew I should probably stop her, but, hell, she seemed to need it. When she eased back an agonized grimace touched her face. Damn, I didn’t like seeing her in pain again. She rested her head and continued to study me as if I was going to trigger a memory. No such luck. I was as clueless about her identity as she was.
There was no reason for me to be down here with her, but the longer she stayed without us knowing who she was, the more unsettled Linc grew. I’d been working by his side long enough to know his tell signs, and I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t send her away before she was ready, just to protect his family. That wasn’t going to happen. The image of her terrified simper as she had stared at me behind the dumpster was haunting. I couldn’t shake it, and I’d be damned if Linc went and dropped her off to survive on her own. She didn’t even know who the fuck she was.
“Do…” She whispered the one word, snapping my attention back to the present. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. There wasn’t concern or trepidation in her gaze. Instead, there was a gleam of hope. She wanted that information as much as we did.
I shook my head. “Not yet. But we’re working on it. Do you remember anything?”
She seemed distressed by my answer, then shook her head. “No.”
