Page 85 of Songbird
I open my mouth to argue, and he cuts me off.
“Or at least sit down for more than thirty seconds at a time. Wrap yourself in that blanket over there and please drink something. You’ve got a head injury and you’ve lost blood. You need to rest.”
I gingerly touch the bump on the back of my head where I fell and hit the wall, then scowl at the dressing on my upper arm, covering the shallow gash where Lauren’s bullet grazed me. It’s not deep enough to require stitches, so when the emergency room doctor realized who I was and predicted the spectacle I’d create waiting to be treated in a public space, she ushered meinto the first empty room she could find. A nurse took my vitals and drew labs while the doctor dressed my wound. Neither one of them would tell me anything about Finn, and now I’m stuck in this room under observation.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, but at John’s firm look, I drop into the green-plastic covered armchair, throw the hospital blanket over my knees, and pick up my cup of water. “Tell me again how you knew Lauren was in my dressing room.”
“Miss Thorne—”
“Please, John.” My voice wobbles, and I lift my chin, hoping that if I pretend I’ve got it together, I’ll have a chance of getting through this before I totally fall apart. “Tell me again.”
He nods from his position on this side of the closed door. “I didn’t feel right waiting for you in the car, so I was already in the studio when I got the call from Drew. He was on the phone with Finn when Lauren entered your dressing room, and Finn left the line open so Drew could hear everything. I don’t know how long Drew waited to call me—not long, I’d guess. Less than a minute or two for me to have reached you when I did. I ran, but the first gunshot sounded when I was still out in the corridor. She shot again after I opened the door, and Finn was down by the time I gained control of the weapon.”
I shiver and lift the blanket over my shoulders, wishing I’d thought of it sooner when the blood stains on my peach-colored dress disappear beneath the thick cotton.
“Security apprehended the shooter,” John continues, “and I applied first aid to Finn’s wound. He was unconscious at that point, but I was able to stanch the flow of blood until paramedics arrived. We traveled by ambulance, he went straight to the operating room, and—”
“And I ended up trapped in a confined space with no way of knowing if Finn’s alive or… or…”
I curl in on myself, too afraid to cry in case I never stop, too terrified to consider that the man I love might have sacrificed his life to save mine.
“He’ll be all right, Miss Thorne,” John says gently. “Finn’s tough and he’s been through worse than this.”
“Thanks, John.” I lift my head and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “And you called his family to let them know?”
He nods grimly. “They’re on their way.”
“Good.” I inhale deeply to get on top of the fear and overwhelm. “That’s good. Thank you.”
There’s a tap on the door, and I jump up expectantly as John opens it to see who’s there. A glare crosses his face, and he tries to close the door again but is stopped by whoever’s on the other side.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” John says, voice ominous. “I suggest you remove your hand before I remove it for you.”
“John? Who is it?” I take a frightened step backward, knowing in my head that he’d be a lot more forceful if the threat was real, but scared that someone knows I’m here and was able to find the room where I’m hidden.
John’s face darkens. “It’s Chip Daniels.”
“It’s Chip?”
My head is too foggy to work out why or how he’s here, but a fountain of rage suddenly explodes in my blood. Unmanageable fury at Chip and at Lauren and at the world for giving me Finn if all I was ever going to do was lose him. Under the rage is so much fear, but I don’t want to be scared now. It’s so much easier to be angry.
“Let him in,” I order quietly. “I want to see him.”
“Miss Thorne, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care. Let him in.”
Chip steps through the open door, dressed as always in an expensive suit with his dark hair coiffed to within an inch ofits life. He spares John a disdainful look before he crosses the room and takes me in his arms. I accept his embrace, arms stiff by my side, breath stuck in my lungs, and that white-hot anger bubbling higher and higher.
“I came as soon as I got the call,” he says, releasing me with a flicker of distaste for the blood on my dress. He surreptitiously checks that none rubbed off on his designer jacket. “Are you all right?”
He talks like we haven’t been estranged for a month, like I didn’t dump him days before our wedding, like he owns me now the way he owned me then. Chip always treated me like a recalcitrant child, one that needed a firm hand and hard rules instead of love, trust, and respect. One look at him now, in his tailored suit with that shiny hair and the distance in his eyes, and I realize nothing has changed.
“The call?” I ask. “What call?”
“From the hospital. I’m your emergency contact.” He lifts his hand to brush my cheek and when I flinch from his touch, his jaw feathers with anger. “They want to keep you overnight because of the knock to your head, but they’re chasing down your labs so I can take you home as soon as possible.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not without Finn and certainly not with you.”
