Page 12 of Finding Hope

“So you went down to make him some breakfast?” the detective nudged.

“No. That was the plan, but he shoved me. And I fell.” The broken leg still didn’t seem real. She’d never broken a bone before, even in the accident. Jami stared at the scrape along her arm instead. She didn’t even remember it hitting the steps. After the breath had been knocked out of her and her temple had slammed against the railing, she recalled very little. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”

“I can see why. That’s a pretty nasty lump on your head.” The detective pointed his pen at her injury.

It throbbed under his notice.

Malcolm continued to study her, his presence nerve-racking as well as peaceful. His silence made him even more of an enigma.

“Nothing else after that?” the detective asked.

She shook her head, though the throbbing increased after the action. “I woke up here. I’m not sure how that happened, but my father’s former boss, Andrew Raneer, said he brought me here.” And that he was coming back, she remembered.

Detective Borden jotted down the name when she spelled it, then closed his notebook. “We’ll likely call you in for an interview when you’re feeling better. No worries, it’s typical procedure.” He nodded to Malcolm. “Griffin here is a good man to have in your corner. You’re lucky.” The detective headed to the door. “I’m sorry again, Ms. Reece, and hope you recover swiftly.”

His departure left her with Malcolm Griffin. Another minute faded away as the room remained quiet, the passage of time raising the hairs along the backs of her arms.

Jami struggled to sit up. The movement tugged at the IV in her arm, reminding her that leaving wouldn’t be so simple. She reached for it.

“What are you doing, Jami?” Malcolm asked. His tone was soft, as if he was merely curious.

“I don’t like hospitals,” she lied, reaching for the nurse’s call button instead. It remained lit after she pressed it, the brightest color in the room.

“With your injuries, I doubt you’ll be released so soon.” Malcolm approached the bed again, and that warm hand came back to rest over her good foot. “I can see why you needed help, with the fire and all. Got someone you can stay with after this?”

Yes, and that was the problem. Jami’s lips pressed together. She couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell a stranger that every time she was around Andrew, more of herself slithered away. “I shouldn’t have bothered Celia,” she said instead. She’d been feeling pathetic, that was all, and unsure of what to do. The urge to press the button for the nurse rose again, but the light was still on.

“I’ll take that as a no. That’s okay. I can arrange something by the morning.” Malcolm patted her foot.

“Ms. Reece,” the nurse said, coming into the room. “I know you asked to be released, but Dr. Menose still strongly suggests—”

“I can’t stay,” Jami forced the words to be firm, not the whining panic that wanted to escape. If she could raise her sister and bury her mother, all while taking care of a father who was more belligerent by the day, she could decide for herself what was to come.

She simply needed to tell Andrew no. How often had she had this same talk with herself? What was it going to take to get her to finally do it?

“Very well,” the nurse said. She glanced at Malcolm—because who wouldn’t look at a man like him?—before stepping forward to hand Jami a tablet with some forms to sign. “I see you have more than one person worried about you.”

Jami focused on signing her name in each place the nurse pointed. Andrew probably was concerned for her. His offer to take care of her was genuine—as long as she played the docile creature he’d come to expect, a role that felt more and more like she was being buried alive, and it was her own hands shoveling the dirt over her head.

She risked a glance up at Malcolm. His expression had gone hard again, not that gentle caregiver that had begun to leak through. His lips thinned as they pressed together. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it to himself.

“I’ll give you a minute,” he said, walking out of the hospital room.

The nurse made quick work of the other aspects of Jami’s release. The IV was removed, her clothes were returned, but it was impossible to pull her jeans over the cast. Soon she was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting for a wheelchair and trying to smooth down her shirt to cover more of her legs. At least she typically wore large T-shirts. She got most of them from secondhand stores, picking out ones that mentioned places she’d never been able to travel to. Her parents hadn’t been ones for long vacations even before the accident. Then she remembered that even all of those shirts were gone.

The pain medication added a dullness to the feel of her own hands on her thighs. The nurse had reminded her she was not to drive and had given her prescription papers since Jami told her she wasn’t sure what pharmacy she’d use. Apparently wheeling her out was also required.

A shadow filled the doorway again. Celia’s Malcolm was back. He moved into the hospital room, crouching down beside her to meet her downturned eyes.

He finally asked a question. “Are you running from someone, Jami?”

Jami wasn’t surprised he’d put part of it together. He may be muscle-bound, but he was sharp. Intuitive. He’d have to be to have saved Celia, she realized. Celia had only shared parts of her story, but Jami had recognized a personality much like her own. Celia had admitted to feeling like she’d failed to take care of everyone around her as well.

Jami tapped the bulky cast. “Did you see this thing? I doubt running is in the cards.”

She was relieved when his lips quirked up into almost a smile.

“I’m thinking maybe a hotel for tonight?” she rushed on. She didn’t have cash, but she had plenty of unused credit cards. “Nothing close, and nothing fancy. In fact, I could call—”

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