Page 7 of Rhys

“One Diet Pepsi coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

As promised, Joy returned a few minutes later with a nice cold can of Diet Pepsi.

“Here ya go.” She brought the beverage over to him.

“Thank you.” Rhys took the offered can.

Sliding the tip of his index finger beneath the metal tab, he popped it open. Quickly bringing the can to his lips, he pulled the rapidly foaming bubbles between his lips to prevent the caramel-colored foam from dripping onto the floor.

“You need anything else, just push that red button.” She pointed to the corded white box snaked between the bed’s metal railing.

“I will. Thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

Rhys sat still, casually sipping his drink while he waited for Joy to leave. The second the door snicked shut behind her, he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the sink at the other side of the small room.

Taking in one last gulp, he tipped the can upside down, dumping the remaining liquid down the drain.

After wiping the metal cylinder clean with a paper towel, he went over to where Vanessa lay. Careful of the I.V., Rhys lifted her limp hand and wrapped it around the can before pressing each fingertip against the can’s smooth surface.

Once he’d finished with that, he then strategically placed his fingers on either side of the tap. Doing his best to avoid the plastic tube taped there, he then pushed against the back of her hand a few times for good measure.

Kind of a dick move, isn’t it?

Rhys gently placed Vanessa’s hand back onto her blanketed thigh. Sparing her another glance, he ignored the voice in his head—and the fact that he’d told her he believed her when she’d asked—and went in search of something to put the can into. After a quick search in the cabinets surrounding the sink, he found what he was looking for.

This should do the trick.

He grabbed the light blue emesis bag—or barf bag, as most people called it. Holding the can’s thin ridge to avoid mixing his prints with hers, he slowly placed it inside the bag.

For a fleeting moment in time, Rhys wondered if he should feel guilty about what he was doing. But only for a moment.

The woman had literally lied to him about everything back when they were together. Every. Fucking. Thing. So no, he didn’t feel guilty.

Not even a little bit.

A soft knock on the door preceded a low, “Knock, knock…”

Rhys turned to see his teammate and friend, Greyson Frost, peeking his head through the partially opened doorway.

“Hey, man.” Rhys kept his tone hushed and went to him. “Thanks for coming.”

Greyson’s golden eyes slid to the woman lying in the bed. “So who is she?”

Rhys motioned toward the hallway. “Let’s talk out there.” Quietly shutting the door behind him, he led his teammate a few feet away from Vanessa’s door. Once he was sure she couldn’t hear on the off chance she woke up, he held out his hand and said, “Here.”

With his long, thick hair pulled back in a low ponytail, Greyson looked at the circular bag designed to catch vomit and frowned. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just an empty soda can,” Rhys explained. “I need you to run the prints on it.”

Still hesitant, the former SEAL took the bag and eyed its contents suspiciously. The lines on his forehead smoothed as he blew out a breath. “I was really hoping there was something other than puke in there.”

The man had quite literally looked death in the face on multiple occasions, but he was afraid of a little upchuck? If his current situation wasn’t a total clusterfuck, Rhys would’ve laughed.

“This needs to stay between us,” he instructed his teammate.

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