Page 49 of Trails of Temptation

Only then did I strip down into just my underwear and a tank top and curl up in bed beside George. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t want to wake him and in the dark, as I couldn’t see exactly where he was hurt, but I lay there and just listened to him breathe for several minutes before I finally drifted off to a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Nothing would be the same after this, for any of us, and I only had myself to blame.

ChapterTwenty-Four

George

Everything hurt, and for a moment I couldn’t make sense of up or down as I slowly hauled myself out of bed. I had a vague memory of Keely nestled beside me sometime in the night, but she wasn’t here now. Sunlight poured over the bed as I pulled a shirt over my head and looked to where the sheets were bunched on her side of the bed, an indent on her pillow. Yeah, she’d been here, but based on the time on the clock on my bedside table, she’d probably been up and already made breakfast for the Hallstons by now.

I gingerly stepped toward the bathroom to brush my teeth, fumbling in the cabinet for the bottle of aspirin I kept there that probably expired years ago, but it would have to do. I washed them down with a mouthful of tap water and had just looked up to inspect the damage Pete had done to my face when my phone started ringing in the bedroom.

I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered it.

“Hello?”

“I’m looking for George Neimons,” said a deep, male voice that immediately sent a chill down my spine. Background noise beeped and fizzed behind him as I cleared my throat.

“Yeah, this is.”

“This is Doctor Matthews at St. Peter’s Health.”

“What—”

“Your mother,” he began, and my stomach dropped. “She’s here, and stable, for now. She had a heart attack earlier this morning and just got out of surgery—” he continued, his words a blur as my body began to react before my mind had a chance to catch up.

Major heart attack. A life-saving surgery. Underlying health conditions hindering recovery.

“I’d get here as soon as you can,” he said, but I was already out the door with my keys clutched so tightly in my fist that the metal would likely leave indents in the palm of my hand.

“I can be there in an hour,” I said, knowing that was a stretch unless I pressed the gas pedal to the floor the entire drive, but that was the least of my worries right now. I hung up, tossing my phone into the passenger seat as I hopped in, peeled out of my driveway, and down the long dirt road leading to the highway. Dust billowed in my wake so thick I couldn’t see the big house as I passed.

I should call Keely. Hell, I should be calling Grant right now to let him know where I was going and that I’d be gone for a while, probably.

But my hands clutched the steering wheel until my knuckles were white and aching, totally ignoring the other pains in my body.

I try not to think of Pete. I’d have to do something about that situation eventually for Keely’s sake more than my own, but still. We’d basically tried to kill each other last night over Keely. I didn’t understand his anger. I didn’t think I ever would. Anger flashed through me as I hit the gas pedal and sped down the highway. The engine of my truck hummed over the sound of the radio but my thoughts weren’t on the music.

My mom was dying, and I’d just lost my best friend.

I reached over to grab my phone but fumbled with my grasp and it fell between the seats.

“Shit,” I murmured, rolling my lower lip between my teeth. I’d call Keely when I got to Helena. I’d let Grant know what was happening when I had more time to process what was going on.

* * *

The room was stuffy and sterile, the smell of disinfectant penetrating the air as I paced back and forth along the footboard of the hospital bed. Mom was out completely, her chest slowly rising and falling as she slept. I shifted my focus from the tubes spilling out of her hospital gown and the IV ports on either arm. She was pale, her eyes slightly sunken. She looked like hell.

A nurse walked in, smiling softly at me as she shut the door behind her and clutched a plastic clipboard to her chest.

“I’m Marcy.” She smiled, her eyes creased with sympathy. “You mom is doing all right, Mr. Neimons.”

“She doesn’t look all right,” I replied, crossing my arms with my legs spread wide as I eyed the small nurse in front of me.

“Well, she just had a major surgery—”

“What now?”

“She stays here for a while, rests, and heals. But she was unconscious for a while before the paramedics got there, and we’re worried about trauma to the brain and other systems—”

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