My head jerked up and down, answering of its own accord. “They said his vitals were steady but weak,” I said, a phrase I’d repeated to myself about a million times, grasping it like a life raft in a stormy sea. “He was alive.”
James nodded once, then fixed his lovely eyes out the window, unable to speak anymore. Seemingly without thinking about it, he reached for my hand and held it tight. The two of us sat there in silence, counting the seconds on the clock and retreating completely into our own heads, watching the sun drift slowly across the sky.
It wasn’t until a full ten minutes had passed that I finally turned to him. “How did you know he was transferred to this wing? After we hung up, I realized I forgot to tell you.”
James rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “The chief of surgery lives down the street from my house here in New York. I paid him a visit on my way, and we had a little chat about the consequences of maintaining doctor-patient confidentiality.”
I eyed his dripping clothes and damp hair with suspicion. “What did you do, James? Water-board the guy for information?”
James glanced down at his clothes before returning his eyes to the window. “It’s probably best we don’t go into all that, plausible deniability and all.”
A rush of quiet sympathy coursed through me, and I gave his hand a firm squeeze.
“Man, I hate hospitals,” James muttered, staring bleakly at the walls.
I’ll bet.
Just a few years prior, James was drag-racing in upstate New York and found himself smack dab in the middle of a horrific pile-up, the kind of accident that required several paramedics and the Jaws of Life. They literally had to pry the twisted metal off of him while he slowly bled out in the dirt. He was airlifted to the hospital, straight into an eleven-hour surgery to save his life. At one point, doctors believed they would have to amputate his left leg, so it was a blessing that he could still walk into the hospital on his own two feet.
Nick, of course, stayed by his side the entire time, keeping such a fierce vigil that the nurses didn’t dare to mention visiting hours to him. He practically lived in the hospital, slept in the chair, and brought James food every morning from his favorite bistro across town. When James was finally released, Nick actually moved into the lake house for a while to help with his physical rehabilitation.
“Why the fuck wasn’t he paying attention?” James asked softly. “What was he doing in the street? Nick’s not an idiot. He knows better than that. His dad didn’t teach him much, but the kid knows to look both ways!”
My head bowed to my chest as a wave of guilt threatened to strangle me where I sat. “He wasn’t paying attention because... Well, we were fighting,” I answered in a whisper.
James peered at me out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“He was distracted by that, I guess, and he stepped off the curb. It was because of me, James, because of what I said.”
James didn’t press the issue; he was much too discreet, considerate, and kind for that. Instead, he clasped a second hand on top of mine and held it firmly as he gazed out the window. “It wasn’t your fault, Abby. Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t your fault.”
A generous assessment. I wonder if he’d feel the same way if he saw it or heard it himself.
The two of us lapsed back into silence, freezing to frightened statues as we stared around the little room in alternating positions, looking mindlessly at the ceiling, the windows, and the walls. James even tried glancing through an outdated issue of a fishing magazine for a while, until he saw Nick’s face and threw it back down.
A fishing magazine? Man, he’s everywhere!
It wasn’t until a doctor walked down the hall that we showed any signs of real life.
“Are you two here for Nicholas Hunter?” he asked routinely.
“I’m his wife,” I answered promptly, refusing to be denied information any longer.
The surgeon scribbled something down before turning his slightly narrowed eyes on James. Almost everyone alive knew that Nick and James were the closest of friends, not relatives. It was a distinction that meant nothing in the real world but everything in terms of health information protections, so the doctor had to ask, “And you, Mr. Cross?” He theatrically emphasized the different last name.
James met his gaze with a sneer. “I’m his twin.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, James! Do you really think that’s going to work? I thought with a roll of my eyes.
The doctor stiffened, jutting his chin up smugly before turning back to the gorgeous celebrity with an air of professional exasperation. “Listen, I understand you’re concerned, but—”
Not only was James unaccustomed to being told no, but he’d also reached the end of his patience. “No, you listen,” he cut in, his voice lowered to a deadly calm. “My family has paid for over half of the building of this hospital, including the wing you’re standing in now. Now, Doctor, you either you tell me what happened to my friend, or we may have to start making some cuts.”
That should do it, I thought, unable to hide my smile.
The doctor blanched for a moment before glancing down at his notes. “I see,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Well, Nick fractured his triquetral—”
“No, no, no!” James wailed, clapping a hand over his mouth as the intimidating British shipping heir was immediately replaced by a beautiful boy who was frightened of hospitals.