As Brook bent to kiss Giselle’s forehead, Chad barked at Troy, “How did this happen? How bad is it? What did the doctor say?”
“We’re still looking into the exact cause, but at this point, it looks like the engineers Paramount used for risk assessment fucked up.” Troy crossed his arms, fighting against a grimace when his own injuries shot pain through his body. “Physically, her cuts, bruises, and concussion should be healed in a week or two. Her voice”—he shrugged—“there’s really no telling how long it will take for that to heal until she wakes up, but judging by the amount of screaming and sobbing she was doing, I’m guessing at least three weeks, but probably more. Mentally”—he heaved a sigh—“she’s shattered.”
Chad pried his gaze off Giselle to glare at Troy. “You underestimate her.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“Like you did. She’s not a scared girl anymore—”
“She hasn’t been a girl for decades. Abuse has a wicked way of making you grow up real fast. And you didn’t see her in that cave or coming into the hospital. She was absolutely terrorized. Her issues aren’t things you outgrow. They’re things you learn to manage, which she may control under normal circumstances, but days like today create setbacks. There’s no way to tell how quickly she’ll bounce back until she’s had a few days to recover. And even then, PTSD has a weird way of striking at the oddest times, from the slightest trigger.”
“You know she still won’t take the elevator,” Brook said, staring at the floor and tearing her Kleenex. “And if we stay somewhere with a big, like, you know, a really big walk-in closet, I have to put her clothes away and get them out, and, oh, she just hates that. And when we’re at a dark restaurant, I always get her the brightest table. Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes….”
Brook gasped for air as she fought tears. Troy’s frustration toward Chad faded in the face of Brook’s pain, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, as his own fears over Giselle’s health resurfaced. Brook turned into him and started crying. “Sometimes I bring over a-a-a lamp from a-another t-table.”
“You’re a good friend,” Troy murmured, hugging the girl.
Chad’s jaw twitched. “I want to take her home.”
“Home as in a hotel room? After she was nearly crushed to death in a cave when she’s intensely claustrophobic?” Troy’s temper slipped. Brook turned her head to look at Chad but didn’t leave the circle of Troy’s arm. “Who are you thinking about right now? You or Ellie? Because that might be convenient for you, but sticking her back in a hotel room alone where all she can do is relive the hell she’s been through or worry about how this could affect her career is not in her best interest.
“The best thing you can do for her now is focus on canceling her appearances for the next two weeks in a way that won’t hurt her chances at the next step she’s worked so hard to get. That peace of mind will go a long way toward letting her relax and heal.”
“Oh yes,” Brook said, relief filling her voice. “Yes, yes, good idea. I can take care of—”
“Two weeks?” Chad balked. “That will wipe out the rest of her concerts here.”
Brook curved her lips inward and cast an uncertain look up at Troy.
“I’m not canceling anything until I talk to Giselle,” Chad continued. “This could be nothing more than a temporary setback. She might just need a couple of days to—”
“Dude, she has a concussion,” Troy said, releasing Brook. “Have you ever had a concussion? I have, and I can tell you, your head hurts like a mother. That alone would keep her from singing. But like I said, her vocal cords are ragged. I can guarantee you don’t want her singing anything in public right now.”
Chad’s fingers closed tight around the gurney’s metal side. “You don’t know shit about—”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.” Troy stepped up to the gurney and leaned in to get as in-your-face as he could in the small room with this damn bed separating them. “I know that any change in her head, neck, or chest affects her ability to sing. I know that if she tries to sing before her concussion has healed, the pressure it would create in her head would cause blinding pain, and she could pass out. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve also seen her try to sing with a sinus infection, strep throat, and a tooth abscess. And I’m telling you she can’t do it. Once, she screamed her lungs out over a damn Super Bowl game, and she couldn’t perform for a month. A goddamned month. Don’t fucking tell me I don’t know her. We were together five years. How long have you been her manager?”
Chad’s mouth tightened, his hand twisted on the gurney, his gaze turned to Giselle.
The doctor who’d been taking care of her approached, pausing just outside the door to speak with a nurse.
“There’s the doctor,” Troy told Chad. “Ask him. As for Giselle, I’m staying with her until she’s well enough to leave the hospital. I’ll have her call you as soon as she’s awake.”
Chad walked out without a word.
Troy turned to Brook. “I’m really sorry about—”
“She really loves you.”
He froze, stunned. “Wha…?”
“Giselle. I’ve been her assistant since she went on the road with Lady Antebellum, right after you two broke up.” She snuck a look at Giselle. “I love her like a sister, and we look out for each other, you know? And we’ve talked so much about you that I feel like I already know you. I know how much you loved her, and I don’t believe that kind of love ever ends, even if you aren’t together. Not that I’d really know, because I’ve never been in love like that. Just call it women’s intuition or whatever.”
She paused only long enough to draw a quick breath and started rambling again, never giving him time to process anything she was saying, and making Troy’s head spin.
“And she’s really open about how messed up her childhood was, and gets really frustrated sometimes because she wants so badly to be normal, but she’s just not, you know? So I’m stepping in as her normal, I don’t know, spirit friend or something, because at this point, normal people in love would tell each other how much they mean to each other and find a way to talk things out and work around the obstacles. But, I know Giselle, and the first thing she’ll ask for when she opens her eyes is her phone, even if what she really wants and really needs is you. Just you.
“I know I’m talking really fast, but I’m sort of sandwiched between two people here who don’t want me saying what needs to be said, but I’ve seen you with her a few times over the last week, and she and I have talked some, and after living with her day in and day out for seven years—I beat you by the way, my seven to your five—I can read so much more into her feelings than what she’s telling me. Her facial expressions, the inflections of her voice—”