I changed my mind. There was only one person to kill, and that was Merrell Barrett. “Thank you again, Officer Kramer. I appreciate you going out of your way to reach me. You have a great day.”
My father was a bit too excited that I was driving back to Sacramento.
“I wouldn’t go, but you seem to be okay.”
“I’m great,” he assured me. “I have a clean bill of health, just need to take it easy for a week. And there’s the no-sex thing––”
I groaned painfully.
“––but other than that, yeah, kid, I’m good. You go and take care of the hero with the concussion and the bruises.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Kiss him and make him better!” my sister, Courtney, called out since he had me on speaker. “And you better bring him for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s a given,” my mother announced coolly. She wasn’t happy I was leaving, but she was pragmatic. My father was well, and he’d have everyone else there. But to jump in my car for someone I wasn’t serious about, leaving my father when, in theory, he needed me, that would be unforgiveable. Jeremiah had to show up for Thanksgiving at this point. It was no longer an option for him to turn me down.
So I packed for a week, because I figured I would stay in Sacramento, do my work with the Rauch Group, and if Jeremiah allowed me to, I’d help him get resettled. I really wanted him to let me figure out his life, but it was also pushy as hell, and putting my compulsive need to fix all things front and center in a brand-new relationship was possibly not the step I wanted to take. He would figure out soon enough that finding solutions for everybody to live their best life was one of my most annoying habits.
11
Jeremiah
“What are you doing?”
Lifting the pillow off my face, I looked at Chyna Evans, the nurse who had started her shift around noon and was now taking care of me. I had been brought to UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, because even though there were several urgent care centers in Barrett Crossing, there was nothing on the scale of an actual hospital.
“I did something stupid,” I explained, stopping there. I didn’t need to give her the whole story of how I’d checked my phone and been surprised at the length of my call with Cameron. Fragments of the long, rambling, unfiltered conversation had come back to me, and I had to wonder how stoned I’d been. I was always so careful of what I said, but the fact I’d unburdened my heart to a man I was hoping to impress, not scare off, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t recall precisely what we’d talked about, made everything that much more horrifying. Half of me was dying to call and see if he’d pick up, and the other half didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to lose what little I had of him before I’d even had lunch.
“What’d you do?” Chyna asked, rescuing me from my whirling, panicked thoughts, which was damn nice of her.
I whimpered a bit.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Grimacing, I met her gaze. “I think I talked too much while I was doped up.”
Her smile was sympathetic. “Yeah, that happens a lot. Demerol, man,” she conceded, shaking her head. “It makes ya kinda chatty before it knocks you out.”
I tried to cover my face with the pillow again, but she took it away, made me lean forward, and then put it behind my back.
“Just lie there like you’re hurt, all right?” she teased me.
“I––”
“Oh no,” she groaned under her breath, and pretended to check my IV as ADA Evan McCauley walked into the room.
He was wearing a polo and cargo pants, looking far more relaxed than he had the last time I’d seen him.
“How is he doing?” He put the question to Chyna.
“I don’t—what? Sorry, sir, I don’t think I’m qualified to answer questions. I mean, I’m just a candy striper.” The death glare, like she’d be glad to see him peeing through a catheter, before she walked out of the room doing a good impression of Frankenstein’s monster, complete with the lurching walk and extended arms, was a nice touch.
McCauley followed her to the door. “I said sorry a million times!” He turned back to me and threw his hands up in defeat.
I was waiting for an explanation.
“See,” he began, “when I came here a couple weeks ago visiting a witness, I thought she was too young to be a nurse, which is kind of a compliment if you think about it that way, but––it was an honest mistake.”
“Never mind,” I assured him, “it’s none of my business.”
“Why is she holding such a grudge about it? That seems overly spiteful, don’t you agree?”
Who took sides against their nurse? Who said the person was wrong who made sure people didn’t die or were in pain? “Did you apologize?”