The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“What happened?”

“He was hit by a car.”

My hands fly over my mouth in horror.

“He’s okay—just a concussion.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“I’m going to go get him.”

“I’m coming,” I demand.

“Em . . .” He pauses. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The paps will be everywhere after this Ferrara bullshit, and Jameson doesn’t need more publicity. Who knows what reporters are at the hospital? Jameson specifically wants you kept out of the spotlight. Let me talk to him, and I’ll call you when we get home.”

Hope blooms in my chest. Is he trying to protect me?

“But I didn’t do anything wrong, Tristan. I want to see him.”

Empathy wins, and he takes me in his arms. “Let me get him home safely, and I’ll call you.” He pulls back and holds me by the arms as he studies me. “I promise I’ll call you. I’ll drop you home and then sort him out, and then I’ll call you. You have my word.” His eyes search mine.

“Okay.”

We walk for a moment in silence.

“I’m going to find out who stole the money if it’s the last thing I do,” I whisper.

“Emily, that’s a bad idea. Leave it to the detectives. You’re tired and emotional. Let’s get you home.”

I nod, knowing that he is right about everything and hating it even more.

Jameson

I watch the nurse take my pulse as she holds my hand, and I inhale deeply. She’s older and motherly, the kind you want looking after you.

“How’s the headache?” she asks.

“Still there.”

She smiles and gets her flashlight and shines it in my eyes to inspect my pupils. “You have a serious concussion. You’re very lucky to be alive, young man.”

I hear chatter from outside, and Tristan appears at the door. “Hey.”

“Hi.” I smirk at the worry on his face.

He rushes to my side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“He is not fine,” the nurse interrupts. “He got hit by a car. He could have been killed. As it is, he has a very serious concussion.”

Tristan drags his hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“He’s staying in for the night, and as long as all his preliminary tests come back clear in the morning, he can go home.”

“Okay . . . thanks.” Tristan slumps into a seat beside the bed.

“I’ll be back in an hour with some pain medication.” She smiles.