My finger jabbed the five button then pressed the door closed one over and over until mercifully it closed.
Joe remained a silent sentry next to me as we ascended. When we finally stopped on the fifth floor there were only six minutes left of the official visiting hours—not nearly enough time for me to make sure my girl was OK.
I marched to the right the instant I could fit through the crack in the doors.
“Dawson,” Joe called from behind me.
“What?” I snapped impatiently.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said pointing to the placard on the wall with directions to sets of rooms.
Sheepishly, I turned around and followed him until we reached Izzy’s door. I hesitated outside, trying to prepare myself for what might be on the other side. The door was slightly ajar. Soft voices drifted out into the hallway. None of them hers.
“You gonna stand out here all night?” Joe asked softly.
Sighing deeply, I pushed the door open a bit farther, so I could peer inside. I froze when I saw Beckett sitting next to Izzy’s hospital bed, clutching her hand. Her eyes were closed. She looked so small, framed in metal and sterility. Beckett was speaking with a dark-skinned man who looked like he could be a bodyguard.
Why was Beckett with her?
Spinning, I moved to leave. I couldn’t let her go already, not when I’d only just begun to grasp her again. But my mind couldn’t process what was playing out on the other side of her door.
The squeak of my shoe on the shiny tile sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet hospital. My shoulders drew up around my neck. Joe smirked at me.
“Dawson. Thank goodness you’re here,” Beckett’s voice called out.
I turned and stepped back into the room but remained quiet.
“I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. When I called the hotel I figured you were staying at, the receptionist was no help. And neither was the concert venue. They put me on hold forever. Izzy’s phone cracked and won’t come on, so I couldn’t find your number in there,” he said in a rush.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“I’ll let Charles tell you. Dawson, Joe, this is Charles Strong. He owns the gallery where Isabelle has her upcoming art exhibition,” Beckett said, indicating the big man in the room.
“Dawson, I recognize you from her work,” the distinguished man said.
Huh?
The confusion must have been apparent on my face because he continued, “You and your band inspired much of the art Isabelle showed me as we prepared for her show. Anyway, someone snuck into the space where she was storing some of her show pieces and vandalized them. I called her as soon as the cleaning company alerted me. She rushed to meet me at the gallery.”
“Oh no. I’m sure she was frantic. Izzy’s art is an extension of her soul.” A vice squeezed my chest as I imagined her despair.
“Exactly. Anyway, she was very upset. She couldn’t understand why someone would do something like that to her work. I told her we could file a police report, but she said she needed some time. Then she rushed out. I heard the roar of an engine and a sickening thud. By the time I’d run out into the street, the motorcycle was speeding down the street, and Isabelle was lying on the sidewalk.” He shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe it.
I collapsed into the chair by the door, unable to imagine someone running my flutterby over.
“I called 9-1-1. When they arrived, they started asking questions about her medical history, so I called the hotel Beckett was staying at. I thought some of her past treatments may affect how the hospital handled her case,” Charles explained.
“I rushed straight here and tried to reach you on the way. I figured you could contact her parents. I don’t have their information,” Beckett finished.
“Yeah. I’ll call them in just a bit. So, what did the police say?” I leaned forward, anxious to know everything.
“They examined the pavement. Since there were no skid marks, they’re thinking it was a drunk driver because anyone else would’ve tried to stop. They’re going to pull the footage from any businesses with cameras in the area, see if they can find out anything,” Charles offered.
“I’ll get in touch with my contacts at the police department in a bit to see what I can find out,” Joe offered. His hand rested on my shoulder. “Izzy’s tough. She’ll be fine.”
I tried to believe in his words. But until I looked into those green orbs of hers again, I’d be holding my breath.
Charles stood and shook Beckett’s hand. Then he strode over to me and gripped my hand. “Please keep me posted about how she’s doing. I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on her. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” He withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket.
Without examining the colorful rectangle, I shoved it into my pocket. “I will. And thanks for everything you did to get her help so quickly. If any restoration can be done to the damaged pieces, do it. I’ll cover the expense. No matter what it is.”
“I’ll assess them all in the morning and let you know what, if anything, can be done. Take care. It was nice meeting you.” He shook Joe’s hand then eased out the door.
“D, they’re probably going to run us out of here soon. Visiting hours are ending,” Joe reminded me.
“Damnit. I can’t leave her.” The very idea sent my heart rate into overdrive. I dropped my head to my hands.
“She’s not going to wake up tonight. They have her sedated. But I’ll speak with the doctor on call and see if I can arrange for you to stay,” Beckett offered.
“That would be great, man,” I said gratefully. Another reason to not hate the guy.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Joe, I’m not sure they’re going to let you stay in the room too. But if I explain things, they may let you camp out nearby if you need to stay close.” Beckett placed Izzy’s still hand carefully on her bed and got to his feet.
“I understand,” Joe agreed.
As the door swung shut, I blew out a breath, expelling the words that had been on repeat since finding out Izzy was hurt, “It’s my fault.”
“Why would you say that?” Joe asked with a frown.
I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging hard on the strands, knowing I deserved the pain. “You know this wasn’t some random accident. It was my stalker. It had to be,” my voice was frantic.
Joe squatted in front of me. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. But even if, and that’s a big if, it was your stalker, it is still not your fault. You didn’t hit Izzy.”
“But she wouldn’t have been hurt if I wasn’t in love with her. She’s a target because of me,” I nearly choked on the words.
“We’ll find this person. She’ll get reckless and make a mistake. If this was the stalker, she is spiraling. Which means she isn’t thinking clearly. It’s only a matter of time before she slips and gives us something.”
“And in the meantime, I what… just keep letting Izzy be at risk?” my tone was harsh.
I stood from my chair and moved to her bedside. Gently, I picked up her hand. An angry bruise covered the back and snaked down a couple of her fingers. I stroked the long fingers that I’d watched create so much beauty over the years. Lifting her hand, I tenderly pressed my lips to the small area not marred with angry purple. “No. I can’t. I have to let her go. For now. Maybe forever,” I said resigned.
“D, you can’t just disappear on her again,” Joe admonished.
“I didn’t disappear the first time,” my voice increased in volume.
“Shhh. I know that. But she doesn’t know that yet. You have to let her know that your love never stopped, never even waivered. She deserves to know,” Joe pleaded.
He was worried about my mental state. Probably the state of my heart too. Since leaving rehab, I’d never felt shakier about my sobriety. Guilt and heartache were powerful tempters for seeking oblivion.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted honestly. If I lef
t this room right now, I’d probably find a bottle.
“Then stay until you figure it out. At least until she wakes up,” Joe suggested.
Rapidly, I sucked air into my lungs, wrestling with indecision. Defeated, I sank into the chair next to her bed. “OK. I’ll wait. I love her too much to leave without looking into her eyes and telling her I love her one more time.”
The door swung open while I was mid-sentence. “Good news, Dawson. You can stay. And Joe, the nurse is fixing you a spot in the little waiting area across the hall. You’ll be able to see Izzy’s door from there without drawing too much attention. Come on, I’ll show you,” Beckett said, holding the door open for him.
Joe gave me a long, sympathetic look. “I’ll be right across the hall if you need me. Hang in there. It’s all going to be OK.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
And then I was alone with Izzy. Cradling her hand in both of mine, I allowed the emotions swirling inside me to overtake me for just a moment. “I’m so sorry, flutterby. I love you so much.”
“I could tell,” Beckett interrupted my quiet declaration. The door closed quietly behind him.
“You could tell what?” I asked as he settled in the chair on the other side of her bed, directly across from me.
“That you love her. Now, I was a little slow putting the pieces of you and Izzy’s past together. In all the time I’ve known her, she never mentioned you. Not once. Not even knowing how big of a fan I was,” Beckett said as he checked the screen displaying Izzy’s vital signs.
Ouch. She hated me so much that she never mentioned me. Or maybe she just didn’t think of me at all. Either option hurt. A lot.
“Anyway, once I learned the two of you grew up together and heard part of the CD you made for her, I started wondering just how deeply you cared about each other. Then I saw your interview on the Elle Show. So, I went back to your recent posts on Facebook. I listened to them with new ears. I started examining little things from her parents’ party with new eyes. I don’t know how I missed it. I’m usually very observant.” He gave a wry chuckle.
“Izzy kind of has a dazzling, blinding effect on people,” I offered with a shrug.
“Yeah. And honestly, I’d planned to double down and prove to her that I could be the one to bring her heart back to life. We’ve been through a lot in the time since we’ve known each other. And I’m a competitive person. I had no intention of just letting a girl like her go without a fight,” he said, finally meeting my gaze.
“But you did, didn’t you? I mean, she said you broke up with her tonight at the show,” uncertainty made my words soft.
Maybe Izzy misunderstood, and they weren’t broken up. The possibility that she wasn’t free to be mine sent white-hot pain searing through my heart. Even though, the logical part of me knew she’d be better off, safer, with Beckett.
“I did,” he stated simply.
“Why? Why would you let go of someone so amazing?” I asked in utter disbelief.
“Because she was never really mine. She’s always been yours. But I don’t think she or I realized it fully until you sang that song tonight. There truly is a difference. You have it with her, and I don’t. She deserves it.” His eyes were sad as they held mine hostage.
“She deserves everything. I just don’t know if I can give it to her,” I admitted in a broken voice.
♪ Lead Me by Kip Moore
“What do you mean? You’re her everything already.” His eyes squinted, examining me, scrutinizing my words.
“What happened to her tonight might have been my fault,” I admitted to the one man who had motive to use my words against me.
“You weren’t anywhere around. The cops said they think it was an accident. A drunk driver. You can’t possibly feel responsible for some drunk driving accident,” Beckett reasoned.
“I don’t think it was an accident. I… uh… have a stalker. Have had a stalker for years. Her letters have become more frequent. She’s made veiled references to me being unavailable. But tonight, in my dressing room, she left a note that specifically mentioned Izzy by name.” I ran one finger in tiny circles over the back of her hand.
Beckett tapped his finger on his chin for a few moments, pondering what I said.
“The police were at Izzy’s building the other day investigating an act of vandalism. The detective told Izzy something about how they thought the message spray painted on the wall was directed at a girl in the building who was in a relationship with a man who didn’t belong to her. Or something like that. I wonder if it was your stalker,” he said.
My stomach plummeted. It had to be. Whoever was after me knew where Izzy lived and where her art exhibit was. My stalker probably was the one who’d ruined Izzy’s artwork. That realization hurt nearly as much as knowing Izzy was unconscious in a hospital bed because of my stalker.
“You should let the police know about the letters. It may help them catch the person behind all of this,” Beckett suggested.
“I will. Joe’s a former cop. He’s been handling the investigation. We even sent someone to watch Izzy from afar, just in case. But since she was at the concert tonight, they all thought she’d be safe. I should’ve made someone stay with her, so she wouldn’t have left on her own.” My free hand clenched into a fist, longing to punch something.
“You couldn’t have known.”
I couldn’t believe Beckett was being so cool, so understanding about things. He could be using this situation against me to keep Izzy for himself.
“I should’ve known. The hidden threats in the letters should’ve made me more cautious. Maybe I need to leave her alone. She’d be safe without me around. I need to do what’s best for her. I should go.” I eased forward, about to shift to my feet.
“You leaving might be best for her physical well-being. Or it might not. Just because you aren’t around her doesn’t erase your feelings. Your stalker will know you’re still in love with Isabelle even if you aren’t with her. And I know for a fact, you being gone is not what’s best for her heart. The whole time I’ve known her, she has never been the girl you knew—the vibrant, free-spirited girl who loved life… She’s been a shell of that girl. I just didn’t know any better until you were back in her orbit. You can’t break her heart and send her back to merely existing,” he urged.
I grunted noncommittally.
“Anyway, don’t do anything hasty. She loves you. She never stopped.”
What was this guy’s deal? Why was he being so nice to me?
“How can you be so sure? You knew nothing about me and the role I played in her life. I assume you’ve been to Izzy’s apartment in the time you’ve known her?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I don’t stay there when I’m in town, but I’ve been there. What’s that got to do with anything?” His brow wrinkled as he peered at me over Izzy’s sleeping body.
“Because when Izzy and I were…” I shook my head, regrouping before I continued, “Two years ago, my presence was all over her apartment. Photos, band artwork, music, everything. If she never stopped loving me, then you’d have known about me the first time you set foot in her apartment.”
“You don’t always erase someone’s presence from your life because you hate them. Sometimes you erase it because you love them, and it hurts too much to be reminded of it,” he offered with a shrug.
“Maybe.”
He stood and adjusted the lounge he’d been sitting in, aligning it perfectly with Izzy’s bed. After he pressed some hidden button, the back of the chair eased backwards. With sure steps he moved to the wooden wardrobe in the corner, then plucked out a pillow and blanket.
“You’ll be more comfortable over here. If Isabelle wakes up before I get back, tell her I’ll see her after breakfast tomorrow,” he said.
I got to my feet and rounded the foot of the bed. He stuck out his hand to me, which I grasped firmly in mine.
“Thanks, Beckett. For everything. For this. For taking care of her when she was sick. For
loving her. For earlier at the concert. For all of it.” He was a good guy. The kind of guy worthy of Izzy.
“Don’t mention it. Isabelle’s a wonderful person. So are you. I hope I’m lucky enough to have a love like yours one day. Uh…” He let go of my hand and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He plucked a business card from inside and handed it to me. “Call me if you need anything or if there are any questions about Isabelle’s medical history.”
“Thanks again. Take care.” I slid the card into my pocket with Charles’s.
“You too, Dawson. And take care of her.” With that, he left me alone with Izzy and the torrent of my thoughts.
I slipped out of my jacket and toed off my shoes. Methodically, I shook out the folded blue blanket. Once I settled into the minimally cushioned recliner, the sterile pillow accepted the weight of my head. I pulled the slightly scratchy blanket over my body and turned on my side, facing Izzy. I’d slept in less comfortable spots.
I reached my fingers beneath the shiny metal railing and clasped Izzy’s hand in mine. “What are we going to do, flutterby?”
There was so much between us—hurts, misunderstandings, questions, love. How could we sort out our future when the past and present were such a mess?
Chapter 11
Izzy
Why was my alarm clock beeping? I didn’t set it last night, did I?
I reached my arm in the direction of my nightstand so I could chuck the clock across the room.
Oww! Why did it hurt to move my arm?
My other hand was anchored and warm.
Why? Was someone holding my hand?
Why couldn’t I open my eyes?
Oh crap. What was wrong with my eyes?
The damn beeping of my alarm clock rose in pitch and frequency.
“Izzy, can you hear me?” a beautiful voice from my dream asked.
“Yes,” I croaked. “Don’t make me wake up, please.” If he was in my dreams, I didn’t want to wake up. I’d been without him for so long. Without my heart.
Songs of the Heart: Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 3 Page 14
