TMI

by Patty Blount

  “I’m sorry for spacing out on you,” she said quietly.

  Chase huffed out a breath. “I don’t know why you didn’t call us. You could have passed out on the street, been snatched up, run over, or just bled to death.”

  He took her good hand in his and Meg felt him shake. She shifted over. “Sit. You look worse than I do.”

  He moved without hesitating. Meg felt warm with him beside her.

  “I’m sorry about what I said on Saturday. It wasn’t fair. I know you’re only trying to protect Bailey.”

  She fidgeted. Looked down at her stitched-up hand. Looked back into magic eyes. “Forget it.”

  “How’s your head. Are you dizzy?”

  “No, not anymore. Just tired.” Her stomach let out a low rumble and she laughed weakly. “And hungry.”

  Chase jumped up. “I’ll find a vending machine. M&M’s?”

  She breathed deeply, shut her eyes. Chase had found her. She didn’t know how he knew that she’d needed help, but she was so happy he’d came. He was right. She wouldn’t have made it. She hadn’t realized how close she was to passing out until he’d settled her into the backseat of the car. She could hardly hold her head up. The IV in her hand was doing a lot to clear the fuzz from her brain. The drugs the doctor had pumped into her wound had killed the burn. What was Mr. Gallagher talking about before with that Peeping Tom stuff? Maybe Chase watched her the way she watched him. She’d have to remember to close the blinds.

  She felt soft lips brush her forehead and she jerked, blinking into Chase’s eyes. “What?”

  He shook his head. “You fell asleep. Here. Have some sugar.” He spread out his haul and she moved straight for the M&M’s. He smiled when she tore the package open with her teeth, tilted half of it into her open mouth. That did surprise him.

  “Oh…sorry. Want some?”

  “Yeah, if you’re sure I won’t lose a finger if I try.” He laughed when she shot him a glare and held out his hand. They popped M&M’s and Dave rejoined them.

  “I finally got a hold of your mother. They want to keep you here overnight—”

  “No!”

  Dave raised his hands. “Easy, easy. She said the same thing, so the doctor agreed to release you into my care.”

  Chase made a strange strangling sound and Meg blinked at both of them. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re coming home with us for the night. No arguments,” he added when her mouth opened to protest.

  Meg shut her mouth and remained quiet while the doctor removed her IV, provided some instructions for caring for her wound, and sent them on their way. Chase held her elbow while she walked to the car. She wanted to wrestle away but knew she was too weak to walk a straight line by herself. She climbed into the backseat and stretched herself out before he could join her and let herself drift on the meds the hospital had pumped into her veins.

  Chapter 28

  Bailey

  Bailey huddled into her shearling jacket and jogged across the street to Meg’s house. She mentally rehearsed the apology she’d make to Meg, even though Meg didn’t really deserve it and was totally overreacting to stuff and should just mind her own damn business. She was in the middle of her speech when she came to an abrupt, jaw-dropping halt.

  Toilet paper hung from every branch on every tree. Rolls of it—some down to the cardboard tubes—littered the lawn. Fruit of the Looms hung like deflated Christmas balls from the porch rails and diapers covered the porch near the front door. Holy cannoli! All this from one little Facebook post? Meg must be so pissed. Bailey hadn’t seen her at lunch and figured she was just sulking, but it was obvious she really did owe her that apology now. She took a step up Meg’s path when the sound of slow clapping had her spinning around.

  “Chase!” She pressed a hand to her racing heart.

  “You come to admire your work?” He stalked toward her, picked up a toilet paper roll, and thrust it into her hands. As if the sight of her made him sick, he turned his back and furiously shook out a large green trash bag.

  “I didn’t do this!”

  “Yeah, Bay, you did.” Chase shoved cardboard tubes into the bag. “You posted that bitchy comment online and the entire school ganged up on her. You even conned me into hurting her.”

  She caught her lip between her teeth and looked away. God, she’d thought that was hilarious this afternoon. Now it made her feel like…well, used toilet paper. Oh, poor Meg! She’d only wanted to get her to back off Ryder, not embarrass her. Okay, she did want to embarrass her too for telling Ryder she’d thrown up all over her teacher, but not this much. Meg would hate her forever and it was all her fault. She spun and ran up the porch steps, knocked quickly on the door.

  “Don’t bother. She’s not there.” Chase pulled clumps of tissue off tree branches and stuffed them in the bag.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s at my house, asleep in my bed.”

  Bailey’s eyes went round, and she hurried down the steps, determined to get every juicy detail out of Chase. But he only rolled his eyes and went back to picking up the litter. “Nothing happened, Bailey. Not like that. Because of your little stunt today, she never ate lunch. She decided to cut up an apple after school and nearly bled to death when the knife went through her hand. My dad and I took her to the hospital. She got thirteen stitches and practically passed out.” He stalked toward her. “Because of you.”

  Bailey shook her head and pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh, no! God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Chase!”

  “And then we get home and see this,” Chase said and waved a hand in an arc over the front yard. “Why did you do that to her? Are you guys like not friends anymore or something?”

  Bailey took an edge of the trash bag and tried to hold it open for Chase, but he yanked it from her hands. “I don’t know what we are anymore. She makes me so mad! She told Ryder I threw up all over Miss Monroe in first grade. Then she pretends she doesn’t know why I’m mad. I like this guy, Chase. I really like him and he likes me! Why would she tell him those things?”

  Chase moved around the shrubs, grabbing the briefs hanging from them. He probably wasn’t listening, which meant he wouldn’t be talking to her anymore either and probably wouldn’t want to help her with her game anymore and—

  “So…what? You wanted to get even? She told one guy something silly about you, so you thought you’d tell the whole freakin’ Internet something silly about her?”

  “It wasn’t the whole Internet, just…you know, my Facebook friends.”

  Chase threw his head back and stared at the sky for a long moment. “Yeah, all two hundred of them plus their friends and their friends’ friends. Christ, Bailey, we’re lucky they’re not driving here in buses to trash this house.”

  Bailey sniffled and walked up the steps to the porch, started collecting the diapers. Thirteen stitches! Oh, God. Meg wouldn’t be able to paint. That was going to torture her. It would be like not being able to play video games or do her hair or put on makeup. The tears fell and Bailey vowed to make it up to Meg, starting with the apology Ryder insisted on and then being her slave until the stitches came out.

  “Damn it.” Chase’s sigh of frustration sounded right behind her, and when she looked around, he opened his arms. She fell into them with a sob.

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt her. Well, crap, that’s not true! I did want to hurt her, only a little, not a lot. Not like this, I swear.”

  “Okay, okay. I believe you. Just…help me finish this up before her mother gets home, okay?”

  Bailey wiped her face with her fingertips and worked with Chase to clean up the yard. It took nearly an hour, and he had to give her a boost into the tree so she could pull tissue from some of the higher branches. Bailey stuffed the last of it into the trash bag, figured they’d picked up at least fifty or sixty rolls,
trying to think of ways she could earn Meg’s forgiveness. The first thing she’d do would be to update Facebook with news of Meg’s injury so everyone would be nice to her tomorrow, and then she’d wake up extra early to make Meg breakfast. Oh, she would probably need help getting dressed, so Bailey decided to get up even earlier so she could go to Meg’s to help Meg shower and do her hair and make her breakfast. Wait, Chase said she was asleep at his house. She’d have to go there tomorrow. He couldn’t help Meg in the shower, though she was sure he wouldn’t mind one bit. Then again, if he tried, Meg would probably deck him with her good hand. She swallowed a grin, imagining it all.

  “What time do you get up?”

  Chase bent to pick up another diaper. “Around sixty-thirty. Why?”

  “I’m coming over to help Meg get dressed.”

  Chase snapped up, turned, and stared at the front door. “Right. She’ll need help. Come on. Let’s pack her a bag.” He walked up the porch steps and tried the front door.

  Locked.

  “What time does her mother come home?” Chase asked.

  Bailey shrugged. “It depends if she’s at work or at school.”

  “She goes to school?”

  “Yeah, she’s getting a degree in accounting. She works at the diner on Main Street too.”

  Chase sighed. “You got any clothes that’ll fit Meg?”

  Bailey frowned, mentally inventorying her closet. Meg was taller and thinner than she was but wore the same size shoes. “Yeah, I think so. Come on. I’ll pack you a bag.”

  “Nah, I gotta get back. Just come over at like six-thirty.”

  “The bus comes at six-forty.”

  He blinked. “So?”

  Bailey rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy. Girls do a little more than roll out of bed, tie on shoes, and leave.”

  Chase held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Come over whenever then. I’ll be asleep on the couch, so I’ll hear you knock.”

  Chase took the stuffed trash bag and headed home. Bailey walked back across the street and ran upstairs to her room, deep in thought. She flicked on the light, sat at her computer, and opened Facebook.

  Hey, just heard Meg Farrell got like 13 stitches in her hand. Everyone should be nice to her tomorrow.

  There! That should stop the potty-training jokes. Her computer pinged, and she saw a chat window from Ryder.

  Ryder West

  • Hey. Just saw UR post. How bad is it?

  Bailey Grant

  • Not sure. I haven’t seen her. But she’s really mad at me.

  Ryder West

  • I would be. Why did u do that, B? I thought the story was cute.

  Bailey paused, hating the very thought of Ryder upset with her.

  Bailey Grant

  • Pls don’t be mad at me. I went over to apologize, but she wasn’t there. Our friend Chase took her to the hospital, so she’s sleeping at his place tonight.

  Ryder West

  • Is he the one who’s totally in love with her?

  She beamed, ridiculously happy that he remembered what she’d said.

  Bailey Grant

  • Yep, he’s been in love with her for years, but she pretends she doesn’t know.

  Ryder West

  • And she’s sleeping at his house? Sucks for him LOL.

  Bailey Grant

  • He never gives up. It’s cool.

  Ryder West

  • It’s cool UR not giving up on me. I’m trying, I swear.

  Bailey Grant

  • I know.

  Bailey didn’t know that—not for sure—but a tight little ball of guilt curled in her belly when she thought of Meg bleeding and all alone and upset.

  Bailey Grant

  • I have to go. I have to take care of Meg.

  Ryder West

  • B, don’t leave me.

  Bailey Grant

  • Not leaving you, just being a good friend.

  Ryder West

  • She h8s me. Please don’t listen to her.

  Bailey Grant

  • OK, what’s going on? You said I should apologize, and now you say don’t listen to her.

  Ryder West

  • B, I like u. A lot. I shouldn’t have said a word. That was lame, and I’m really sorry.

  Bailey chewed a nail for a moment, wishing she could ask Meg what to do. Meg would probably hold up her middle finger and then stand with one hip out, cross her arms, and say something totally supportive like, “He had his chance and blew it. You deserve better, Bay. You deserve someone who will adore you.”

  She slipped her phone in her pocket and started going through her clothes for stuff that would look good on Meg.

  Chapter 29

  Meg

  Meg shifted and stretched, her eyes popping open when the searing pain in her hand protested her movements. She struggled upright, blinking at her surroundings. Her hand was wrapped in a thick gauze bandage and burned like the time Bailey slipped with the freakin’ hair straightener.

  The blood.

  Chase.

  Her mind spun when the day’s events came rushing back. She remembered Chase and his dad driving her to the hospital but not much after that. Her hand wasn’t the only body part throbbing; her stomach was pissed off that she’d missed lunch and apparently dinner. She scanned the room. It was 1:00 a.m., according to the clock beside the bed.

  Not her bed.

  Holy crap, she was in Chase’s bed.

  She flung the covers off and froze when her feet hit the floor.

  He’d tucked her in. God! Was it even humanly possible for a guy to be this sweet?

  She’d never been in his room. She’d seen it from her window, of course. It was a cool room. He liked movies. DVDs spilled from the shelves he had on one wall. His desk was littered with video game components. He had a bunch of controllers, one in pieces, a few handheld games, and even an ancient Game Cube system strewn across his desk. In a pile on the floor beside the desk, he had art books—sketch pads, history texts, boxes of pencils and charcoals. But it was the pictures stuck to the mirror behind his door that grabbed her heart. Pictures of his parents, his grandparents, his brothers—and two of her that she didn’t remember taking. The bed smelled like Chase—a mix of his sports-scented body wash and sweat—and she stood up to escape its power only to be clobbered with a pressing need for the bathroom.

  She found her battered old canvas shoes next to the bed. She slipped them on but couldn’t find her sweatshirt anywhere. Her phone and house key were in the pocket. No matter. She shrugged. She could jog around the block and climb in the bathroom window. With a slow twist of the doorknob, she was at the door to his room but couldn’t resist turning back for one last look.

  It was the only time she’d see it.

  In the dim hallway—they’d left the light on for her—she crept down the stairs to avoid waking up the rest of the family. Tomorrow, she’d bake them brownies to say thanks, but right now, she needed to pee and eat and sleep…in that order. Tiptoeing across the first floor, she’d just reached the front door when a deep voice rasped, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  She spun with a hand to her mouth to cover her startled shriek. “Chase! Oh, my God, you scared me to death.”

  He was stretched out on the sofa in the living room, a thin knit blanket barely covering his lean torso. He tossed it aside, got up, and met her at the door, naked to the waist. Meg tried hard not to notice. He reached for her bandaged hand, examined it from every angle, and muttered, “Yeah, I guess we’re even then. You gave us a damn good scare tonight.”

  Meg tugged her hand back. “Yeah, about that. Um…thanks.”

  Chase frowned down at her. “No problem. Go back to bed.”

  Her eyes popped. “What? Here? I can’t! I have to go home.
”

  He was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. “Uh-uh. You heard the doctor. He released you into our care.” He angled his head and slowly ran his eyes up and down her body. “How do you feel? Any headache or nausea?”

  “Um, just a little dizzy, but that’s because I’m hungry.”

  That rallied Chase into action. “Right. Come on.” He grabbed her good hand and walked toward the kitchen, but she dug in her heels.

  “Chase, I have to—”

  “Eat. You have to eat. Come on. I’ll make you something.”

  Eat? How could she possibly eat with him wearing nothing but sweatpants and staring at her with stormy green eyes? “Fine. But after that, I have to go home.”

  “You’re not going anywhere except back upstairs. You try, and I’ll wake up the whole house.”

  The threat got her feet moving before she could think of a convincing counterargument. She must be more tired than she thought. In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and practically shoved her down into it while he found bowls, cereal, and milk. Without asking, he grabbed a banana from a huge bowl of fruit on the center of the table and sliced it over Rice Krispies.

  “Uh—”

  “What?”

  “I need to—” She waved a hand around, hoping he’d get the hint.

  “Oh! Yeah, sure. It’s that door.”

  Meg escaped into the small powder room in the hall that led to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and stared at her reflection. Her hair stood on end. Her face was pale and her eyes were all red and puffy. “Kill me.”

  With one hand, she fumbled with her jeans and managed to tug them down. That wasn’t so bad. Getting them back up after she’d finished and flushed—yeah, so not happening. She tugged and shimmied, and when she let out a frustrated grunt, Chase knocked.

  “You need a hand? I’ll close my eyes, I promise.”

  Meg smirked at the door. He totally would. That was the thing about Chase; he did what he said. She had to admit that she needed the help. “Yeah, keep your eyes shut.” She opened the door, unsurprised to find his eyes clenched.