That had to hurt.
“Once I line up the bones, it’s just a matter of time for it to fuse together again. In six weeks we’ll take the cast off. I don’t anticipate any problems.”
Another set of hands came in the room and started adjusting the bed to a higher level. Wyatt stood back and watched.
Hope stirred on the bed.
“Hope, sweetie, Mommy’s here.”
Hope moaned and blinked her eyes a few times. For Wyatt, it was the best thing he’d seen all day.
“Miss Gina’s gonna be mad.” These were the first words out of Hope’s mouth.
Melanie laid a gentle hand to Hope’s forehead as the staff in the room opened different packages of what Wyatt assumed was the splinting material for Hope’s arm.
“Miss Gina’s not mad,” Melanie told her daughter.
“Mommy?” The question and tone of Hope’s voice made Wyatt pause.
“That’s right, sweetie. I’m right here.”
“Something’s not right.” Hope looked beyond Melanie to those around the room.
“You’re in the hospital, honey. You fell.”
“Mommy . . . Miss Gina’s going to be mad.” Hope tried to move on the bed and cried out.
“Don’t move, baby.”
Hope opened her eyes again and stared at Melanie as if seeing her for the first time. “Mommy, is that you?”
Melanie started to tear up again. “Why does she keep asking me that?” she asked the doctor.
“Repetitive questions after a head injury are common. Most of the time they go away.”
Wyatt placed a hand on Melanie’s shoulder, she gripped it with one of hers. “Most of the time?”
“She’s already making more sense than when she first arrived. I know it’s hard, but just answer her questions and keep her calm.”
“Mommy, where am I?” Hope kept staring around the room until her eyes finally connected with his. “Uncle Wyatt?”
“Hey, princess.”
Hope gave him a strangled smile. “Miss Gina is mad.”
“We’re about to get started, Miss Bartlett. Do you want to stay here while we do this?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Melanie sat on the edge of the bed as if proving a point.
The nurse eyed Wyatt. “We need a little more room. Would you mind stepping outside?”
Wyatt turned to Melanie. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yep.”
No . . . she wasn’t, but she was putting on a good face.
Wyatt kissed the top of her head and stepped to the doorway. Jo stood just outside, her head tilted toward her cell phone. “No, don’t,” he heard her say. “Tell them to wait until I get back. There are a few things I want them to check out before we shut this case.”
The noise of a curtain closing and the voices inside Hope’s room carried into the hall, equally distracting from the conversation Jo was having.
He heard Hope whimper and cry and Melanie console her daughter, telling her it would all be better soon.
“One night. They’ve flown all this way. Hide their car keys . . . just keep them there.”
“Ouch, ouch . . . ouch.”
“Just do it, Emery.” Jo hung up the phone and tucked it into her front shirt pocket of her uniform.
“What was that all about?” Wyatt asked.
Jo released a frustrated breath. “Nothing . . . nothing. How is she?”
“They’re setting her arm.”
They stood with an ear toward the glass door, the hustling emergency room in full swing around them.
Hope let out another cry before the doctor’s voice stated the worst was over.
From there, Jo and Wyatt listened, and waited.
“See, Hope. It feels better now, doesn’t it?”
Wyatt leaned against the wall and started to feel some of the day seep into his bones. “I could sleep for a week,” he said under his breath.
“We all can,” Jo chimed in.
One of the nurses left the room and told them it was clear for them to go back in.
Wyatt pushed the curtain back and saw a bright purple cast holding Hope’s arm in a perfect L. She’d been crying, but Melanie was whispering in her ear while the staff cleaned up the room.
“I’m going to send her to X-ray again, make sure everything looks like it should, and then I’ll check on her during rounds tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Melanie shook the man’s hand.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Where’s the puppy?”
Melanie closed her eyes and shook her head. “There isn’t a puppy, honey.”
“He’s going to get hurt if we don’t find him.”
Jo leaned closer to Wyatt. “What’s she talking about?”
“A lot of questions, not all of them make sense.”
“Miss Gina’s going to be mad.”
When Hope started to repeat what he’d already heard a few times, Wyatt knew it was going to be an even longer night than the day had been.
“Miss Gina is happy you’re okay, sweetie.”
“No!” Hope’s voice rose with conviction. “Miss Gina is going to be mad if we don’t find the puppy!”
To Wyatt’s side, he saw Jo’s frame freeze.
She took a step closer to the bed. “Hope, honey?”
“Auntie Jo . . . can you find him?”
Melanie sighed again. “Hope, there isn’t any—”
Jo placed a hand on Mel’s shoulder and shook her head.
“Where’s the puppy, Hope? Did you see it?”
Hope closed her eyes as if searching behind her lids for the answer. “No. I heard it. And Miss Gina won’t be mad if we find him.”
It was then some of the pieces fell into place. Hope moving far away from the house in search of a puppy . . . down a ravine.
Hope started to close her eyes. “We should find the puppy.”
“We’ll look, honey.”
That seemed to quiet her down.
Just when they thought Hope was done talking, her next words brought the temperature in the room down twenty degrees.
“Maybe Mr. Lewis found the puppy. He’s good at finding animals.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Who is Mr. Lewis?”
Melanie didn’t think her head, her heart, or her adrenaline could pump any faster. Then she turned to see who asked the question and realized it could all double with the presence of one man.
“Nathan.”
Jo took a step in front of the man, blocking his view. “I told you to call me when you got off the plane,” Jo scolded with her tone.
Nathan placed a hand on Jo’s arm and attempted to push her aside. “I’m here to see my daughter.”
Melanie cringed and snapped a glance to Hope.
Hope was looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Mommy, where am I?”
“Out of my way.” Nathan’s voice bordered on violent as he pushed past Jo. “Good God, what happened to her?”
“Keep your voice down, Nathan,” Melanie tried to calm him.
“Don’t tell me to keep it down. Is this what you call protecting our daughter?”
Once again, Melanie cringed.
“Mommy, who’s that?”
“I’m your daddy, Hope. And I’m going to protect you from now on.”
“Hey!” Jo shoved in between the bed and Nathan.
“Please, Nathan. Not now!”
Hope started to cry. “Mommy . . . where am I?”
“You’re either going to arrest me or get the hell out of my way, woman!” Nathan all but spat in Jo’s face.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Mommy . . . why is that man yelling at Aunt
Jo?”
“You know, Nathan . . . now might not be the best time to upset the patient.” Wyatt’s words brought Nathan’s gaze across the bed.
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
Melanie felt the charge in the air crack when the nurse walked into the room. “I don’t know what’s going on in here, but it stops now!” She pushed past Jo, Nathan, and Wyatt and moved to the monitor above the bed. “Everyone out!”
“Mommy!”
“Except Mom. Everyone else, solve your issues outside.”
“Let’s go,” Jo said, placing her hand on Nathan’s arm with a nudge toward the door.
He shook her off. “She’s my daughter, too.”
The monitor started to ping.
The nurse placed both hands on her hips. “Out!”
“I have rights.” Nathan lowered his tone and glared at the nurse.
“And we have rules. One visitor at a time. Out!”
Melanie felt Hope squeeze her hand as Nathan looked at everyone but his daughter before storming out of the room.
“We’ll be right outside.” Wyatt kissed the top of Melanie’s head and smiled at Hope.
The nurse closed the door after they left and pulled the curtain around the bed. She pressed a few things on the monitor and checked Hope’s IV. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“Who are you?” Hope’s tears were already drying up.
“I’m Clarisse, one of the nurses. You’re at the hospital.”
Hope looked down at her arm. “I broke my arm.”
“Yes, you did. Do you remember falling?”
Hope shook her head.
“It’s okay.”
Clarisse turned her attention to Melanie. “We should try and keep her calm. The bed in ICU will be ready in about an hour, until then I’m going to keep visitors away.”
Melanie looked at the monitor. “What happened?”
“Her pulse shot up. Then I heard the yelling. She’s had enough stress.”
“I’m tired,” Hope said, closing her eyes.
“You sleep, sweetie. I’m right here.”
Melanie nodded toward the door and slipped away from the bed with the nurse. In hushed tones, she explained the situation.
“Hope doesn’t know her father. He’s just reentered the picture and seems determined to cause chaos.”
Clarisse frowned. “I’ll notify risk management and the nursing director. Maybe they can talk with him and let him see how his impact isn’t helping the situation right now.”
“Thank you.”
Clarisse left the room, and when Melanie turned back, Hope was already asleep.
Jo started into Nathan the minute the three of them were clear of the lobby doors.
“How stupid can you be? Hope has a head injury, you asshat. The last thing she needs is her sperm donor coming in to screw things up more inside her head.”
“Fuck you, JoAnne. She’s my kid. I have rights.”
“You have squat. You gave up your rights when you walked away.”
Wyatt didn’t want to yell at the man, he simply wanted to punch him. Maybe bruise up his left fist to go with his right.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. And if you try a stunt like that again, I’ll slap handcuffs on you so fast your cocky grin will slide right into hell where you belong.”
Nathan took a step way too close to Jo for Wyatt’s comfort.
“Just try it. False arrest, false imprisonment.”
“Obstructing justice, threatening a peace officer, interfering with police proceedings.”
“All right, enough.” How the hell did Wyatt become the calm one? “Much as I’d love to kick your ass right now for what you pulled in there, the last thing Melanie needs is this.”
Nathan put both hands in the air and waved Wyatt toward him. “Let’s go, Redneck. You just throw the first punch.”
Wyatt clenched his fists, his jaw tight. It would be so nice to see blood on Nathan’s three-piece suit. He heard his father’s voice inside his head . . . “Don’t throw the first punch, son; throw the last.”
He forced his fists to unwind and turned his attention toward Jo. Without turning his back on Nathan, he said to her, “I think Mr. Lewis has a few questions to answer.”
“Damn it.” She waved a hand in the air at Nathan. “We’re not done.”
“Not by a long shot.”
Then Jo ran toward her squad car, leaving the two of them behind.
Wyatt took one last look at Nathan, turned on his heel, and walked to his truck.
His mother answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t our long lost son calling, even if it’s close to eleven.”
He hadn’t even thought of the time when he dialed their number. “Yeah, sorry. I should call more.”
“And visit more.” His mom was the quintessential housewife during Wyatt’s youth and still took the role seriously while heading up a dozen charity organizations and causes that helped define her as something other than the wife of William Gibson, otherwise known as the defense attorney to some of the most prominent people in the country, the man you called when you knew damn well you were guilty but had enough money to pay your way out of jail time.
Wyatt was the polar opposite of his father, but unlike most of the kids he grew up with who were all but bullied into the family firm, big companies, or startups that dotted Silicon Valley, William always encouraged Wyatt to take his own path.
He remembered once, when he was a kid, the road trip that took them up the coasts of Northern California, Oregon, and into Washington State. The three of them had stopped in a town a lot like River Bend, and he and his father tried to toss poles into a stream to fish. They didn’t catch anything, probably because of all the talking they had done. William had confessed that if he were to do it all different, he’d trade his life for something simple . . . like a small town in a nowhere place where people were kind to each other. Where defending property lines and lot usage would way outnumber violent crimes and the nasty people who did them.
Wyatt knew, deep down, that was why he’d chosen the life he had.
And his parents had always encouraged him to do it.
“I need to make the time,” he told her.
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Your father was saying the same thing the other day.”
“Yeah, uhm, about Dad . . . is he there?”
“Of course.” She paused. “Is everything all right? You don’t sound yourself.”
“I’ve had a long day and I need to talk to Dad.”
“All right, I’ll go get him.” He knew his mother was tuned in to his problem.
He heard the muffling of the phone, his mother speaking to his father, but not the words that were spoken.
“What’s the matter, son?” William skipped hello and how are you.
“Have you watched the news today?”
“I’ve been in court all day. Why? Are you in trouble?”
“No, Dad. I’m not. C’mon.” Wyatt took a deep breath. “I met this woman . . .” For the next ten minutes Wyatt told his father briefly about Melanie, about Hope . . . about the past twenty-four hours.
And he told him about Nathan. “He’s a weasel, Dad. He doesn’t give a crap about his daughter.”
William chuckled. “Most lawyers are weasels, son.”
“Yeah, you’ve told me that before. But this guy. He’s going to cause trouble. I feel it. The thing is, I don’t know why. It wasn’t like Mel was going after him for a dime.”
“Have you considered him having a change of heart about his kid?”
“He caused chaos in the ER, stressed out Hope, made a scene. Does that sound like a man caring about the health of his kid?”
“No. Sounds like a man trying to make a scene and gathering witnesses.”
Wyatt hated that he’d picked up on that.
“You told me once that half your job was being a private investigator. Can you look into him for me?”
“Consider it done. What else can you tell me about him?”
He told his father what he knew, which wasn’t a lot. “I know a few people that know a little more. I’ll e-mail you the details I can find in the morning.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Oh, and Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“This Melanie . . . is she someone your mother and I might meet someday?”
Wyatt read through the lines of the question and smiled.
“Yeah . . . I think maybe you will.”
“Mommy?”
Melanie had fallen asleep in the recliner chair that sat beside Hope’s ICU bed and woke with a start when she heard Hope calling.
“Right here, baby.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes and scrambled to her daughter’s side.
“I’m hungry.”
Two words.
Two perfect words.
It was four in the morning, but that didn’t hold a lot of concern for a little girl who had last eaten the morning before.
“I’ll get the nurse, see if we can get you something.”
Hope looked around the room. “I’m in the hospital?”
“Yes, baby.”
“And I fell and broke my arm.”
“You did.” The fact that Hope told her instead of asking was a huge improvement. Her little girl was living up to her name.
“I’ll be right back.”
“’Kay.”
The ICU was in the shape of a U, with rooms surrounding a central nursing station that had a half dozen nurses working behind it. She found the night nurse in charge of her daughter’s care and told him Hope was asking for food.
Phillip put the chart he was writing in aside and stood. “Let’s go talk to her.”
They walked back into the room and found Hope smiling. “Hi, Hope. Do you remember me?”
She squinted her eyes then smiled. “Phillip.”
“That’s right.”
Instant tears sprang to Melanie’s eyes. The doctor had told her that Hope’s scrambled head was temporary, but she had a hard time believing it.
Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) Page 19
