The Wrong Mr. Darcy

by Evelyn Lozada

  CHAPTER 14

  Adieu to disappointment and spleen.

  —Pride and Prejudice

  Derek clambered in and slammed his door. His chest hurt from breathing so hard. And from fear.

  It was hard to see the young girl lying limp in the passenger seat next to him, held in place by a seat belt, her head flopped to the side. He shifted around to Hara, half expecting her to be in tears again. Instead, she stared at him intently, clear-eyed. Energy seemed to crackle off her. With wind-blown hair and a high flush on her cheeks, her eyes such a sharp, deep blue … she was a mess and she was beautiful.

  “Weren’t you wearing glasses? Did you lose them?”

  The reporter touched her cheekbone then dug around in her pocket. “That explains why I can barely see. I forgot I took them off.” She pulled out her hand, empty. “Dang it. They must have fallen out.”

  “We’ll have to deal with it later. Let’s get to the hospital.” He faced forward, put on his seat belt, then watched in the rearview mirror as Hara tucked her long hair behind her ears and stared out the window. He was once again struck by her allure. Stop being weird, he thought to himself, we gotta get outta here. “It’ll take a couple of minutes, but at least we’ll be heading away from the flooding this time.”

  Derek realized he’d been stupid driving over here in the first place. He glanced into the rearview mirror again, this time checking the empty streets for traffic. A wave of guilt swept through him; Naomi would have been safer staying inside. And he’d put Hara in danger.

  Her attention was focused on Naomi, though occasionally shifting to the terrifying scenes outside. Gritting his teeth, Derek turned the wipers up as high as they’d go and slowly pulled out onto the street.

  Leaving the stadium, he’d felt relatively safe in his SUV, assuming high clearance and four-wheel drive made him impervious to the storm. But water was powerful and sneaky. At the very least, he should have thought about the dips in the road, where the water could go from one or two inches to a foot deep. The dark, rippling surface gave no clues as to the depths below.

  They’d been lucky on the way to the apartment. But leaving … not so much.

  A hundred yards from Naomi’s building, the front tires were suddenly off solid ground. Derek could feel the front half of the Mercedes lighten, a floaty sensation tweaking his senses. After a second of weightless panic, the back wheels grabbed. He jammed the SUV into reverse and stepped on the gas, slow but steady, trying for grip. The tires spun for a moment and then gripped the pavement, hauling them backward.

  Let’s try this again. This time, he put a wide berth between him and the side of the street where it seemed the lowest point. Though he couldn’t always see it, riding the center line seemed a safer bet, especially with no other vehicles on the road.

  Hara didn’t say anything, only stared out the window, bent forward so as to keep a hand on Naomi’s shoulder. He wanted to pull over, get centered. Instead, he forced his foot down on the gas pedal. Slowly. Slowly. But moving forward.

  Two blocks from Naomi’s, they could see rescue rigs and the Boston Fire Department headed down multiple side streets. At one intersection, they could see a car three or four blocks away, down a slope and closer to the harbor, caught in a slow but forceful current. Water was halfway up the doors. There were people inside. Firefighters were in boats, struggling to get to them.

  “Oh my God,” Hara said from the back seat, barely audible.

  “Don’t worry,” Derek said. “I’m being careful.” And he was doing enough worrying for the both of them.

  A second later, she said, “Look at that.”

  She pointed at a waterfall rushing down a set of stairs leading into a building’s basement. Derek tried squinting into the dark opening. Should he stop? What if people were down there? But Naomi was beside him, hurt. She was his immediate concern.

  When the blacktop was finally visible again, Derek flexed his hands, bringing color back into his white knuckles, and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. The rain continued to be heavy and wind gusts buffeted the vehicle, but Derek was able to get them to Mass General with no further incident. The hospital building was a beacon of light, the emergency bay signs a welcoming bright blue.

  They had power. He could see emergency workers bustling in and out of the doors. The pain in his chest eased, just a little.

  * * *

  Hara’s internal threat level dropped from bloodred to light orange as she watched doctors check Naomi’s pulse and other vitals, place a brace around her neck, and then carefully lay the unconscious girl on a wheeled stretcher. They’d made it out of the flood zone and Naomi was being cared for by professionals. They’d heard water in her lungs, but they would run all the necessary tests, do the necessary procedures, give her some really good drugs …

  “Wait!” Hara shouted after the doctors, who were moving swiftly through the double doors.

  “Miss, you can wait in the waiting room. We’ll come find you when we know something.” They went inside.

  “No! Stop.” Hara sprinted after them, trying not to slip on the tiles in her wet sneakers. “She’s pregnant.”

  Maneuvering down a crowded hallway, they slowed but didn’t stop. “How long?” said a doctor.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but I think she said it’s been five or six weeks.”

  One of the nurses exchanged a glance with the doctor. “At least she’s still early.”

  Hara frowned. “She wants this baby. You’ll try to save it, right?”

  “Of course.”

  And then they were gone. She leaned against the wall, drained of energy.

  “Did you just say she’s pregnant?” Derek, having caught up to her in the hall, folded his arms, his face scandalized. “Naomi’s pregnant. Yet she’s been trying to get with Charles?”

  It took Hara a second to process his comment, which seemed to come from left field. “Wow. Feminism incarnate, right here, in the flesh.”

  “Give me a break.” He made a disparaging noise. “Jersey chaser, nothing new.”

  “Nice. Also, super-empathetic for the girl who just got knocked out.”

  “Honestly, this mess is why I don’t trust anyone. Period.” Derek’s copper eyes were dark, scanning Hara up and down.

  “Are you referring to me now? Thanks.” Hara put her hands on her hips. “You know, for a Pepperdine guy, you’re awfully dumb. Who do you think the father is?” Hara dropped her voice, trying to get control. “He was with her last night, you know. Not for the first time. She says she loves him.”

  “Come on, don’t try to pin this on Charles.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “He and Tina might have problems, but they were together up until last week. And they’re together now. I know my boy, and he wouldn’t do this to her. There are less than five people on this planet I like and trust and he is one of them.” His voice had begun to sound less confident, but then he ended strong: “Naomi is not.”

  “Naomi and Charles are not who you think they are. Neither am I.”

  “Really? You’re the one who’s got them wrong. And you—you’re not a reporter, doing whatever it takes to get a story?”

  Hara rocked back. “Believe what you want. You’re going to anyway.”

  “Why would I believe any differently? I know how you got the interview. I know you’re only still in Boston to sniff out a story on Charles. You don’t care about Naomi.”

  “You are so far off base.” Of course he brought up the interview. She started for the outer doors. “Just give me my suitcase and go. Just freaking go.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, because I’m a normal human being, I’m going to call her family and then I’m going to stay here until I know Naomi is okay.”

  * * *

  The phone went to voicemail three times in an hour before Charles finally picked up.

  “Derek, now is not a good time.”

  “Hold up,” Derek spit out, barely able t
o talk he was so angry. “Your side piece is in the hospital. She was knocked unconscious and breathed in water. She’s not okay. And the baby. She might lose it.” He paused, waited for some reaction. When there was none, he said, “Charles? Did you know she’s pregnant?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Uh huh? That’s all you’re going to say?” The rookie leaned against a wall in the hospital lobby, drawing his beanie lower, flipping up the collar on his wet puffy coat.

  “Listen, I gotta go. Tina has me looking for candles and flashlights.”

  “Dude! Even if you’re not the daddy, you were just with this girl. You don’t want to be here for her?”

  The phone clicked off. Derek slowly put it in his pocket, reining in his anger, fighting for impassivity, for distance. His new mantra: This is not my concern. This is not my concern.

  But rage blew past his walls. Dammit. Hara was right. His teammate was not who Derek thought he was.

  He paced back and forth. Where was the hardworking, loyal friend he’d known his whole life? Derek stopped and almost slapped himself. Thinking back on Naomi, he realized he should have withheld judgment until he’d had more information. Charles was in the wrong.

  And, right now, Derek was responsible for the unconscious girl. He’d let her come out of her building door without him, knowing how stormy it was. Regardless of her relationship status with Charles, he had to do what was right. Derek jogged back to the waiting room.

  And Hara … he had no idea what to think about her. She was otherworldly, beautiful. She’d probably saved him from decapitation. She seemed sharp as hell. But she was so damn contrary. And there was no way to forget it was her dad who almost ruined the professional world of sports.

  O’Donnell had been right—he should probably stay away.

  He’d forgotten about his boss. With any luck, the old man had forgotten about him.

  A doctor came into the waiting room the same time Derek did, calling out, “Family of Naomi Austen? Anyone here with Naomi Austen?” When no one replied, Derek guessed her family wasn’t there yet and so raised his hand. But where was Hara? After a quick scan of the room, he spotted her sleeping shape in a row of chairs by the wall.

  Hovering over Hara, he paused for a second, her gorgeous face peaceful, open in her deep sleep, as she lay stretched out across chairs, heat rising through her wet clothes. “Hara?” he whispered.

  “Hmmm?” she said, not awake, not moving, except a flutter of her long, sinewy fingers curled under her cheek.

  Oh my God, you’re adorable, he almost said out loud. Biting his lip, instead he said, “Hara, the doctor is here. He wants to talk about Naomi.”

  * * *

  Hara stared at her fingernails, not sure what to do.

  Next to her, Derek was also quiet, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  The doctor had explained that Naomi was conscious and seemed to be mentally fine, but her lungs were filled with fluid. They had her on IV antibiotics and other medications, including meds that made her sleep. They didn’t want her to have visitors until the next day. Thankfully, Naomi’s father had arrived and he’d been taken back to her room, so she wasn’t alone.

  The biggest threat was to the baby. They wanted to monitor Naomi, make sure she was stable enough to keep the fetus. It was far too early to hear a heartbeat or see anything with an ultrasound, but she wasn’t bleeding, so that was a good sign.

  “She’s young and strong, so hopefully she’ll be okay,” the doctor had said. “But this kind of trauma to the mother can bring on miscarriages, especially when the fetus is so new.” On that note, he’d left.

  Yikes. Don’t sugarcoat it.

  “Hara?” Derek’s voice was quiet.

  “Yes?” She didn’t look up. Everything was fuzzy anyway, beyond a five-foot border, thanks to her missing glasses.

  “Your clothes are wet and you’re shivering. Why don’t you come home with me? I have a guest room with its own bathroom. You can take a bath, get warmed up. I’m only about fifteen minutes from here, but nowhere near any flooding.”

  Hara put her fingertips to her temples and rubbed. Did a professional basketball player just invite her back to his house? She felt like she was Dorothy, fresh off the tornado in Oz. “I—I don’t know.”

  “I can take you back to the O’Donnells’ place.”

  “No!”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Ohhhkay.”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  His eyebrows came down and knit together. “That is the second time today I’ve heard that about Connor.”

  Hara shrugged. “I’m not surprised. He’s not a good guy.”

  “Well, we can get into that later. For now, you need a place to stay and I have an empty room. You’re safe, I promise.”

  Hara wanted to joke about that, something about how Naomi would beg to differ, but insulting him wasn’t in her best interest. He didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, but he did have a house with a roof and a bed. “Here you are again, going out of your way for me.” She sighed. “I know it seems like I’m not appreciative—I am—it’s just that I’m too tired to get into arguments.”

  “Lady, you think you’re tired? I played a long, hard game and then immediately jumped into my vehicle and drove through a flood. I’m wiped. I can definitely use ten hours of sleep. And a hot shower.”

  “That’s true, you do need a shower.” She smiled, to let him know she was kidding. “Hope you have a lot of hot water because, I have to agree, a bath sounds fantastic and I’ve got fairly limited options.” She squeezed water from the cuffs of her sweatshirt. “Do you think I could also wash these clothes?”

  “Of course.” He scratched his forehead, just below the beanie. “I cannot wait to take this disgusting hat off.” Instead, he tugged the stocking cap down tighter over his ears, which Hara knew he was wearing to keep people from recognizing him. When he pinched the hat, gray water droplets burst from the knit and ran down his temples.

  “Oh my God,” Hara said, “we’re soaked in nasty floodwater. I’ve probably got hepatitis and Ebola.”

  “Let’s get out of here before they decide to put you in isolation.”

  Isolation. That made her think of her father. Hara pictured Thomas in his cell, worrying about her. If her father had access to the news, then he would know that the arena lost power during the game and Boston was flooded, but he wouldn’t be able to find out anything more. He might be a jerk, but he was her jerk, and she didn’t like to think about him worrying about her. She’d already texted Carter and her mother, to let them know she was safe.

  Hara gathered her satchel and jacket, Derek grabbed her suitcase—the one he’d brought in not too long ago, after she’d told him to screw off—and they made their way out to the entrance. Derek brought the SUV up to the front doors, one more sign of polite kindness. Whatever he was thinking, or whatever his motives, she was grateful she didn’t have to walk out into the rain and wind again. Oregonian or not, she was way over this storm.

  They sat in silence as he drove, but it felt more peaceful than last time. He clearly wasn’t a talker, and for now, she was okay with that.

  After what seemed like forever, Derek said, “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Are you hungry? Do you want me to stop? If you can wait, and you’re not picky, I do have stuff to make sandwiches at my place.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I would rather not stop anywhere. Let’s just go home.” She clicked her teeth. “I mean, your home. Ha. I would love to be at home, my home, though I don’t know why. My mom is sweet but she would just drive me crazy.”

  “You live at home?” Before she could answer, he must have noticed her face and said hastily, “I don’t mean that as an insult. Personally, I’d slit my wrists if I had to be back at my parents’ house, but that’s just me.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t kidding about my mother. She’s unbearable sometimes. I’m only back at home until I can find a job with a city paper.”r />
  “Sportswriting.”

  “That’s the dream.” Though the dream had been foggy lately.

  They pulled up into a massive portico that fronted a glass and steel high-rise. A valet met them, opening Hara’s door. She expected to get the stink eye, considering the state of her clothes and hair, but the man in gray livery was nonchalant. “Madame? Sir? I’ll have your things sent up to the penthouse, Mr. Darcy, if you would like to go straightaway.”

  He reached for Hara’s satchel, but she politely declined. No way was she giving up her notes and her laptop, even for five minutes.

  She was exhausted, incapable of fully appreciating the modern beauty of the lobby and even the elevator. Stepping from the lift directly into Derek’s foyer, she found herself in awe at the fact that he had his own elevator. Imagine. Yet, the apartment was gorgeous and spacious and welcoming, but not opulent. Derek’s style was minimalistic but with comforting touches.

  He pointed her in the direction of a guest suite, a large room with a window seat, a four-poster queen bed, and a sunken tub in the bathroom. She immediately started the water, added liberal helpings of bath salts from a nearby shelf, and stripped out of her clothes. There was a bathrobe hanging behind the door. The bamboo material was plush; it was like putting on a robe at an expensive spa.

  “Derek, what should I do with these dirty clothes?” she called into the hallway, cracking the door only wide enough to allow her voice out. Instead of yelling back, however, he appeared in front of her. Somehow, she had managed to be wearing a famous athlete’s bathrobe and he was just on the other side of the door.

  “There’s actually a mini washer and dryer in a closet in the bathroom. By the way,” he said, holding up her suitcase so she could see it, “the doorman brought your clothes.” He set it on the floor in the hall and then held something up to the narrow opening. “He also found these on the back seat.”