“Quit getting up so early, ass-kisser.”
“I’m not kissing ass, I just want to get my fucking work done.”
He arches his brows and calls out to me. “Hey, if you’re not gonna call that blond . . . can I have her number?”
“I didn’t keep it. Find some ass on Tinder.” I give him a halfhearted wave as I head for my car.
I don’t use Tinder because it’s nothing but a meat market for people who want to hook up. And the blond Ryan referred to offered me her number, and I said sure because her friends were right there and I didn’t want to embarrass her. She’d just walked up out of the blue as we were eating and told me she didn’t see a wedding ring and I was hot.
I’d never call a woman who approached me that way. And I’m not calling anyone these days because my research is almost finished, and I’ll be leaving the city.
There’s also Elle. The occasional texts from her keep me from thinking about any other woman. I haven’t heard from her since seeing a story online about her fiancé being spotted on vacation in Mexico with another woman. There were photos of them kissing on a beach, and I’d felt bad for Elle when I saw it.
Colin Hughes is getting what he deserves now, though. There was a huge backlash from Elle’s fans about the photos, and he released a statement saying they’d broken off the engagement. Then the backlash had gotten even stronger, her fans calling him every name in the book for leaving her when she needed him most.
The lousy bastard is in hiding now, and I’m wishing I knew Elle a little better. I’d like to tell her I’m here if she needs a friend, but we’re not close enough for that. Instead, I check my phone for a message from her more often than I care to admit.
The cops have no news on Beasley, so I’ve got no reason to text her. And she’s got no reason to text me, either, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping.
I unlock my car and get in, about to toss my phone onto the passenger seat when it dings with a text. When I pick it up, I can’t help but smile.
Elle: Hey, Justin, are you up?
Me: Yep. How are you?
Elle: I’m okay. I have a question for you . . .
Me: Yes, I’m single.
Me: Kidding.
Me: Kinda . . .
I see the dancing dots on my phone that tell me she’s responding, and I tap my thumb on the steering wheel as I wait, feeling a touch nervous.
Elle: I’m single, too! As the entire world knows now. Actually, I wanted to ask you if there is any place still open that has amazing burgers and milk shakes. I couldn’t eat the cold tilapia they brought me tonight.
Me: Can’t blame you there. Hospital food sucks ass. Yeah, I know of a place. You want me to bring you some food?
Elle: I can ask Chloe to go, unless you want to. Do you have an early morning?
I smile at my phone. Five a.m. isn’t early if she wants to see me. Hell, three a.m. wouldn’t be early if she wanted to see me. I’d stay up all night if I had to.
Me: Nah, I’d be glad to do it. What do you like on your burgers?
Elle: EVERYTHING! I haven’t had one in years.
Me: Years? WTF is that about?
Elle: Model life, yo.
Me: Damn, that’s brutal. I got you.
Elle: You’re the best! I’ll send Andre down to get you through security.
Me: See you in a few.
I drive to Renegades, the dive bar I used to hit with friends after nights of drinking in college. I slowed down a lot in law school because I had to study. And now that I’m done with law school, I think I’m past all that.
But I still go to Renegades when I want a great burger. As soon as I walk in, the owner, Ray, gives me a wave. It takes about fifteen minutes to get my order ready, and then I drive to the hospital.
The parking deck is pretty much deserted at this hour. As soon as I get to the lobby, a burly Samoan guy approaches me.
“I’m Andre,” he says. “Elle’s bodyguard.”
“Hey, good to meet you. Justin Lockhart.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it, his expression somber.
“I want to thank you for what you did,” he says. “I should have been there to protect her, and if you hadn’t stepped in . . . Well, I think we all know what would have happened.”
I can tell it’s an effort for him to keep his voice level. His guilt and anguish are palpable.
“You couldn’t have known,” I tell him. “It happened in a split second. I’m sure you don’t go into the women’s bathroom with her, anyway.”
He shakes his head. “I should have been standing outside the door. I would have heard it. No matter how many times I tell her she should fire me and probably sue me, too, she won’t do it.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He looks away, emotion pooling in his eyes. After a couple awkward seconds, he clears his throat and turns toward the hallway.
“Thanks for bringing her some food,” he says as he leads me toward the elevator. “She’s losing weight, and she didn’t have much to spare to start with. We’re worried about her.”
“Hospital food’s the worst.”
“It’s not too bad, actually. She’s just been down and not interested in eating. When we offer to go get her something, she says no.”
After a “hmm” of concern, I say, “Think she’s upset about her fiancé? That guy sounds like a real douchebag.”
“Yeah, he’s a piece of work. I’m sure that’s not helping, but Elle’s not the sort to get this down about a man. Usually, she writes music to work through it, but she says there’s no point anymore.”
We step on to the elevator, and I turn to Andre. “No point to writing music?”
“Because she thinks her career is over.”
I lower my brows in confusion. “But the whole world is waiting for her to get better and come back. Does she know about the reporters who wait outside of the hospital every day?”
Andre sighs heavily. “She knows. But there’s no reasoning with her when she’s got her mind made up.”
The elevator stops, and Andre leads the way to the next one. I can’t believe the vibrant woman I spent a few minutes with and have been texting with is feeling this badly. She’s never let on to me. But then, I’m not as close to her as Chloe and Andre are.
When we get to the wing Elle is in, Andre gives me a nod and heads into the room next to hers. When I knock on her half-closed door, she tells me to come on in.
Even in the dimness of the lights behind her bed, I see a difference in her from last time. Her face looks hollow and more shadowed.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a weak smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. Thanks for reaching out.” I give her a big smile to clear away my awkward feelings.
“How have you been?” she asks.
I move the table on wheels closer to her bed and take out the burger and onion rings I got her, and I set the milk shake down next to the food. “I’m okay. Mostly I’ve been working, and I played some two-on-two tonight.”
“Basketball, huh?”
“Yeah, been playing all my life. And boxing.”
“Boxing?” She grabs the Styrofoam cup the milk shake is in and takes a sip. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“I’ve got four brothers,” I remind her. “There was always a sparring partner around.”
“That must’ve been nice. I’m an only child.”
“And how have you been?” I pull a metal chair up to sit beside her bed.
She shrugs. “The same.”
“Are they gonna be releasing you soon?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs softly. “I guess so, but I’m not sure where I’ll go. I still need rehab, and I don’t think they’ll be able to do it at my LA place. It has lots of stairs, and apparently, there’s equipment.”
“You can do outpatient, though, right? Go to a rehab place in LA and then back home?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not up for the paparazzi circus. It was bad bef
ore the accident. Now, it’ll be a constant fight with people who want photos of my injuries. I just . . . can’t do that right now.”
“Yeah, I get that. So just stay here for a while. I’ll bring you burgers anytime you want.”
She smiles as she bites into an onion ring. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Do you miss your work? Singing and being on tour?”
With a shrug, she says, “Not really. I mean, do I wish I could undo the attack and go back to the way things were? I do, of course. But this is my new reality.”
“What, hospital patient? It’s only a temporary reality.”
She arches her brows in a pointed look. “My fans loved the old me. They don’t want to see a scarred Elle Tyler limping across the stage and falling down dancing.”
Her voice wavers with emotion, and all I want is to reach for her. I wonder if she’s shared this worry with anyone else, or just me. Since I’m not in her inner circle, I’m a safe person to confide in. I don’t have a job on the line like the people who work for her do.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I think you’re underestimating just how much your fans love you. Social media is full of messages from distraught fans who just want to know you’re okay.”
She shakes her head. “But if they saw me right now . . . you know they’d be shocked and disappointed.”
“Disappointed?” I lean back, stunned. “In you?”
“Not in me so much as . . . in the situation. It’s like your favorite Barbie getting run over by a car.”
I let out a single note of laughter at her analogy. “Not really. You’re a living, breathing person, Elle.”
“But to them . . . to the world, I’m a persona. I’m Elle Tyler.”
“Is that your real name?”
She sighs softly and takes a bite of the burger, moaning with satisfaction. “This is incredible. And no. My legal name is Eleanor Simpson.”
“Eleanor? I like that.”
She grins, amused. “You like old lady names?”
“I do. I’d take an Eleanor over a Madison or Ashley any day of the week.”
She offers me a bite of the burger, but I shake my head. “I had a late dinner. You eat it.”
“Why is it so easy to talk to you?”
“I don’t know. It’s easy to talk to you, too.”
“I always had to have my guard up, you know? Before the attack, I mean. I decided when I made it that I was never going to take it for granted. No tabloid stories, no photos of me stumbling out of bars, no bad press at all. I didn’t have time to get in trouble anyway.”
I lean back in my chair and watch her eat, glad to see her enjoying the food. “That sounds grueling.”
“Sometimes. But it was also a dream come true.”
“You’ll get back there, Elle. If that’s what you want.”
Her expression falls. “You know what’s strange? I don’t want anything right now. Nothing at all. Except to be left alone most of the time. And that’s not who I’ve ever been before. I’m a planner and a doer. A decision-maker. But now . . . I just want to lie here.”
“And what do you think about?”
She looks down at her lap. “I replay it in my mind. I imagine myself not going to the bathroom, or . . .” She shakes her head. “I can’t talk about it.”
“It’s okay.”
When she lifts her face to look at me, tears glisten in her eyes. “Appreciate every second you have, Justin. Every loved one. Every day that you get is a gift.”
I lean forward and put a hand on her bed, close enough to feel the warmth of her thigh beneath the sheet. “It is. But you have lots more days ahead of you.”
“Yeah,” she says flatly.
“Hey, I know we just met and all, so I’m sorry if this is weird, but . . . I like you, Elle. I care about you, and I’m feeling concerned. Are you okay?”
She gives me a sad smile. “You mean, am I going to off myself? No.”
“I guess I mean that, and also . . . how can I help?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do.” She puts the half-eaten burger on the wrapper and pushes it aside. “It was great, but . . . I’m full.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“It’s a boxing story, about me and my brother Reed. I don’t remember how old I was—high school, I think. Anyway, I was the youngest, and my brothers were always giving me shit about it. They’d tell me I was the water boy. So I wanted to box with them one day, and they didn’t want me to because I was still a kid. I told them if they’d let me that one time, and I didn’t win, I’d never ask again. So in my mind, that match was do-or-die. It was a matter of pride. And Reed was a better boxer than me. He pounded me, and I pounded back. We both had bloody noses and black eyes. Our oldest brother, Kyle, wanted to call it a draw because he was pretty sure our parents would somehow hold him responsible. But I said no.” I smile at the memory. “And I’m telling you, Elle, even though my eyes were swollen shut and my body wanted to collapse, I kept hitting. Sheer force of will, I guess. And I won.”
She smiles, a light in her eyes. “Good for you.”
“So we get home, blood all over our clothes, eyes swollen shut, and our mom flips her shit. I say, ‘Aren’t you gonna ask who won?’ And she says, ‘Look at the two of you. No one won.’ I didn’t look like a winner, but I was. In my brothers’ eyes, and in my own. Reed finally went down, and I was still standing. Sometimes a fight is so hard that you don’t think you can win it, but you just have to keep standing.”
“On my crutches?” Elle gives me a skeptical grin.
“Yeah. Or by holding on to whatever you have to. Just keep standing. I know the fight you’re in is a hell of a lot harder than a boxing match, but you can do this.”
“Maybe.” She relaxes back against her pillow.
“You can. Just give yourself time.”
Her eyelids look heavy now that she’s finished her food. I clean up the mess, putting the trash in a garbage can by the door.
“I’m gonna go,” I say, walking back over to her bedside. “Can I come see you tomorrow?”
She gives me a sleepy smile. “Sure.”
“Night, Eleanor.”
“Night, Justin.”
Elle
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up to the sound of my mother’s voice. She’s not even in my room yet, and already, she’s on my nerves.
“She’s just stubborn,” she says. “I know how to handle her. Instead of asking if she wants to go to therapy, we’re just going to go in there and tell her it’s time for therapy.”
“But if she doesn’t want to go—”
“Nonsense. Come on, I’ll show you.”
With a heavy sigh, I sit up in bed and prepare myself. A few seconds later, the door to my room opens, and Mom comes walking in with a giant smile.
“Good morning, honey,” she says brightly. “We’ve got a full morning. Physical therapy after breakfast and then a conference call with Anthony at eleven.”
“No.” I say it flatly.
My head day nurse, Nancy, gives my mom an I told you so look.
“It’s not optional, Elle. You need therapy to get better. And business things have been sliding for too long.”
“I’m just not feeling it,” I say with a shrug.
Mom crosses her arms and gives me a stern look. “Don’t be a combative patient, Elle. This isn’t like you.”
“She’s not combative,” Nancy says in my defense.
Ignoring her, my mom asks, “Why don’t you want to go to therapy?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you’re not eating and going to therapy, how do you think you’re going to get better?” She throws her arms up, exasperated.
“Do you think physical therapy is going to get rid of this?” I point at the scar on my cheek.
“Well, no, but . . . we can see a good plastic surgeon back in LA. Now come on, up and at ’em.”
I shake my head and
turn toward the window. The blinds are drawn and I don’t even know what’s outside them, but I like to imagine.
“I’ll walk with Nancy, like we do every day,” I say. “And I’ll try to eat some breakfast.”
“What about the call with Anthony?”
“No.”
“Elle, what is he supposed to do about rescheduling the tour? And your pending contracts?”
“I’ve already told you to cancel them.”
She furrows her brow. “You’re not thinking. These decisions have long-term consequences.”
“You know what else has long-term consequences?” I snap. “Getting knifed by a crazy guy in a bathroom.”
After a few beats of silence, she says, “Well, I’m not suggesting you come back until you’re ready.”
“Mom,” I say firmly. “If you want to be here, just be a mom. Support me. Love me. Don’t try to manage me.”
“I just want what’s best for you.”
“Right now, this is what’s best for me. There’s more than enough money to last us for a lifetime, so—”
“I don’t care about the money! Are you saying I do?”
I groan and close my eyes. “I’m saying leave me alone. Please.”
“Mrs. Simpson, I’d like you to go to the waiting area,” Nancy says.
Mom’s mouth falls open in shock. “Are you kicking me out of my own daughter’s room?”
“You’re upsetting her, and you need to go.”
“Outrageous!” My mother’s tone is so dramatic that I almost burst out laughing.
My mom leaves the room with a huff, and Nancy turns to me, her eyes wide. “So . . . what can I get you for breakfast?”
“Some toast would be good.”
“Can do.” She turns toward the door but then stops and looks at me. “Also, I’m getting rotated to the Cardiac floor today. You’ll have a new first shift nurse.”
“Dang. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll still stop by and say hello.”
“Okay, good.”
“I’ll do breakfast and our walk before I go over to Cardiac.”
My leg is aching, and I groan as I nod, struggling to move it a bit to ease the pain.
“Are you having pain?” Nancy asks.
“Just discomfort. But if you want to drug me up, have at it.”
Hidden Depth (Lockhart Brothers Book 4) Page 6
