by Skye Jordan
“Sounds like you’ve been through it before,” Rubi said.
He rubbed his eyes. “A few times.”
“It’s amazing she’s done so well in her career with those emotional issues,” Lexi said.
“The woman has a goddamned will of steel.”
“Speaking of her career,” Zahara added, “her manager and her assistant are wearing holes in the waiting room carpet.”
“I know. I’ve been focused on keeping her calm and didn’t want to leave in case she woke and freaked. I’ll have to deal with them soon enough. And he’s just…” Troy shook his head. They didn’t need the details of how hard Chad pushed her, how much stress he caused for Giselle instead of alleviating it for her the way he should. “Never mind.”
“What’s the word on Don?” Jax asked of the engineer who’d been trapped under the rubble. Both caves had collapsed when Don’s exploratory drilling had tapped into a weakened area of the caves’ core structure.
“He’s out of surgery. Stable. They say he’ll be okay.”
Jax exhaled, his shoulders releasing some tension. “Great news.”
“And everyone else has been released,” Zahara added. “Troy and Giselle are the last of the crew here.”
“Good,” Jax said, his expression tense. “Wes and I will pick up the job from here with Z, Duke, and Keaton. We’re going to figure out how this happened so it won’t ever happen again. And I’m going to try to pull Josh on board full-time.”
“Oh, thank God.” Troy exhaled the words. “The guy’s OCD can make me crazy, but I’ll take his crazy to this any day. I know this would never have happened if we’d had Josh running risk assessment.” He ran his hand through his hair. He’d cleaned up in one of the bathrooms and changed into clothes Duke and Keaton had brought him from the hotel. “And we were lucky. It could have been so much worse.”
A knock sounded on the door, then Maggie slid it open, her gaze on Troy. He pushed off the exam table he was leaning against. “Her manager is getting unmanageable. I really don’t want to call security on him.”
Ryker turned, shoulders back, chest out. “I’ll set him straight.”
Troy huffed a tired laugh. “She’s got enough trouble with him as it is.” To the nurse, he said, “I’ll deal with him. Thanks, Maggie.”
Jax, Wes, and Ryker filed out of the room. Lexi hung back and faced Troy. She gripped his forearms and lifted those big blue eyes to his. “Anything you need, and I mean anything, you know that, right? If she’s important to you, she’s important to us. She’s instant family. We take care of each other, and there’s nothing we won’t do for either of you. Ryker and Rachel are staying with us at the beach house. I hope you’ll bring Giselle home to stay there too.”
Troy lived on the bottom floor of Jax and Lexi’s mammoth home on Malibu beach, one of two homes they owned and the one they stayed in on weekends when they weren’t working in downtown LA.
Gratitude and joy swelled inside him, making him ache with the kind of acceptance and belonging he’d never believed possible. The kind he wanted to share with Giselle. He pulled Lexi into a hug and whispered, “Thank you. So much.”
“Don’t be stubborn or proud,” she said, scolding like the sister she’d become. “Because if I find out you needed something and didn’t ask, you’ll be sorry.”
He laughed and released her. “I do not want to suffer your wrath. Thanks for coming.”
“Always.”
She left the room with Rachel, but Zahara and Rubi lingered, and Troy knew he was in for another talking-to.
Zahara didn’t waste any time digging in. “I heard what Giselle said when we were digging you out.”
People say all kinds of things when they’re panicked.”
Z got that determined look in her eyes. “They say things that are automatic, things like ‘I’m scared,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘Don’t leave me.’ They don’t say things like, ‘Nothing’s been the same since I walked away from you, like half my soul was missing.’ That was real.”
“And in the very next breath, she said, ‘It was better for both of us.’”
“Give me a break. She meant it was better for both of you then, not now. Times like these make people reevaluate their lives. Facing death makes people realize where their priorities lie. They see holes in their lives they never noticed before.”
No fucking kidding. Troy had maintained his distance from Giselle over the last four days by clinging to the belief that she deserved better. But after watching that ceiling fly toward her, holding her while the cave wall crushed her to his body, witnessing her mind fray, cell by cell… It all brought back a reality that he lived with on a daily basis in stunts—life was short, and you never knew when it would be stolen from you.
So, yeah, he was second-guessing all his previous convictions pretty damn hard.
“Neither you nor Giselle can work right now,” Zahara said, “and sitting around will drive you both crazy. I suggest you two go away together for a few days and take some time to really talk. Really think about what you want the rest of your lives to look like. It may be the last chance you get to do it together.”
Rubi stepped forward, picked up his hand, and pressed a ring of keys into his palm. “The keys to my father’s house in Malibu. He hasn’t set foot in the place for six years, and he’s in Thailand for another month. There’s a car in the garage. I’ll have clothes and food delivered to the house. Z has clued me in on Giselle’s sizes from her costume fittings. And no one will know you’re there but me and Z.”
That overwhelming sense of gratitude tightened his throat again. He swallowed past the lump and closed his fingers around Rubi’s. “I don’t know—”
“You don’t have to know,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Just know it’s there for you. Just know I hope you use it.”
Troy exhaled heavily, swallowed his fierce independent streak, and wrapped an arm around each of the women’s shoulders, holding them tight. “I love you guys.”
“Love you too,” they said at the same time, then released him.
“You’re an amazing man,” Z said, “a man any woman would be lucky to have in her life. You do deserve more. Now go put that prick in his place.”
Troy laughed, nodded, and followed them from the room. With more doubts than he’d had in years, he watched Zahara and Rubi leave the ER. But as soon as he turned back into Giselle’s room, as soon as his gaze slid over her profile, soft cream against the crisp white pillow, the churning in his chest eased.
He scanned the busy ER and found Maggie. Once she met his gaze, he nodded. She returned the nod and started toward the waiting room. In Giselle’s room, he flipped off the overhead lights, returned to her bedside, and stroked her soft cheek with the backs of his fingers. The act lowered his blood pressure and eased his stress, but the sight of her so broken tore at him. This was the result of too much stress built up over a long period of time. It was Giselle trying to be everything to everyone—the star, the businesswoman, the mediator, the employer, the employee, the friend. And when she found herself in need of those reserves to hold herself together, she’d come up empty, with no one there to give her the kind of support he was getting from his Renegades family. Except for Brook, Giselle was essentially alone, and it broke his heart.
“What are we gonna do about this, angel?” he whispered.
Deep blue bruises were developing in various places on her cheekbone and chin. Troy wished he had a magic wand to erase them. Wished he had a magic wand to erase every mistake he’d ever made.
Movement at the door drew Troy’s gaze. Chad wore khakis and a polo shirt and carried a duffle bag. Worry creased his pale face. Beside him, Giselle’s assistant, Brook, tore a Kleenex to shreds, her eyes and nose red and swollen. Troy forcefully curbed his frustration.
“What took so damn long?” Chad demanded. “Why haven’t we been able to see her?”
“She had to be sedated. She needed tests and stitches. Her medical care co
mes first.”
Brook nodded fervently. “Of course.”
Chad pushed past Troy. At the sight of Giselle, he dropped the duffle. “Giselle? Honey?” When she didn’t answer, didn’t move, Chad swung back toward Troy. “If you had anything to do with this—”
“Don’t you worry about a thing.” Brook’s sweet whisper contrasted sharply with Chad’s anger. She’d rounded the bed and gently curved her hand over Giselle’s, stroking back Giselle’s hair with the other hand. “We both know what a miracle worker I am. I’ve got you completely covered. You don’t even look that bad. Nothing a little concealer and bronzer won’t fix.”
As Brook bent to kiss Giselle’s forehead, Chad barked at Troy, “How did this happen? How bad is it? What did the doctor say?”
“We’re still looking into the exact cause, but at this point, it looks like the engineers Paramount used for risk assessment fucked up.” Troy crossed his arms, fighting against a grimace when his own injuries shot pain through his body. “Physically, her cuts, bruises, and concussion should be healed in a week or two. Her voice”—he shrugged—“there’s really no telling how long it will take for that to heal until she wakes up, but judging by the amount of screaming and sobbing she was doing, I’m guessing at least three weeks, but probably more. Mentally”—he heaved a sigh—“she’s shattered.”
Chad pried his gaze off Giselle to glare at Troy. “You underestimate her.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“Like you did. She’s not a scared girl anymore—”
“She hasn’t been a girl for decades. Abuse has a wicked way of making you grow up real fast. And you didn’t see her in that cave or coming into the hospital. She was absolutely terrorized. Her issues aren’t things you outgrow. They’re things you learn to manage, which she may control under normal circumstances, but days like today create setbacks. There’s no way to tell how quickly she’ll bounce back until she’s had a few days to recover. And even then, PTSD has a weird way of striking at the oddest times, from the slightest trigger.”
“You know she still won’t take the elevator,” Brook said, staring at the floor and tearing her Kleenex. “And if we stay somewhere with a big, like, you know, a really big walk-in closet, I have to put her clothes away and get them out, and, oh, she just hates that. And when we’re at a dark restaurant, I always get her the brightest table. Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes….”
Brook gasped for air as she fought tears. Troy’s frustration toward Chad faded in the face of Brook’s pain, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, as his own fears over Giselle’s health resurfaced. Brook turned into him and started crying. “Sometimes I bring over a-a-a lamp from a-another t-table.”
“You’re a good friend,” Troy murmured, hugging the girl.
Chad’s jaw twitched. “I want to take her home.”
“Home as in a hotel room? After she was nearly crushed to death in a cave when she’s intensely claustrophobic?” Troy’s temper slipped. Brook turned her head to look at Chad but didn’t leave the circle of Troy’s arm. “Who are you thinking about right now? You or Ellie? Because that might be convenient for you, but sticking her back in a hotel room alone where all she can do is relive the hell she’s been through or worry about how this could affect her career is not in her best interest.
“The best thing you can do for her now is focus on canceling her appearances for the next two weeks in a way that won’t hurt her chances at the next step she’s worked so hard to get. That peace of mind will go a long way toward letting her relax and heal.”
“Oh yes,” Brook said, relief filling her voice. “Yes, yes, good idea. I can take care of—”
“Two weeks?” Chad balked. “That will wipe out the rest of her concerts here.”
Brook curved her lips inward and cast an uncertain look up at Troy.
“I’m not canceling anything until I talk to Giselle,” Chad continued. “This could be nothing more than a temporary setback. She might just need a couple of days to—”
“Dude, she has a concussion,” Troy said, releasing Brook. “Have you ever had a concussion? I have, and I can tell you, your head hurts like a mother. That alone would keep her from singing. But like I said, her vocal cords are ragged. I can guarantee you don’t want her singing anything in public right now.”
Chad’s fingers closed tight around the gurney’s metal side. “You don’t know shit about—”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.” Troy stepped up to the gurney and leaned in to get as in-your-face as he could in the small room with this damn bed separating them. “I know that any change in her head, neck, or chest affects her ability to sing. I know that if she tries to sing before her concussion has healed, the pressure it would create in her head would cause blinding pain, and she could pass out. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve also seen her try to sing with a sinus infection, strep throat, and a tooth abscess. And I’m telling you she can’t do it. Once, she screamed her lungs out over a damn Super Bowl game, and she couldn’t perform for a month. A goddamned month. Don’t fucking tell me I don’t know her. We were together five years. How long have you been her manager?”
Chad’s mouth tightened, his hand twisted on the gurney, his gaze turned to Giselle.
The doctor who’d been taking care of her approached, pausing just outside the door to speak with a nurse.
“There’s the doctor,” Troy told Chad. “Ask him. As for Giselle, I’m staying with her until she’s well enough to leave the hospital. I’ll have her call you as soon as she’s awake.”
Chad walked out without a word.
Troy turned to Brook. “I’m really sorry about—”
“She really loves you.”
He froze, stunned. “Wha…?”
“Giselle. I’ve been her assistant since she went on the road with Lady Antebellum, right after you two broke up.” She snuck a look at Giselle. “I love her like a sister, and we look out for each other, you know? And we’ve talked so much about you that I feel like I already know you. I know how much you loved her, and I don’t believe that kind of love ever ends, even if you aren’t together. Not that I’d really know, because I’ve never been in love like that. Just call it women’s intuition or whatever.”
She paused only long enough to draw a quick breath and started rambling again, never giving him time to process anything she was saying, and making Troy’s head spin.
“And she’s really open about how messed up her childhood was, and gets really frustrated sometimes because she wants so badly to be normal, but she’s just not, you know? So I’m stepping in as her normal, I don’t know, spirit friend or something, because at this point, normal people in love would tell each other how much they mean to each other and find a way to talk things out and work around the obstacles. But, I know Giselle, and the first thing she’ll ask for when she opens her eyes is her phone, even if what she really wants and really needs is you. Just you.
“I know I’m talking really fast, but I’m sort of sandwiched between two people here who don’t want me saying what needs to be said, but I’ve seen you with her a few times over the last week, and she and I have talked some, and after living with her day in and day out for seven years—I beat you by the way, my seven to your five—I can read so much more into her feelings than what she’s telling me. Her facial expressions, the inflections of her voice—”
The door slid open. “Brook,” Chad barked. “We’re leaving.”
She perked up with a bright “Be right there.” But as soon as the door closed, she dropped back into her serious, confidential quick-talk. “When she freaks out, you tell her I’ve got her back. Tell her I’m taking care of everything I can take care of from this end. You tell her that she’d better not come back to work until her voice is one hundred percent, because I won’t let her sing any sooner than you will. You tell her,” she said with more emphasis and a wicked little gleam in her dark blue eyes, “that she won’t be singing again until she gets a writt
en release from Jacque.”
Troy rubbed a hand down one side of his face as the fatigue settled in deep. “And who’s Jacque?”
Brook’s mouth tipped up in a tired little smirk. “Only the very best laryngologist in the country. He treats all the big stars, and he’s someone who will knock Chad on his ass when necessary.”
Troy laughed and nodded. “Perfect. Shoot me his contact information when you get a chance, will you?”
“You bet. Take care of our girl, will you?”
“You bet.” Troy pulled Brook into a hug and whispered, “Thank you. For loving her. For being with her when I couldn’t.”
Brook sighed and patted his back. “It takes a village to raise a country music star.”
Troy laughed and let Brook slip from the room.
At Giselle’s bedside, he dropped into a chair, moved it to the side of the gurney, and lowered one metal arm. Resting one hand on her thigh beneath the blanket, he curled the other hand around hers and laid his head on the foam mattress and watched her sleep.
“Ellie, Ellie, Ellie,” he murmured as fatigue settled in. “Why did we cross paths now? And how do I keep you from slipping through my fingers again?”
Giselle floated out of a deep, deep sleep. The kind of sleep that made her feel like a rock in the bed. The kind of sleep that made her eyelids feel like cement and her mouth feel like a cotton ball. She tried several times before she finally forced her eyes open a sliver, then searched for orientation—day, time, place. But her brain was as groggy as her body.
She was warm but uncomfortable. Vague pain in her head made her wince. When she tried to shift her body, more pain erupted all over, and she groaned. Something flinched around her hand, and she forced her eyes that direction. A large male hand cradled hers. A hand with callouses and dirt-encrusted nails.
Her slow, heavy gaze followed the hand up a muscular arm marred with scrapes and bruises, then skipped to a full head of deep brown waves. Then jumped to Troy’s face, where his cheek lay on the gurney near her hip. His eyes were closed, his face loose in sleep.
