by Donna Alward
They left the room, escaping as far away from the triage desk as they could. “He wasn’t using or dealing,” Laurel hissed. “I’ve never seen him high. Ever. And I can’t imagine him selling.”
“Me, either. He’s got a story but that’s not it.”
“Then you don’t believe it, either. Oh, I’m so relieved.”
He squeezed her hand. “Look, I hate to do this. I’d rather spend the whole day with you, but I have to show up for my shift. Can someone come pick you up? Do you want to go back with me and pick up your car?”
“I’m staying,” she said firmly. “He’ll wake up soon, and he’ll be hurting. He should see a familiar face. I can always call my mom if I need to.”
“I’ll come back as soon as I’m done.”
“Okay.”
“Text me if there’s any change or you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
There was a moment of hesitation where he knew he had to go and wasn’t sure what to do. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close. He wanted to kiss her lips, lingering for a few moments so he could take the taste of her with him. Instead he dropped a kiss on her forehead, closing his eyes briefly. “I’ll call you on my break to check in,” he promised, and then cleared his throat.
She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, giving him a sweet, sweet kiss. “I’ll be here,” she assured him. “Be careful, okay?”
A warmth filled his chest at her quiet caution. “I’m always careful. And Laurel?”
She raised her eyebrows in response and he really wanted to call in sick. But he wouldn’t, because he wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. “We’re gonna work it out, you’ll see.”
He gave her one last smile and then stepped out of the hospital into the summer sun.
CHAPTER 18
Laurel was fairly sure that her bottom was now the precise shape of the hospital chair.
To her relief, George had awakened twice. Both times he’d been groggy, and she knew he likely wouldn’t remember her speaking to him or taking his hand at all. His right hand, she noticed, had split knuckles. He’d managed to get a few shots in on his attacker, it seemed.
Now it was eight p.m., the shadows outside the window were getting longer and she was feeling dozy. Willow had stopped in around seven with some curry lentil soup and fresh bread, as well as a bottle of her home-concocted vegetable juice that she swore would have George up and going again in no time. Aiden had checked in, too, around six-fifteen, but she’d had little to report and he hadn’t heard anything, either.
A groan sounded from the bed and she perked up, leaning forward. “George? It’s Laurel.”
“Lorl.” Her name was cumbersome on his lips, but recognizable. She got up and moved to the bed, perched on the very edge. She moved carefully, not wanting to disturb him. He had to be horribly sore.
“I’m here. You’re in the hospital, George.”
He opened his eyes. Or at least the one eye that wasn’t completely swollen shut. “Ow. Bad.”
Her throat tightened. “You’ve got a concussion, a broken nose, a few stitches in that pretty face of yours, and I’m afraid you’ve got some broken ribs.”
He swore. That word she recognized, plain as day. She grinned. He’d never cursed in front of her before.
“I’m going to call the nurse. Do you want some water?” There was a plastic cup on the table beside the bed. At one point it had had ice in it. The ice had melted but the water was still cool.
“Yuh.”
She called the desk and then held the cup and bendy straw for him as he took a long pull. “Ahhh,” he said, closing his eyes for a second. “More.”
She let him drink some more and then put the cup down as the nurse came in. She spoke to him in quiet tones and asked if he wanted more medication.
“No. Soon. Want to talk first. Put me to sleep again.”
“Okay. I’ll get Ms. Stone to buzz when you’re ready.”
George looked at Laurel. “Hurts all over. Hurts to breathe.”
She nodded. “Your lung collapsed because of your ribs. They’re going to hurt for a while, I’m afraid.”
“Not first time,” he said, laboring.
He reached for the cup again and she noticed his gaze falling on his arm where the hospital bracelet was fastened. “Bracelet. The black one?”
“We couldn’t find it.”
He swore again. Well. She smiled. “George. Such language,” she teased. It was such a relief to have him awake, but she was also so very sad at how badly he was hurt and how the loss of the bracelet seemed important.
“Punk ass kids,” he said, quite clearly.
That got her attention. “Can you tell me what happened, George? If you want to wait, that’s okay. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”
“Waking up more now. Water helps.” He tried to smile, but his lips barely moved. “Ow.”
“Take your time.”
He sighed. “Left for work. Usually walk along the tracks, you know? Couple kids came out. They had paint … spray paint. I guess one recognized me ’cause he started calling out stuff about the bum and … well, you know.”
He paused. That much had been difficult. She waited while he prepared himself again. “They started pushing me around. I knew I was going to be late. I tried to leave but the bigger one … he’s got a mean right hook.” George’s tongue snuck out to wet his lips. “Once I was down they started kicking me. Then they just left.”
“Did you recognize either of them?”
He nodded slightly. “Son of a bitch, my head hurts.”
“Do you want your meds now?”
“In a minute.” He took a slow, cautious breath. “Mitchell kid.”
She sat back in surprise. “Brent Mitchell’s kid? The mayor?”
“Seen him around town before.” His dark, bloodshot gaze met hers. “See lots when you’re invisible.”
Oh, now that made her heart ache. “So,” she said slowly, “it was Brent Mitchell’s kid who attacked you, as well as someone else?”
“Kid he hangs around with. Dark hair. Stubby nose.” George grimaced. “Big boots.”
“George, did you take any of the zippy bags from the store? You know, the ones that I put the deposit and the float in?”
He frowned, his brows pulling together. “Never saw you use those bags. I’m not there at night.”
Right. Because the deposit was done up after close and so was the float for the next day.
“I’ll get the nurse to bring your pain meds. And maybe something to eat, some broth or something, if you’re allowed.”
She stood up from the bed.
“Lorl.”
The way he said it made her heart ache all over again.
“Why are you here?”
“Because you’re my friend,” she stated simply, and escaped the room before he could see the tears in her eyes.
She stopped at the nurse’s station and gave an update, and then went to the quiet waiting room down the hall and called Aiden. When he didn’t answer, she figured he must be busy on a call. It was only another few hours until he was off, anyway.
She waited for him, sitting on the more comfortable sofa in the waiting room. She must have nodded off, because she felt a hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head. Aiden was looking down at her, and her heart gave a big thump in response. He’d come straight from work, still in his uniform. He looked so strong and formidable and … safe, dressed like that. The shirt was short sleeved and she could see the curve of his biceps just below the hem. His tattoo, however, was covered. She remembered tracing it with her fingertip one time while he was sleeping, and wondered when they’d get to that point again. She wasn’t going to rush it. Their relationship was too important. They had to find their balance first before they took any big steps.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said softly, and it was all she could do to keep from standing and walking straight into
his strong embrace.
“Hey,” she replied, and smiled a little. “I guess I fell asleep.”
“Long day.”
“Sofa was more comfortable than the chair in the room.”
Aiden came around the sofa and sat down beside her, put his wide hand on her knee. “How is he?”
“He woke up. Told me some things that might help you figure out who did this.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “Of course, he’s had lots of drugs, but I don’t think there’s any reason to not believe him. He said it was Brent Mitchell’s kid and a friend who beat him up.”
“Oh, man. Brent’s a good guy. If it’s true, this’ll kill him. What’d he say?”
“That he and another kid started making fun of the ‘bum.’ And he’s missing his bracelet. He also said the bag wasn’t his. Don’t know why it’d be on him, though.” She frowned.
“I’ll talk to George. If I get the same story as you, then we’ll know it’s not the drugs talking and get going on it.”
“He said something that made me really sad, Aiden.” She sighed. “When I asked how he knew who the Mitchell kid was, he said that when you’re invisible you notice a lot. That’s not right.”
“I agree with you.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’m going to pop into the room and see if he’s awake. You get some rest. I’ll take you home soon.”
“Okay.”
He got up and walked out to the hall. She watched him go, immeasurably glad that they’d talked. Nothing had felt right without him.
He came back twenty minutes later, his face looking considerably more weary. “I got the same story as you. Looks like we’ll have to check it out. Is it wrong of me to hope George is mistaken? Brent’s a good guy.”
“Sometimes you don’t know what’s happening behind the scenes,” she said, sighing. “Maybe they’re having some troubles with the son. Those teenage years are difficult.” She stood and put her purse strap over her shoulder, preparing to leave. It was nearly midnight. “I guess I always think about it as having gone through it as a kid, not as a parent. Do you think we were that much trouble for our parents?”
They began walking to the elevator. “I don’t know. Probably. My mom could likely tell stories that’d curl your hair.” He sent her a sideways grin.
The doors opened and they stepped inside the car. “I remember my brother having lots of arguments with my dad,” she confessed. “Of course, he was on the debate team. I guess it served him well, now that he’s working in the governor’s office.”
Aiden grinned. “I see Ethan struggling with the boys already. I’m thinking we were more trouble than our parents let on.”
She smiled, feeling a strange sort of nostalgia, paired with a familiar longing. She knew Ethan had lost his wife, but she envied him those two little boys. They were precocious and darling.
“Aw, they’re just busy, like little boys are supposed to be.”
The elevator stopped and they got out on the main floor. “Connor’s the oldest,” he commented. “He takes the lead. And he gets into the most trouble. But Ronan … he’s different. He watches. He reminds me of me a bit, I suppose.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I tried to stay under the radar. Ethan was the oldest and man, is that guy bullheaded. Then there was Hannah, and she had all the girl hormones. Rory was … well, he loves order and everything in its place, enough that he’d throw a fit if something wasn’t just right. And the twins came along and were a total handful. I just tried to never make waves. I didn’t want to cause anyone worry.”
“So you covered your feelings with jokes and smiles.” A lot of things started making sense now. He’d been carefree and charismatic, but not troublesome. Even when he’d gone to parties and such, he’d been the guy to look after others, not the one puking in the bushes. His choice of profession didn’t seem quite so odd now.
“Pretty much.”
“You’ve started sharing a lot more of your emotions lately, big guy.”
He chuckled. “Don’t let that get around. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” she answered, reaching for his hand as they continued walking to the truck. “Thank you for telling me, Aiden.”
“It still doesn’t come easily, Laurel. But maybe now you understand why what happened between us, back in school, was so difficult. I’d made a huge mistake, and everyone knew it. And then you called me on it and I just felt so guilty. I had no right to even talk to you after that. I’d disappointed my parents—they got a call about it, you know. And I’d disappointed you and myself, too.”
He opened the door to the truck and closed it behind her once they got in. After he started the engine, he looked over at her. “Laurel, I really admire you. Particularly today. You’re a loyal friend. You stick by the people you care about, even when it hurts.” His gray-blue eyes locked with hers. “I could take a lesson.”
She was touched, and looked away before he could see what had to be a stupid, sappy look on her face. “I think you’re doing just fine,” she whispered, and rested her temple against the window as he backed out of the parking space.
That was the last thing she remembered until she heard him say her name and felt his wide hand shaking her shoulder ever so gently.
“Laurel. We’re home.”
She lifted her head and hoped to God she hadn’t drooled. “I fell asleep.”
He chuckled. “Yes, you did. Before I even got to the street.”
She rolled her shoulders, trying to ignore the tingles she felt when he spoke in that low, smooth voice that teased along her nerve endings. Memories slammed into her, of coming home with him, going inside, making love. It was love, she knew now. The way she felt in his arms, the connection they shared in those moments … it was more intense than anything she’d ever felt. Ever.
She wasn’t quite ready to go all-in yet, but after today, at least it seemed like a possibility.
“I should get inside. Thanks for driving me home.”
He left the truck running. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed he wasn’t going to walk her to the door.
“Of course. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”
She nodded. “I’ll go back to the hospital tomorrow. I’ll do the same.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over. “Can I kiss you?”
That he even asked touched her heart. He was truly letting her take the lead and she loved him for it. He touched his lips to hers, moving them slowly, drawing her into a deeper, more intimate kiss. It was sweet, and hesitant, and … new. When he moved back, her heart was pounding against her ribs and her breath came in shorter gasps.
She opened the door and stepped out into the cool summer air. “See you later, Aiden. Thank you for everything.”
He lifted a hand in farewell. But he sat in her driveway and waited for her to go inside and turn on the lights before he finally drove away again, leaving her feeling empty and alone without him.
* * *
Driving into Brent Mitchell’s yard in any official capacity was not a job that Aiden looked forward to. He was seated in a cruiser with another officer, Tracy Holbrook, and neither of them said much.
This morning, they’d visited George and took an official statement. By that time, they’d also found out that the zippy bag contained Molly, a refined form of Ecstasy, and that George’s fingerprints were not on it.
They’d discovered something else, too. His prints showed up as being in the military database. More specifically, an army sergeant out of Fort Hood.
He was a damned veteran and he was living on the streets. There was just something so inherently wrong with that.
Holbrook pulled into the Mitchells’ drive. By Darling standards, it was a heck of a house. Aiden’s dad had been one of the contractors on the development and they were considered “estate houses.” Big homes centered on one-acre lots that were groomed to perfection.
Brent’s BMW sat in the driveway, next to an Acura 2-door with a DHS Devils football sticker on the back window.
“This’s gonna be a poor-little-rich-kid routine, isn’t it,” Holbrook said, sighing.
“Probably.”
“Great.”
They got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Aiden knocked, firmly, then stood back.
It was Brent who came to the door. “Oh. God. Was there an accident or something?”
Aiden smiled. “Nothing to panic about, Brent. We were just wondering if we could have a few words with you and your son.”
“With Josh?” His face registered surprise. “Has he done something?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Holbrook said easily. “Something came up and we need to ask him a few questions, that’s all.”
“He’s upstairs. He took a nasty hit in practice yesterday morning.”
Aiden looked over at Tracy. He’d bet any money that the nasty hit was courtesy of George. He whipped out his phone and did a quick check of a website while Brent disappeared upstairs.
He came back down with Josh, who was dressed in sleep pants, a T-shirt, and a scowl. A purple bruise covered the crest of one cheek, and his eye was puffy and bloodshot. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his flannel pants and stood a few steps behind his dad.
“That’s quite a shiner you’ve got, Josh.”
He shrugged.
Aiden looked at Brent. “There was an assault yesterday, Mr. Mitchell. A witness puts Josh at the scene, along with another boy that he didn’t recognize. Dark hair, big build.”
“Corey. He and Josh are playing summer football together. Right, Josh?”
Josh gave a quick nod. “Yeah.”
“Where were you yesterday morning, around seven-thirty, Josh?”
“On my way to the field.” He pointed at his face and scowled. “Duh.”
“Josh.” Brent’s voice was sharp.
“What time was your practice?”
“Eight. Ask Corey. He’ll tell you.”
Aiden nodded. “You ever do drugs, Josh? Smoke a little weed? Pop some Molly?”
Brent’s face paled. “What the hell? Aiden, I can’t imagine what would make you ask these kinds of questions.” He looked over his shoulder at Josh. “I’ll admit we have our teenage moments, but Josh isn’t a user.”
