“Nothing,” she said. “Just glad to see you’re not as friendless as I thought.”
Remo swallowed. He tried to muster up a joke about Jane getting soft in her old age, but he couldn’t quite manage it. So he just nodded, then finished his turn, and made his way toward room 414.
* * *
If Celia hadn’t been stuck in her bed and attached to an IV, she would’ve paced the room a hundred times over. Maybe a thousand. It felt like a millennium since the page for Remo DeLuca had come through the speakers. Where was he? Did he have Xavier with him?
Please, God, let him have Xavier. Because if he doesn’t...
The thought trailed off. She closed her eyes. She refused to let her thoughts go to any kind of dark place. The blue-eyed paramedic would have her son. He’d bring him in. And then she’d take him far away from the hospital and whatever unknown danger it was that lurked on the frustratingly dim periphery of her mind.
“Hurry up, Remo,” she murmured.
“Don’t want to go too much faster or I might drop him.”
The unexpected reply—spoken in a slightly dry, slightly familiar masculine tone—made Celia’s eyes fly open. And even though she was expecting him to be standing there, seeing the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the doorway made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. When she’d seen him before, she’d been out of it, and he’d been either crouched down or sitting. Now that she was a little more lucid, and he was on his feet, she couldn’t help but note a few things. One, he was tall. Six-five, probably. Two, he was intimidatingly broad-shouldered. And three, he was breathtakingly handsome. The kind of man who would draw the attention of every woman within a three-mile radius. And his looks were so distracting that it actually took Celia a few heartbeats to clue in that what he’d said actually meant something—the “him” he’d mentioned was her son. Held tightly against his wide chest, his sandy-colored lashes fluttering against his freckled cheeks.
“Xavier,” she murmured, her voice breaking with the one word.
The big man stepped into the room, then to the edge of the bed. “You want to wake him?”
Celia exhaled, then shook her head. She had no idea what time it was, but it was definitely well into the wee hours of the night. Xavier needed his rest. Especially since they were going to have to be on the move again. Soon.
Swallowing against the ache in her throat, Celia met Remo’s eyes. “Could you maybe put him on the bed?”
“Sure can,” replied the blue-eyed man.
With more care than his big frame ought to have allowed, he leaned down and gently settled Xavier into the small space between Celia and the guardrail. She tried to offer him her gratitude, but she was too overwhelmed to speak. Her son’s body was warm and soft, and he gave off just a hint of baby powder scent that she recognized as the fabric softener she used in his laundry. The relief at knowing he was okay made her want to weep. But she knew there was no time for indulging. She gave Xavier a brush of a kiss, then peeled off her blankets and eased sideways.
A strong hand abruptly took hold of her elbow, stilling her movement. With the contact, a zap of heat slid along her arm. She looked up, startled. The big man was staring down at her with his eyes fixed on her face. She stared back for a moment before her gaze slid to the spot where his palm met her skin. Seeing his large fingers wrapped around her elbow did nothing to change the peculiar little zaps she felt. Warmth continued to radiate from his touch—maybe it even heightened—and Celia couldn’t pretend that it was unpleasant. Then Remo seemed to notice the extra attention she was giving their position, and he quickly dropped his hand back to his side and stepped a little farther from the bed.
“Hang on there,” he said softly, glancing toward Xavier and dropping his voice even lower. “Are you trying to get out of bed?”
“He’s a sound sleeper,” she replied in a normal voice. “And I’m not trying. I’m doing.”
He took a small step forward, his hand coming up again. Celia tensed with the anticipation of another touch, but he stopped just shy of reaching for her, and a strange stab of disappointment pricked at her for a moment.
There’s no time for this, she told herself. Even if I don’t really know what “this” is.
She gave her a head a little shake, then pushed the blankets down even more. She put her hand on the guardrail opposite her son and pulled her body down the bed.
“Okay,” said Remo. “That’s not happening.”
Celia frowned up at him and continued her shimmy. “What’s not happening?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re not getting out of bed.”
“How is it your business?”
“For starters, I’m a medical professional, and I don’t think you’re well enough to be going anywhere.”
“Are you my doctor?” She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, pretending that a rush of dizziness didn’t accompany the motion.
His eyes hung on her bare knees for a moment, and Celia fought a creeping heat in her cheeks. Apparently, finding her pants was the first order of business.
Remo cleared his throat, his gaze back on her face. “I’m not anyone’s doctor. But I was there immediately after you sustained your injuries, and even if you weren’t hooked up to an IV, I could tell you from what I personally saw out there that you’re not in any shape to be up and moving around.”
“You said that already.”
“Because it’s true.”
“But you’re not a doctor.”
“No.”
She took a breath and formulated what she hoped was a believable lie. “Look. I don’t like hospitals, I have terrible insurance, and I feel all right.”
“Celia.”
She was surprised to hear genuine worry as his voice wrapped softly around her name. And she responded without thinking. “Do I know you?”
His dark brow furrowed, making his already oh-so-blue eyes appear that much more vibrant. “You don’t know if you know me?”
Celia fought a wince. “Of course I know.” And she did. Or she thought she did. Hadn’t she been thinking of him as the blue-eyed stranger? She blew out a breath and muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”
But apparently it did matter to Remo. His long legs brought him to the end of the bed in less time than it took to inhale again, and he quickly grabbed her chart and began reading it. Celia watched as his tense expression eased, then hardened, then eased again. What did he see? What would make his face change like that?
Who cares? Why are you just sitting here, staring at him, anyway? You’re supposed to be moving!
She tried to shake off whatever it was that held her pinned to the spot, but Remo lifted his gaze, and she was immobilized again. Held by the intense mix of emotion in his eyes.
“You didn’t suffer a head injury,” he said.
“You’re making that sound like a bad thing,” she replied.
“I’m concerned that you’re experiencing memory loss.”
“Did I say I was experiencing memory loss?”
“You asked if you knew me.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” she argued.
“So tell me what you did mean,” he said.
“Maybe I meant that as a pickup line.” Her face warmed, but she ignored it. “As in...haven’t we met somewhere before?”
He didn’t smile, or even bite on her lame attempt to deflect. “Did you tell your nurse about the confusion?”
She shook her head and lied again. “I didn’t tell her because there was nothing to tell.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“Tuesday.”
“Do you know what year it is?”
“Yes! And I’m not going to tell you. The nurse already went over all of that.”
“So it’s ju
st me you don’t remember?”
“It doesn’t matter if I say yes or if I say no... Either way, you’ll take it how you want.”
She started to move again, but he stepped closer once more, and this time, he did put his hand on her.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low, urgent, and earnest, all at the same time. “We don’t know each other. But to reiterate. You were just in a pretty serious accident. You lost a lot of blood. You’ve had a transfusion, you’ve been stitched up, and you’re on some intravenous antibiotics. All of that—combined with common sense—should be enough to keep you in that bed.”
As logical as his words were, Celia couldn’t quite concede. “And if I don’t agree?”
“Then I’ll call the nurse—whose name is Jane, and who I’ve known for twenty-five of my thirty-one years—and I’ll ask her nicely to sedate you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I sure would.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Then you’d better give me a damned good reason for that,” he replied. “And it better be more believable than a hospital phobia, too.”
“My son...” Celia felt tears well up, and as she dropped her gaze and fought to either hide them or hold them in, whatever further lie she’d been about to issue got lost completely.
Remo spoke again, his voice gentle. “Xavier is only going to be in more danger if his mom’s too weak to help him.”
She lifted her head in surprise. “How did you know he was in danger?”
The big man’s expression shifted subtly, and Celia realized her mistake even before he pointed it out.
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But now I do.”
She pushed her lips together and looked away. After a second, Remo let out a sigh.
“I want to help you,” he told her. “But if you’re going to keep lying to me, I can’t do it, Celia. I need a little trust here.”
She echoed his words back to him. “Then you’d better give me a damned good reason for that.”
His jaw ticked. She waited for an argument. But what she got instead was his story.
Chapter 5
Remo wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he’d expected to tell her. An offer of a brief glimpse into his past? Or maybe just an I-promise-you-can-trust-me hint? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a full—if somewhat syncopated—disclosure of his childhood. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it; time and therapy had helped him fully understand that it wasn’t his fault. It was just that he preferred to keep his private life private. So even as the words started tumbling out of his mouth, he was surprised to hear them.
“I spent the first seven years of my life in a house where any wrong step ran the risk of violence. My dad wielded the punches. My mom was the bag. I spent a lot of time being told to hide. I did it, because it was what my mom wanted. She was sad all the time, and anything I could do to make her smile...”
He shrugged and met Celia’s eyes. There was understanding in her gaze. Far more than sympathy, and Remo was sure he’d guessed her situation correctly.
“It played out exactly how you think it did,” he added.
“You stopped hiding,” she filled in softly.
“It was just once,” he told her. “I don’t even remember what was different, to be honest. Maybe just because I was getting older and realizing our normal wasn’t really very normal at all. Either way, the end result was the same. I stepped up, and it earned me a black eye and a broken arm. And it was a wake-up call for my mom. We were out of there the same day.”
Celia’s face clouded for a moment, then became a mask. Remo wasn’t sure what she was trying to cover up or deny, but he wasn’t going to let her form a lie.
He spoke before she could try. “You know what else I saw on your charts?”
Her mouth puckered, and then she shook her head like she’d changed her mind about whatever she was about to say, and instead asked, “What did you see?”
“X-rays. They show old injuries, Celia. A broken arm that wasn’t set properly. Previously fractured ribs.” He said it gently, careful to keep any and all judgment out of his tone. “I’ve seen it enough times in my job to know what it means.”
For several seemingly long heartbeats, Celia said nothing. She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Remo let her take her time. The evidence was all but irrefutable, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to deny it, anyway. He didn’t want to pressure her, but he hoped with an unreasonable amount of gusto that she’d choose trust and honesty. But when her implacable expression finally crumbled, it wasn’t to confess to him that he was right. Instead, it was to burst into silent tears.
Automatically, Remo stepped in and sank down beside her. Careful not to disturb Xavier—who was still oblivious to the world—he slung an arm over Celia’s shoulder and folded her into a sideways embrace. She shifted, and for a second Remo thought he might’ve overstepped. They were strangers. He was a foot taller and eighty pounds heavier than she was, and as natural as it felt to offer her comfort, it wasn’t crazy to think maybe the contact was unexpected and unwelcome. But it took him only a moment to realize Celia wasn’t pulling away. She was settling in.
Her head pressed to his chest as her body noisily shook. Another few breaths, and one of her hands came up to slide across his abdomen and clutch at his shirt. It was an undeniably intimate pose. Yet it was innocent, too. She needed the outlet, and Remo was more than happy to provide it. He brought his own hand up to run in a soothing circle over her back, and murmured that it would be all right. A good two minutes passed before Celia finally drew in a shaky breath and pulled back just enough that Remo was able to look down at her. Her lower lip was trembling, and when she spoke, her voice was just as wobbly.
“The things is...” she said. “You were right. I don’t remember. I know I need to keep Xavier safe. I know he’s in danger. From what you said, and what you saw on the X-rays, I feel like the conclusion is easy. It fits. And as cloudy as my brain is, it’s not arguing against it, which makes me think it’s true.” Her eyes flicked toward her son’s peaceful form, and she whispered, “It’s his dad. It has to be. But it scared the hell out of me that even though I’m sure of it—logically—I don’t actually know it.”
Remo studied her face. It was still true that he didn’t know her, but it was also becoming truer and truer that he wanted to.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“Help me how?” Her voice had a desperate edge. “All I’m sure of is that if I stick around here for long, I won’t be able to protect my son.”
Spontaneously, Remo reached out and touched her cheek. She didn’t shy away. If anything, she leaned into his hand a little.
“Close your eyes and tell me what you remember leading up to the accident,” he said.
“Really?”
“It can’t hurt to try.”
“Are you going to hypnotize me?”
He had to laugh. “I don’t know what you think a paramedic does, but stage shows aren’t usually included in the job description.”
She wrinkled her nose. “There are perfectly legitimate medical professionals who use hypnosis in their practices.”
“Oh, yeah? Like who?”
“Therapists?”
“Is that a question? Because it sounded like a question.”
“Therapists,” she repeated, without the added inflection at the end.
His grin widened, not because he didn’t believe her, but because the lightened conversation felt good. Natural. And Remo liked it.
“I don’t know that I’d trust a therapist who wanted to hypnotize me,” he told her teasingly. “Who knows what subliminal messages they’d stick in there?” He dropped his best, very bad Sigmund Freud impression. “Definitely something about my mother.”
“I cannot believe you just made that joke
,” Celia said, but she was smiling, too—a genuine one that made her eyes sparkle—and that alone made it worth it.
“Stand-up might not be my forte, either,” he admitted.
“You don’t say.”
“But I’m pretty damned good at helping. So close your eyes.”
She stared at him for a second longer, and then she shifted—regrettably—out of reach, and her eyelids drifted down. As her long, fair lashes hit her cheeks, Remo’s amusement wore off, and a stab of remembered worry took its place. He tried to brush it off and couldn’t. The two times he’d seen her so still with her eyes closed, it’d been because she was unconscious.
But she’s fine now, he reminded himself. Awake. Under medical supervision. Under your supervision.
So why couldn’t he shake the deep concern?
“Are you still there?” she asked softly.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just...uh. Tell me the last thing you remember before waking up here.”
“Right before, or a long time before?”
“Whatever comes to mind first.”
“Being in the ambulance and being confused about why I was there. Then seeing you, and...” She trailed off, a spot of color appearing in each of her cheeks.
“What?”
“I remember thinking your eyes were really blue.”
Remo’s mood lightened again. “My mom’s always said it’s the best thing I got from my dad.”
Celia opened her own eyes a crack. “But it’s not very helpful.”
“Compliments are always helpful,” he said teasingly. “You can keep them coming. Or you can go back to before the ambulance. Up to you.”
Her blush deepened, and she squeezed her eyes shut again quickly. It took her a few moments, though, to say anything else. Remo waited it out. He watched her shoulders rise and fall as her breaths evened out. Then a tiny frown creased her forehead, and her words came out so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.
“It’s not that there’s nothing there,” she murmured. “But it’s all general, jumbled together stuff.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you can remember, then?” Remo suggested. “Some of the general stuff.”
First Responder on Call Page 5
