by Marie Wathen
“I trust you Morgan or I wouldn’t be here now. Will you please tell me where you are taking me?”
“There.” He points to a large house sitting behind gated fences and a security system that looks new.
Gasping loudly, I lose total control of myself, feeling the nausea and trembling taking over.
“No,” I whisper, shocked that Morgan would consider doing this to me.
“You can trust me. I’ve made arrangements for you to get in without being seen. Breesan just let me do this.”
“Why?”
Pulling up to the entrance, Morgan taps a code onto the keypad before answering, “There’s someone here you need to speak with.”
The gate slides open slowly allowing our entry onto the Walker estate and my nerves begin to buzz like a busted florescent light fixture needing attention. Trying to calm myself, I stroke my hands over my arms as Morgan pulls his car around the side of the house and into the large four car garage. Except for Morgan’s black BMW there are no other vehicles in the bay, which helps settle my anxiety. No one seeing me here is of the utmost importance. He knows this and if I hadn’t been so accepting of his excitement and promises I would never have come here with him. Shutting off the car, he turns to me and grabs my shaky hand.
“Don’t be angry with me, I must do this. I can’t erase the past, but doing this will ease the pain of it all. Tristan is here. You have been denied seeing him long enough.” A sob leaves my mouth and I urgently clasp my free hand over it. “You understand how serious his condition is, right?” Facing forward staring out the front window at the entry door, I nod slowly, unable to form words and afraid that the sobs will be uncontrollable once allowed.
“Granddad had most of the basement converted into a hospital room when Tristan woke up last week. The construction crew worked around the clock until they finished it a couple of days ago. They moved him in early yesterday with a full staff of nurses and of course his doctor will be paid an obscene amount of money for the house calls.”
My head twitches up and down in response to his explanation. Suddenly I’m anticipating seeing Tristan with renewed excitement.
“Breesan, there are some things that the doctor isn’t sure about. He told us before Trist woke up that we should prepare for the worst. He is out of the coma, but they are continuing to sedate him to ward off the pain. As far as his injury goes, he still has the bandage covering the stitches that run above his ear. Lucky for that ugly little shit, when his hair grows out it won’t be noticeable,” he snorts, trying to inject humor along with the gruesome facts.
“If he has a full staff, how are you going to get me in and out, without anyone seeing me?” I ask, my eyes still glued on the door separating me from my friend.
“Oh, I am a very resourceful man Ms. Maxwell.”
He reaches a hand behind my seat pulling a leather satchel out and placing it on my lap. With his head tipped down, a smile slowly sneaks across his lips as he unhooks the buckles on the bag. Pulling out a white garment he holds it up and corrects himself. “I mean, Nurse Stephanie. This is the outfit of choice selected by my father for the female staff,” he shrugs seemingly embarrassed by his father.
Understanding that I now have another persona to fake, I huff out a full breath. “You really think this will work?” I ask holding up the garment.
“If it doesn’t, I will have the perfect vision for my nightly fantasies with you in this skimpy dress to last the rest of my life.”
Blowing hair out of my face with a quick breath, I roll my eyes and look at him before punching his arm. “Oh my god, stop being a creeper. How long can I stay with him?”
Morgan laughs. “Nurse Stephanie is on the schedule for a couple of hours. When we go inside just smile, nod and let me handle the nurse on shift. I’ll have her out of that room in no time.”
I duck into a bathroom two doors down from the room Morgan points out as Tristan’s. Quickly I exchange my clothes with the very short, very skimpy nurse’s dress and shove my things into the leather satchel. Cautiously, I peek into the hallway, exit and sneak my way to the room. True to his word, Morgan charms the hell out of the pretty nurse within a couple of minutes. Rooted in place, I am left alone in the room with a sleeping Tristan. My eyes scan over all of him. This time I’m prepared for him to look bad, but I am wrong. He looks so much better.
The bandage on his head is smaller and only covering the right side of his head just above his ear. There is swelling and the bruises are still very prominent and dark. I take several long, slow strides forward until I stand beside his bed. Hovering over him, I can see the scruff on his jaw line and silently giggle knowing he would freak out if he could see it.
Tristan has always kept his appearance perfect. Ever the compliant young professional, he didn’t get a tattoo, or a piercing the moment he was old enough. Even as badass as he was playing football, he never sustained an injury that left a mark behind. Looking at the bandage that protects his new scar, I am thankful that it will be covered by his hair once it grows back out.
“Mmm.” His eyebrows draw in tightly as he moans in his sleep. “Ughhhhh.”
I spot the intravenous tube still in his hand and search around the bedside table for his chart. His pain medicine must be wearing off, but I don’t have a clue how to help him. Flipping through the papers, I spot the note that reads his pain medicine is overdue. Shit.
“Ughhhh, ughhhh.” Through his groaning I hear a loud gasp and quickly shift my eyes back to him. He is staring at me, pain engulfing his features.
“Shh, give me just a minute Tristan. I’m trying to find your medicine.”
Understanding me, he nods his head before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. I frantically begin digging through the cabinet beside his nightstand and discover several filled vials. Reaching a shaky hand up for a syringe, I freeze realizing I don’t know what the hell I am doing and I could hurt him more–or worse, I could kill him. Glancing back over, I watch his chest rise and fall rapidly indicating he is struggling to hold in his pain. I must help him. I turn around on my heel and rush out of the room. Finding Morgan and the nurse standing on the other side of the closed door, I exhale and explain that I need her assistance since it’s my first day with him. She flashes a flirtatious smile at Morgan and walks immediately over to Tristan.
“Damn, this was a bad idea,” I say through my clenched jaw. “He’s hurting and I can’t help him.”
Shifting his eyes from me to Tristan and finally landing on the nurse, Morgan casually counters, “He’s fine. He just needs his pain medicine.”
“Exactly! And I don’t know a damn thing about giving medicine. What if I had hurt him by giving him too much medicine? Morgan we have to go.” I rush my words, hoping that he will appease my pleas.
“We’re not leaving. I’ve convinced her to take a break so I can spend a few private moments with him. She drives a hard bargain, but I bought you at least an hour.”
“Fine,” I breathe dejectedly, watching the real nurse inject Tristan’s liquid relief into the small hub connected to his IV and I feel my own body relax slightly.
After explaining a few details of his routine, she leaves us alone without so much as a sideways glance. Clearly, whatever Morgan offered her is a huge motivator for her to abandon her responsibilities. Morgan takes the seat next to Tristan’s bed and begins talking to him like he isn’t even aware of the head injury.
“I have never seen you so lazy, Trist. You know, I expected you to be working the beat already. When you do finally drag your ass out of this bed you’re going to have hit the gym for a month straight to get rid of your gut and cankles.”
“Will you please, just shut the hell up?” Tristan groans with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh really?” Morgan winks at me and says, “You’re going to say that to me after I bring you a special gift? Wow! Well, maybe we should just go and let you have some peace and quiet, old man.”
“Ugh, fine.�
�� Caving in, Tristan pouts playfully staring at his cousin. “You can stay, but cut me some slack. I’m injured.”
Morgan begins laughing and Tristan lays his hand heavy against his stomach trying to stay the pain. Grateful seeing their jovial banter return, I am freed from the oppressive stress that held me since arriving. I smile as they continue laughing for another moment.
Tristan turns his head my way and a beautiful grin breaks, “Well, hello again pretty lady.”
“Hi yourself.” Joining the conversation, I sit on the edge of his bed next to Morgan. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive my foul language.” Wincing through his apology, Tristan’s eyes mirror his plea.
“I forgive you.” Smiling at his goofy and unnecessary apology, I shrug a shoulder, “but honestly I’ve heard you say worse.”
His grin grows wicked as his eyes scan over my outfit, “You look smoking hot in that little white uniform.”
Rolling my eyes at his dramatics, I slap his hand lying near my leg. “Jerk!” I snort.
He catches my hand and tugs on it, drawing me nearer. With his eyes latched on mine, Tristan’s look shifts to something unrecognizable. As a rule, Tristan and I have never been touchy-feely, but that changed recently. After the chaos and pain I endured at the graduation party and nearly losing him, I have reevaluated my life and checked my automatic freak outs toward intimacy. Still slightly uncomfortable with it, I grudgingly allow him to pull me down to his face and wait for him to speak; but he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me. Hard.
His eyes break from mine and move over every inch of my face slowly, like he’s memorizing the details. Being this close and feeling so intimate my emotions begin choking in my throat. He releases my hand, sliding his up my arm and stopping at my cheek. Warmth from his large hand cups my face while his thumb strokes tenderly over my cheekbone. His sweet simple touch reminds me that he is one of the best men I have ever known. Tristan has always been here for me and he knows me better than almost anyone. Except Anna.
His tongue sweeps out to moisten his lips as he drags my forehead toward them. It is a sweet gesture and my heart trips with the love I have for this amazing man. Tristan’s fingers slowly laces through my hair as he pushes my head upward and stares deep into my eyes again. Releasing a heavy sigh after seeing a subtle darkening in his eyes, I squeeze mine tightly, hearing alarms sounding in my head urging me to break away immediately, but I fight against it and tell myself that everything is okay.
The grip Tristan has on my head tightens as he pulls me down again, crashing my lips onto his. My eyes flash open as he moves his mouth roughly over mine. Panic squeezes deep in my chest and a maniacal scream erupts inside my head. No! Pressing my hands on his chest, I force my mouth away from him. I literally jump back several feet away from the bed. I cup my hand across my mouth to smother the shriek trying to break free from my throat.
“What the fuck Tristan?” Morgan growls angrily, grabbing my elbow and towing me farther away from the bed.
“I was accepting my gift, Morgan.” Chuckling lightly, Tristan sweeps his eyes from me to Morgan. “Why are you freaking out? Didn’t you bring this little beauty in here to make me feel better?”
“Yes, but not so you could to do that to her,” Morgan defends fiercely.
Abundant, heavy emotions run through my mind simultaneously, each one fighting to dominate the moment. Betrayal, hurt, and guilt win out over all of them. Scarce trembling transforms into full blown body racking spasms as I clutch desperately to Morgan’s arm, depending on him entirely for stability. Gravity threatens to sever my stance and my sanity.
Tristan sighs, “Really, Morgan? You dress that hot body in a naughty nurse’s uniform and expect me to keep my hands to myself? Not likely. She’s sexy as hell and tastes like cherries.” Wicked eyes flash and lock on mine. “Come back over here honey and let’s get to know each other better.”
Gasping loudly, I stammer, “What…what did you… just say, Tristan?”
An obscene grin eclipses the familiarity of the sweet grin I have known my entire life as he replies, “See, that’s not fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
Dizziness from the lack of oxygen entering my body has my head spinning. My knees buckle and I sway against Morgan, nearly knocking him over. From the horrified look on his face it wouldn’t take much to do just that. He draws me protectively into his arms and begins rushing us out of the room and away from the man–my best friend–who acts like he doesn’t know me anymore.
I snap, “Stop!” My anger boils up and I press away from Morgan’s hold. His steps falter as I spin around and charge back toward Tristan.
Morgan follows, grasps my elbow and places his mouth against my ear, growling low enough that Tristan can’t hear him, “Hell no. I’m getting you out of here right now. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but something is definitely fucked up.”
I stare down at his hand gripping my arm tightly then shoot him a warning glare.
“Let go of me now,” He does and I turn my attention to Tristan. “What do you mean you don’t know my name?”
Displaying his famous lopsided grin, he shrugs his shoulders and glances between me and Morgan before replying.
“I’m sorry if I upset you baby doll. Should I know you?”
Morgan responds, allowing me a chance to catch my breath. “Wait. You know me, right?” He asks. Tristan nods his head, answering yes. Pointing a finger my direction, Morgan continues, “But you don’t know who she is?”
Tristan narrows his eyes at me, devoting several moments to slowly scanning every inch of me and after that kiss an icky feeling traces their path. I struggle fiercely with wanting to run away, but I can’t do that. I must figure out what is going on.
“No.” Tristan answers.
Truth
Piercing Morgan with unruly and hateful eyes, I strike like a rattlesnake with my venomous bite, revealing my conspiracy theory and accusations.
“Someone is keeping this information from us. Someone doesn’t want us to know that he can’t…” I don’t finish my thought. My heart clenches with fear that he may actually have also forgotten Anna, the love of his life.
“Who would do that and what gain can come from keeping that information from us?”
“I don’t know.” My tone softens as I turn and narrow my eyes at Tristan. “But we can’t leave him here, like this.”
“For now, there’s nothing we can do. He’s in no condition to move.”
“Does someone want to clue me in on what the hell ya’ll are going on about?” Tristan interrupts, his voice raspy mixed with pain and the sedative.
Resigning that we can’t take him with us now, I approach the bed again and find the will to tamp down my hostility enough to soothe him.
“I think perhaps it’s just a misunderstanding. We’ll work it out later, but for now you need rest.”
Closing his eyes, Tristan sighs and nods in agreement.
We enter the garage and Morgan holds open the passenger side door of his car, allowing me to sit before shutting it and leaving me to fetch the real nurse. Even though Tristan is alive, I feel like I have lost him. How can he not remember me? I don’t care what it takes I’m going to get to the bottom of this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Morgan
Brewing with an all consuming rage, I storm back into Tristan’s room ready to cuss the little bastard out for all that he is worth for manhandling Breesan and kissing her…and because he forgot her. How the hell can he forget her; and what about Anna?
Impossible. He could never forget the girl he has loved since he was a kid. Honestly, it isn’t Tristan that I’m angry with. I am more pissed off that someone in my family has kept the fact that he can’t remember shit from me.
Forcing open his bedroom door with damn near every bit of my strength, it bounces hard off the wall behind it. My feet freeze, stalling on the threshold at the shockin
g sight set before me.
“What the hell is your problem?” Tristan winces, lifting his hand to the side of his head, clearly still in a lot of pain.
“Hello Morgan.” A sweet fake greeting from a truly naughty nurse, standing beside Tristan’s bed, sends a wave of disgust coursing through my veins.
Finding my voice and my ability to walk again, I answer Tristan as I approach his bed. I glare down at him and notice the intimate way that Elise’s hand is laying on his bare chest.
“Why don’t you two tell me what the fuck is going on here?” I bark with a deep and menacing tone.
“You’re not the only one who brought me a gift. My dad moved in sweet Elise here to help with my recovery.” He emphasizes the word while waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Covering her tiny hand pressing against his chest with his, he begins sliding them down his stomach toward the hard-on tenting his sheets. “Elise, the guy closing the door behind him as he leaves now is my cousin Morgan. Goodbye Morgan.”
My mind swirls cyclonically and I stagger backward from the cumulative information, but somehow manage to walk toward the garage. Tristan’s memory is fucked up and he’s turned into a horn-dog. Elise is staying here for him and apparently not just to help him with recovering from his injury. Not good. Those disgusting thoughts aside, the key here is Tristan saying his dad is responsible for her being here. Apparently forcing me to marry Elise is no longer their plan to merge with Carrington International. Beck and Barret Walker are behind this bullshit!
“So, the prodigal son decides to grace us with his presence.”
With a hand resting on the door knob to the garage after opening it, I pause as my father’s words wash over me like hot lava. I refuse to play into his taunts to rile me up so I plaster a fake smirk and turn to face him head on.
Releasing the door that I seriously want to rip off the hinges, I reply coolly, “Dad.”
“I’m surprised to see you here. I was told you moved out after returning from your frolic across the country. What do you have to say for flagrantly disregarding your role in this family Morgan?”His superiority resonates brighter than his smug smile, and I would love to wipe that shit off his face.
