“I didn’t think you were actually going to go there,” he whispered. “Are you nuts? Had I only known… I thought you were going to mail it, or something…”
Mail it?
“It didn’t even occur to me to mail it. I just… I wanted to fix it. Right away. That’s all.” The thought of Raf walking out of my life assaulted me unbidden, a low and dastardly ambush of my subconscious mind. My eyes began to itch, my nose began to twitch, and I got that awful feeling like I was going to cry. I hadn’t cried since that huge blow-out with my dad years ago, and I took considerable pride in having armored my heart with such ruthless efficiency. Before that, the last time I’d cried was in third grade when a classmate mentioned my mom and she wasn’t alive anymore.
I didn’t do tears well; in fact, I tended to channel emotions into violence and other antisocial acts.
This is all Rafael’s fault.
He’s a pain in the ass.
Pompous prick.
Doesn’t have a clue.
No tears allowed!
“Evelyn…” He straightened up to take a closer look at me.
I sucked it up, balled up my fist, and punched him straight in the jaw. It was a weak, lousy punch from my semi-reclined position. He just looked at me, straight in the eyes, and then he reached out and hugged me to his chest. My change of position made my posterior wound throb, but being in Rafael’s embrace like that was almost worth it so I didn’t say anything.
“I’m so glad you’ll be okay, Eve. So glad. I’m so sorry.”
That did it.
Big, fat tears started to roll down my eyes, and I hid my face in his bloodstained shirt.
“You can punch me again if it will help,” he whispered, his hand rubbing small circles on my back.
SOON AFTER that I went to sleep, knowing that Raf had gone to his place to take a shower and change, and that he was going to stop by in the morning. Trying to sleep in a hospital is generally a miserable experience. As soon as I managed to tune out all those orderlies and nurses walking about and pushing their carts, as soon as I learned to ignore the ringing of phones from the nurses’ station and the beeping of monitors, I finally fell asleep. Then somebody came in and turned the light on so they could take my pulse and measure my blood pressure and temperature, and then I had to work hard to fall asleep all over again. When I saw the skies lighten outside the large, hospital window, I was finally tired enough to get two hours of shut-eye before the doctors started on their morning rounds.
MY EYES stayed glued shut with the rest I craved; the doctors came and went. The orderly brought a breakfast tray and I cussed him out and told him to turn the lights off and close the door, and I went to sleep again.
I felt fingers stroke the hair on my head; a large, warm hand grasped mine.
That sure wasn’t a doctor or an orderly; my chest swelled with emotion.
“Rafael,” I whispered, incredulous and giddy with happiness. “You’re back, Loverboy.”
“Evelyn.” The hand didn’t stop stroking my hair, but his voice –
That voice.
My eyes popped open. Rusty hair shot with white. Stubble on his chin. The wrinkles on his forehead were deeper than I remembered them.
“Evelyn. My darling daughter.”
I wanted to say something, anything, but my words just flew out my ear, bypassing the convenience of my vocal chords and I was lying there on a flimsy hospital pillow with my father sitting next to me, holding my hand and stroking my hair. The last time I had seen him, five years ago, we were yelling at each other all the way to my car I parked by the sidewalk as I was loading up my things, spreading my wings to leave my ancestral nest permanently. I was to choose between Nick, the son of the doctor who somehow failed to keep my mother alive, and the rest of my family. Giving me an ultimatum was a sure way to push me in the other direction. That was then, though, and this was now. Dad had showed up. Even after swearing his shadow would never darken my doorstep, here he was.
“Dad.” I felt a small, uncertain smile tug on the corners of my mouth.
“Your brother Carl called. He got a call from the man who brought you in. He said he got his number from your cell phone.”
I didn’t yank my hand back. I didn’t tell him to get out of my hair.
“You came.” My voice was fuzzy with sleep.
“Of course I came, Evelyn. You’re my girl.” There was pain in his voice, and longing. There was pain in my voice as well.
“Dad…”
Being a dysfunctional child of a dysfunctional parent, I’d always sworn I’d be different from my dad. I’d never be wild and emotional like he was. I wouldn’t embarrass my kids – heck, I wouldn’t even have any. Now we were in this small room together and he had those awful, emotional tears in his eyes.
I looked away.
I didn’t want him to see the wetness on my lashes.
I didn’t do tears well.
I usually transformed emotions into violence; I could feel the ball of my other hand form into a fist.
I had an urge to slug him.
His hand stopped stroking my hair and he tapped his finger on my fist. Our eyes met, both brown and warm, and we grinned our maniacal grins at one another.
That’s when I realized we were almost entirely alike.
THE NURSE came in, asking if I’d accept a visitor. I nodded, and Raf entered the room. He looked a lot better than he had several hours earlier; showered and shaved, and he exuded power and sex appeal in his dark navy suit and a white dress shirt. His grey and cerulean tie brought out the sapphire blue of his eyes.
I pressed the switch on the side of my bed so I could sit up some.
“Hey, Eve,” he said, coming to my side, across the bed from my father. He wanted to bend down, but didn’t. I wanted him to bend down so I could kiss him, but…my dad was there, observing us, his gaze overcast with dark speculation.
“Rafael. This is my father, Dr. Hector Pearson. Dad, this is Mr. Rafael Rinaldi, my…client.”
They rose and shook hands over me; it made me feel like I was spread out on a sacrificial altar.
“I understand it was you who brought Evelyn in last night,” my father said. “Thank you. And thank you for contacting the family. Carl and DeeDee will visit Evelyn later.”
Raf sat down on the doctor’s stool next to me and eyed my untouched breakfast tray.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said, accusatory. “Dr. Hinge instructed me specifically that you get really whiny when you’re sick and won’t eat or drink enough. You’re supposed to keep yourself hydrated, at the very least.” He picked up the cup of orange juice and held it out for me. He didn’t embarrass me by trying to press it to my lips in front of my father, for which he earned some unintended brownie points.
“Which Dr. Hinge?” My father asked.
“Nick Hinge,” Raf replied, his voice not weighed down by years of difficult family history.
“Is that so…” My father’s voice was quiet; our glances barely touched and he looked away as though he was burned.
Yes, father. Nick. Son of Richard. Live with it.
I reached out and sipped some juice and before I knew it, it was gone.
“Still thirsty?” He asked. I nodded. Raf topped my glass off from the water pitcher.
“You’re Evelyn’s client?” My father asked, his voice suspicious. “What kind of services does my daughter perform for you?”
“She manages an advertising campaign for a company I work for,” Raf replied with casual ease. “Speaking of which, the rest of the management team wanted to meet with you next week and discuss some of the salient points you’ve raised. I’ll schedule you later in the week and drive you in – but let me know if you don’t feel up to it, all right?”
I nodded.
“Oh, and I need your invoice so you can get paid.”
My eyes bugged out.
“But I thought…”
“Nonsense,” Rafael said. “I appreciate your ge
nerosity, but this project is too big for you to do just for other client referrals. Keep track of your hours, Pearson.”
I wanted to kiss him.
Except my father was there, discomfort rolling off of him in waves.
My brown eyes met Rafael’s blue ones. He took my glass and topped it off again, took a sip from the place marked by the lip-balm the nurse gave me earlier that morning, and gave it back to me.
“See you after work.”
Still holding his gaze, I lifted the glass of water to my lips and took another sip, accepting his indirect kiss.
MY FATHER left soon after that. The realization that I’d missed him hit me like a ton of bricks. The old argument still hung in the air but we chose to ignore it for now, presumably waiting until some point in the future when I would feel well enough to handle his temper tantrums and ear-shattering tirades.
But, he had come.
Showing up counts – it counts more than anything.
I reclined my bed all the way down and turned onto my stomach again. I did that whenever I was alone; my butt hurt and it would be many days before I felt comfortable sitting on it.
“Hey, Pearson.” Nick came in just as soon as I managed to settle down.
“No, no…don’t flip over. You’d had visitors for too long as it is.” He settled down on the doctor’s stool.
“I’m here to check your dressings.”
He pulled the sheet down and lifted my hospital gown, stripping the tape off my skin to peek underneath the gauze.
“How is it?”
“Looks clean,” he said. His interest was purely professional. “The wound is closing up, no signs of infection. I’ll give you some of these high-tech, non-stick wound dressings. You’ll need to put a fresh one on after you shower, or every third day. The sutures are self-absorbing so you won’t need to come back for that but I’ll want to see you in a week. Who’ll be changing your wound dressings - Rafael?”
“I’ll do it myself,” I grumbled. “Raf and I are kind of new together. Just a few weeks.”
“You won’t be able to reach,” he explained patiently, as though to a child. “You’ll have to come here every third day and have it done.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll cost too much. Without insurance, this alone will cost thousands.”
“You’re not insured?” There was a touch of alarm in his otherwise calm voice.
“Lost my job few weeks ago. The COBRA payments were half as much as my rent. I just simply couldn’t afford it.”
I felt his cool hands put on some fresh tape and cover me back up.
“I’ll have one of the administrators give you forms to fill out; that will cut your bill down a great deal. Oh, speaking of forms, there’s a detective you need to call about that drive-by shooting.”
Drive-by shooting?
“Oh?” I said, not volunteering anything.
“Your boyfriend brought a printout of an article about a shooting in a shopping mall parking lot. Happened last night. Too bad you got caught up in it.” His voice was level, not betraying any emotion but when I turned my head to look at him, his eyes told me a lot more.
“Thanks, Nick. I owe you.” I took the printout from his hand and propped myself on my elbows so I could read what the hell happened to me and where I was supposed to have been at the time.
“Evelyn.” I looked up at him again.
“You need to find a better hobby.”
“You know…?”
“I’ve always known.” He leaned over; I felt his lips brush the top of my hair. “Claire will stop by at your place and bring you some food.”
I couldn’t swear by it, but I think his expression was positively wicked right after he said that.
MY BROTHER Carl and sister DeeDee came over in the afternoon since they had no classes on Saturday. They brought me flowers and balloons and milk chocolates, and kept fussing over me until Dr. Hinge shooed them out. It occurred to me that it was actually Saturday, and Raf had shown up in a suit. If he had to go into the office, why not wear casuals?
And speak of the devil, there he was, sauntering into my room. His sexy suit gone. He wore tan chinos and a black polo shirt and looked drop-dead gorgeous.
“You changed.”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you wear a suit today?”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I knew your father would be here. Your brother, Carl, he said he’d let him know and warned me he’d come first thing in the morning.”
“They just left.” My butt was on fire again. “Sorry, but I have to turn over. I stay facing up only for show.” I tried to flip over, but the actual process took a while as I tried to avoid agitating my grievous injury.
“You got shot in the ass, Eve.” There was a thinly disguised thread of humor in Rafael’s voice.”
“No. No, I got shot in the upper leg.”
“Care to tell me what happened?”
“How’bout she tells me what happened first,” said a voice from the door. I lifted my head and looked over my shoulder. A tall guy with mocha skin and close cropped salt-and-pepper hair stood there, with a police badge hanging out of his chest pocket.
“Jubal Lupine, detective. We’re working on that Pine Creek Mall shooting. That’s where Mr. Rinaldi said you were last night, anyway.” He sounded skeptical. “Can you sit up so I can take your statement, Ms. Pearson?”
“I can’t. I just flipped over; my butt’s killing me. Push that stool around to where I can see you.”
He did that, sitting next to Rafael. I thought hard about the contents of the article Nick gave me. There had been some kind of a gang dispute in the mall parking lot just when it was about to close. Several weapons were fired, and two of the gang-bangers killed one another. Some vehicles got shot up. Obviously I wasn’t going to tell the good detective the truth.
“Yeah. I went to the mall.”
“What for?”
“I needed to buy some software, except by the time I got there, the mall was about to close and I didn’t have enough time to, you know, look at it carefully. So I decided to come back another day, and as I walked to my car, I heard some yelling and shooting. I guess I should have been more alarmed, but it sounded like kids with firecrackers. It was a row or two over, I guess.”
“Did you see any of the shooters?” Detective Lupine asked.
I thought about that. Would have I seen them? Hopefully not.
“No. I was thinking of something else anyway.”
“So what happened next?”
“I felt something sting my butt. I didn’t realize I’d been shot, but it started to hurt on my way home. I didn’t see a good place to stop and get help so I drove home and almost passed out. Then I called my friend and the rest is history.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
You’ve gotta be kidding.
“Well… I guess I wasn’t thinkin’ straight anymore. Once I’d realized it was my butt, I was just… um… embarrassed, y’know? How many people do you know that have been shot in the rear like this?”
Lupine grinned. “Not many. The guys in the squad room are gonna love hearing about this.”
“See? I wanted to avoid just that. An injured lady has no dignity these days.”
Lupine’s jaw muscles worked some as he fought to keep a straight face. He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket; I caught a glimpse of his service weapon in a shoulder holster under his arm.
“If you think of anything to add, Ms. Pearson, here’s my number.”
“Okay,” I said, unable to nod.
“Hope your derriere gets well. Hope you have someone to kiss it all better.”
I could have sworn he chuckled. What an asshole.
“SO CAN I go yet? It’s been two days!” I looked at Dr. Brungo with despair in my eyes. I needed to sleep, and sleep was hard to come by in a hospital. Especially when the ever-mounting costs of a hos
pital stay haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
“Not yet,” the little man said, smiling. “We want to make sure there is no occurrence of ballistic intra-abdominal trauma. That happens fairly often in the case of posterior gluteal penetrative wounds.”
I felt my jaw drop, feeling like an idiot. The good doctor wasn’t speaking English anymore.
“Your ultrasound looked pretty good yesterday,” he said. “We’ll do another one later and then we’ll see. You were very lucky, Ms. Pearson. The weapon was only 9mm caliber, and the round must have had a low-velocity load intended for practice only. There was a bit of a yaw to the projectile, causing some additional damage within your gluteus; on the other hand the rotation of the projectile probably saved your pelvic bone from being compromised. Few more days here and you’ll be ready for release.”
I panicked, tried to sit up. A shot of pain in my rear made me hiss and lie down again.
He looked at me, his big, dark eyes smiling, cajoling. Obviously I wasn’t being a patient patient.
“But I’m not insured, Doc. I can’t afford a hospital stay. You said it’s just soft tissue damage and I’m looking fine – isn’t that what you said?” My eyes strayed toward Nick, who was standing behind Dr. Brungo, taking copious notes.
Dr. Brungo glanced at his watch. “Dr. Hinge will explain it to you in laymen’s terms, Ms. Pearson.”
I NEVER knew a simple shot in my ass could have caused abdominal injury and hemorrhaging and sepsis and all that kind of stuff. I was lying on my stomach, pissed off and worried. I was supposed to be in the hospital to get better, but it was hard to get better when my mind wouldn’t let go of the topic of my astronomically mounting hospital bill. I hate to belabor the obvious, but really, there wasn’t much else that was on my mind. My butt would heal on its own. My bank account, not so much.
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 23
