And as I sprinted toward the car, I dug in my pocket for my phone to call 911.
“FUCK!” I screamed out loud, remembering where it was. “Somebody help! Please!”
I yelled, hoping to alert a passerby. The night was utterly silent, and now that the wreck had settled, everything seemed completely still. I ran as fast as I could, cold tears dripping down my face. I knew it was Jude in that car. In the pit of my gut, I knew it was him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
It was as if everything had happened in slow motion: the skidding of the tires. The way his car tumbled around on itself in the air. The way he came crashing down before sliding to a stop on its hood. It made me sick to my stomach. It made me want to scream out in horror and vomit up the bile I’d been swallowing down for months upon months upon months. I ran as quickly as I could, cursing myself for not being able to run any faster. And as I skidded to a stop beside the car, fear clenched my gut.
“Jude!” I roared.
It was flipped upside down and smashed almost flat. I yanked at the door and gave a shout of relief when it opened. And there, hanging suspended by his seat belt--just as I knew it would be--was Jude.
Blood dripped down his face, and one leg hung at a terrible angle.
“Jude!” I screamed, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Jude, wake up!”
But, he didn’t so much as flinch.
I hissed. “Your phone, where’s your fucking phone?”
I dug into his pockets but found nothing. And when I started looking around, I found smashed remnants of what looked like his goddamn phone shattered against the windshield. It wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t just the phone that caught my eye, because twinkling in the effervescent moonlight with ice still pelting down against my back were the remnants of a bottle of vodka. And the smell of it was strong.
“Jude, please,” I whimpered.
Finally, I found his phone, miraculously unharmed under the passenger seat. I didn’t have any idea what piece of electronic had shattered against his windshield, but I also didn’t care. God had finally smiled upon me, and I scrambled for the phone so I could call for help.
And I hoped to God Jude wasn’t dead.
12
Lila
“Ms. Lila, wake up.”
A voice hit hard against my ears and my mouth tasted awful. My tongue felt like a dead piece of sandpaper.
“Leave me alone.” I turned away from the light into the coolness of my pillow. “Don’t feel well.”
“Ms. Lila,” the voice continued. “It’s your brother.”
I shot up like a bat out of hell. “What? What’s happened?”
It was one of the housekeepers, looking pale and frightened and probably wondering how the hell she had ended up with this task.
“There’s been an accident. He’s at St. Joseph’s.”
I jumped out of bed, not even bothering to worry about Margeaux, who still hadn’t woken up.
“Is he all right?” I gripped the girl’s shoulders tightly, ignoring her flinch of pain.
“I’m not sure, ma’am. Your mother will be leaving shortly. She says to be ready in twenty minutes.”
I scoffed. “Fuck that. I’m leaving now. Tell her I’ll meet her there.”
I grabbed my purse and sprinted down the stairs, not bothering to piece myself together. If Mother wanted to put on makeup and get dolled up for some fucking hospital trip, that was on her. But, I wasn’t wasting anymore time.
“Miss Lila, wait! Your mother won’t be happy with you leaving like that!” It was one of the assistants standing at the door with my mother’s coat and purse at the ready.
I didn’t bother to answer. Fuck them all, at this point.
My hands shook as I tried to shove the keys into the ignition, but I finally got it and took off towards St. Joseph’s. Thank God, they had valet parking. I threw my keys at the attendant, not stopping to close the door behind me, and ran into the lobby. And the wild eyes of the nurse behind the desk gave me a small glimpse into what I must have looked like.
“My brother’s here,” I said to the nurse.
She held up a finger, indicating the phone she was speaking into. I reached across the desk and hit the switch hook, ending the call.
“Jude Carlisle,” I said hotly. “Tell me where he is.”
She glared at me, but when the phone rang again, I hit the switch once more
“I’ll do this all night if I have to,” I warned.
She turned to her computer and clicked a few times. “Jude Carlisle is in the ICU. Down the hall and to your left.”
But, I was down the hall before she could finish her sentence.
ICU? What the hell had happened to my brother?
I started to shake as I approached the door she had commanded me to head toward. And as I paused just beyond the entrance to the doorway, I blinked back the tears that threatened to flood my face.
I can’t lose Jude on the anniversary of our father’s death.
And I prayed to any God that might bother listening as I placed my hand on the doorknob.
13
Brooklyn
I heard Lila’s voice before I saw her.
“Where the fuck is my brother?”
The sound of a nurse trying to calm her down was cut off by Lila’s voice rising close to a scream. I jumped up and stuck my head outside the door.
“Lila!” I called. “He’s here.”
She ran through the door and to Jude’s side. He was unconscious, pale, and still in the bed.
“What happened?”
I shook my head. “He was in a car accident. He was drinking. That’s all I know. They said a doctor will be in here soon.”
“Fuck that.” Even wearing the bedraggled remains of a party dress and no shoes, mascara smeared and hair half up and half escaping from a mess of bobby pins, she cut an intimidating figure. “I’ll go get one now.”
Halfway through the door, she stopped. “Wait. What are you doing here?” She looked between the two of us. “Were you two together?”
I shook my head. “I was out for a walk. He was driving too fast down Main, and I saw the car slip. I called the ambulance and rode here with them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth. There’s nothing between the two of us anymore. Do I even look injured to you right now? If we had been together, I’d be in the room next to him.”
She left the room without responding. Within a few minutes, she was back with a harried-looking doctor. “Ma’am, as I said, I’m not the doctor on your brother’s case.”
She grabbed the chart at the end of his bed and thrust it at him, pinning him with a look that would’ve shook anyone to their core. So, the doctor did the smart thing: he kept his mouth shut and flipped the chart open.
Then, the doctor flipped it closed. “It looks like your brother broke his leg in the crash. He has a concussion, bruised ribs, and some other minor injuries. We’ll keep him overnight to monitor him, but with time, he should be just fine.”
Lila wilted with relief. But, before she could respond, a voice from the door chimed in, “Thank you, Doctor. However, your overnight attention won’t be unnecessary.”
Congresswoman Carlisle, looking perfectly put together, stood at the door with two assistants flanking her. And she spoke to them as if no one else were in the room but her and the doctor. “We will have a private ambulance take him home.”
“Mom—” Lila started, but the congresswoman brought up one hand to silence her.
“Hush, Lila.” She nodded to the assistants, who went out, presumably to make the necessary arrangements.
The doctor sighed again, and it almost seemed like he knew putting up a fight wouldn’t matter. “Ma’am, it would really be better to leave him here for now. His body has been through a great deal of trauma.”
She nodded. “Thank you for your opinion, Doctor…”
“Samuels,�
� he supplied.
“Dr. Samuels. My son will be receiving one-on-one care from one of the top physicians in the state. Can you really claim that he will receive better care here, as one amongst many?” She lifted an eyebrow at him.
“I see your point. Still, having him moved now seems unwise, considering—”
“Enough. I know what is best for my son.” Her eyes fastened on me, leaning against the back corner of the room. “You. What are you doing here?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I saw the crash. I was first on the scene and called the ambulance. I rode here with him just in case.”
She clicked her tongue. “You just happened to be out, in the same area in the middle of the night, when he crashed?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
One of the assistants reappeared at her elbow. “Congresswoman, the ambulance will be ready to move him home in ten minutes. Dr. Pearce is on his way and will meet you at the manor.”
I edged past Lila, who was sitting at the end of the bed clutching Jude’s pale hand, toward the door. “It looks like you have everything under control. I’ll get out of your way.”
“Stop.” The congresswoman looked me up and down. “Was he drunk?”
“I wasn’t with him, so I can’t say for sure.”
“You were there first. Tell me, was he drunk?”
“It seems like he was, yes.”
She paused. “Then I need something from you. There’s only so much I can do to limit the exposure on this. Getting him home quickly is part of that, but hiring a full-time carer to nurse him from home is another. We would need at least two, maybe three aids to comply with labor laws. A home aid would likely be more than happy to provide care and then take a little bit extra on the side from a gossip magazine.”
I didn’t understand what she was getting at. And as I watched the cogs turning behind her eyes, I knew this wouldn’t be good for me.
She snickered. ‘Real Life in the Carlisle Manor,’ I can see the headlines clearly.”
“’A Sneak Peek at a Congresswoman’s Life,’” piped up the assistant at her side.
Congresswoman Carlisle shot the woman a withering look. “My point is that you already know the ugly and work for us. I would like you to help provide Jude’s care while he rehabilitates.”
“I’m not a nurse.” I folded my arms across my chest.
She waved a hand at me. “You don’t need to be a nurse. All you will be doing is following the directions provided by his physician. Making sure he takes his medicine, does whatever rehab exercises he will need to restore full function, and fetch him things. School’s not in session yet, and there’s still five more weeks to go before it starts back up. So, he doesn’t need to go anywhere. And the other household staff will assist you.”
“I don’t think so.” I started to edge forward again, but she did not move out of my path.
I sighed, but I didn’t say anything.
“I will compensate you.” She fixed me with a look. “Handsomely. And I would want you on site 24/7, so you would be given housing as well.”
That gave me pause. If my two goals at the moment were to dig up dirt on the Carlisles and eventually escape out from under their thumb, wouldn’t living there get me that much closer? On site 24/7, where I could possibly dig up something to use against them, and use the extra money earned to start over elsewhere.
I looked up into the Congresswoman’s eyes. “If you want me to stay at the manor, you’ll have to pay my rent and bills for my apartment, so I have somewhere to go back to after Jude has healed.”
She blinked. “Fine.”
“And what about my regular duties?”
“Reassigned.”
“Janey?”
“Reassigned. I’m sure Jude will be capable, even injured, of acting as your supervisor.”
I nodded. “Fine then. Let’s talk salary.”
14
Lila
I was seeing red. As my mother and Brooklyn left the room, speaking the language that my mother knew so well--the language of making a deal--I balled up the end of the hospital blanket in my fist and counted to ten to calm down. All she cared about was money. She hadn’t even come to the bed to see her fucking son, and already she was thinking about headlines and what it might do to the family name.
Tears of anger and worry slipped down my cheeks.
“Li.” His voice was quiet, but I heard it right away.
“Jude.” I leaned forward, cupping his face in my hands. “Jude, what do you need? Are you in pain?”
I jammed the call button at his bedside quickly.
“Li,” he said again. “Br—” He swallowed, and it looked painful. His eyes weren’t even open.
“What? Jude, what are you saying?” I leaned closer.
“Brooklyn.” His whisper was clear. “Brooklyn.” With effort, his eyes opened. “Brooklyn.”
“What about her?”
He was staring straight at me, doing his best to communicate something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Brooklyn,” he said again, and then his eyes closed. His breathing steadied, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
I leaned my forehead against his, trying to understand. Had he known it was she who found him at the accident? Or had they been together, and he was wondering where she was? I furrowed my brow. That didn’t make sense, because with as bad of an accident as it was, she wouldn’t be sitting here clean and unscathed. She was right on that point. Plus, I clocked her outfit. It did look like something someone like her would wear for a walk at night and definitely not something to go out with a guy. Jude was in a hospital gown, but the tux he’d worn to the benefit was in a heap on a table nearby.
Had he been asking for her? Had the first thing he had wanted upon coming to, after nearly dying, been her?
My God, what have I done?
15
Brooklyn
Congresswoman Carlisle had sent me home in a town car to gather my things and return straight to the manor. I felt bad making the guy driving the car wait in the middle of the night, so I rushed to pack. Grabbing a duffel, I threw in my toiletries, computer, charger, and phone charger—hopefully I’d be able to grab my phone back soon, because it was definitely dead by now—a few books, and some clothes. I took one last quick look around, shut off the thermostat, locked the balcony door, and left.
I didn’t own much, and there wasn’t much I needed.
The driver returned me to the manor as the sun was beginning to rise. I walked through the front door for the first time, where one of the assistants was waiting. And the second I walked into that manor with my head held high, the smallest part of me felt guilty for negotiating money at the expense of Jude’s wellness.
Then again, it wasn’t as if he was mine to care about anyway.
The assistant nodded. “I’ll take you to your room.”
I hoisted my bag on my shoulder. “I clean this house, so I know where everything is. You could just tell me which one.”
She didn’t respond as she started up the steps. “The congresswoman said to tell you that you are welcome to anything in the kitchen at any time. Please refrain from eating in the dining room, however, as that is reserved for the family and their guests. Jude may take his meals where he likes and is excused from family dinners this week, but next week will depend on what his doctor says. He is not to leave the house, and he is not to be given any alcohol.”
We stopped at the guest room across the hall from Jude’s bedroom.
“Here’s your room, Miss James.”
I shook my head. “’Brooklyn’ is fine.”
She didn’t say anything as she opened the door, and even though I had cleaned it more times than I could count, I couldn’t help but feel a little swoop of excitement at the thought that I would be living here. A king-size, four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room atop sumptuously thick white carpet. There was a little balcony off the side overlooking the inner c
ourtyard, and an en-suite with a clawfoot bathtub. Because I knew this house so well, I knew that I had been given the smallest, least impressively-placed guest room. Yet even so, compared to my crappy studio? This was heaven.
I dropped my duffel onto the carpet, earning myself a snotty look from the assistant. “Your duties, aside from offering Jude twenty-four-hour care, include the care and upkeep of this room, his room, and Lila’s room. Understood?”
I furrowed my brow. “That wasn’t what we agreed upon.”
I didn’t know for sure, but I had a pretty good idea that Jude would be a cranky, needy patient, leaving little time for housekeeping.
“Actually, it was,” she said with a smug little smile. “The congresswoman is very careful with her wording. If you misunderstood what you agreed to, that’s on you.”
I shook my head. “She never said anything about housekeeping duties.”
She pulled out a recorder that I recognized and hit ‘play.’ I heard the congresswoman’s voice clearly.
“... and room care, of course.”
“Of course.” That was me responding.
The assistant shut off the recorder.
I rolled my eyes. “First of all, did you have that ready to roll because you knew it was an underhanded move that I would need proof of? And secondly, room care doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“It’s all in the contract you signed.” She dropped the sheaf of papers I’d scrawled my name across earlier on the small desk across from the bed. “We did suggest you take the time to have your lawyer peruse it before signing.”
They had suggested that. But what kind of a person had a lawyer on retainer for a 3:00 in the morning for contract perusal? Clearly the congresswoman did, considering someone had drawn that thing up awfully quickly. Did they really expect me to have something like that, though?
BITTER PRINCE | A DARK COLLEGE BULLY ROMANCE: HEIRS OF HAVOC Page 6
