Need (Bad Boys with Billions Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Carol

  Sunshine punched through the clouds as soon as we hit the Oregon coast.

  The drive from Portland had been beautiful—a topsy-turvy blacktop ribbon unfolding toward my little girl. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the sun in San Francisco, and I took the weather and pleasant company as a good omen.

  “Thanks again for coming with me,” I said to Nathan, who drove our rental sedan.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” I believed him. His expression was intense, as if he understood the gravity of how important this trip was to me. When he took my hand and kissed my palm his movement seemed heavy, as if he’d placed great stock in getting even that simple kiss just right.

  We held hands the last few miles to the motel that would be our temporary home.

  Though my condo had a bay view, the sight of the Pacific winking alongside us struck me as much more grand. That infinite blue reminded me that anything was possible. In the moment, my happiness was so complete it was scary.

  The GPS on my phone said, “The destination is on your left.”

  I’d found the mom-and-pop seaside motel online. It had only fifteen rooms, all individually themed and featuring fireplaces, soaking tubs, and decks with ocean views. We registered and used our old-fashioned key to enter “The Shipyard.”

  “Hope you like boats.” Nathan leaned against the open door.

  I spanked his smart ass. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  A good thing, since everywhere I looked was yachty bric-a-brac and paintings. Even the bedding featured sailboats with dinghy-shaped throw pillows. All of this made for an overall cozy feel that transported me to a time when I’d been a little girl visiting my grandparents.

  Nathan returned to the car for our bags.

  I opened the sliders leading to the deck.

  The fall breeze was cool, and I tucked my hands in my pockets, closing my eyes and tipping my face back. The sun’s healing heat soaked deep, lulling me to a place where I wasn’t fooling myself by thinking what I’d come to Pine Shores to find would be easy. It hadn’t been enough to merely locate the girl Owen and Garrett had assured me was my daughter. I desperately wanted to hug her, to breathe in her little-girl sweetness. What was her favorite color and food? Did she play with dolls or climb trees?

  “What’re you thinking about?” Nathan paused behind me, slipping his arms around my waist. I leaned back, drawing from his strength. For a split second I could have sworn he’d flinched, but I must have imagined it, because now, he held me with enough strength yet tenderness to make me feel not quite so alone.

  I sighed. “I guess so many things that I don’t even know what to tell you. This has happened so fast. You must think I’m losing it—dragging you all this way for a pipe dream. Honestly, there’s a very real possibility that the moment I introduce myself to Conner and Stacia Holden, they’ll call the police and slap a restraining order on me. And if that’s the case . . .” I hugged myself not only against the cold wind, but the icy fear stemming from the prospect of my quest being over as soon as it had begun. “Well, if that’s what they want for their daughter, I’ll have to respect that, and hand over the letter I wrote for them to give Fern when she turns eighteen. I like that name, don’t you? It’s scholarly, yet has a touch of whimsy. Owen only showed me a few of Fern’s school photos, but I like to think she wears her long hair braided when she plays.”

  He rested his chin on my shoulder and I stroked his whisker-stubbled cheek. “This time, you know for sure she’s yours?”

  “Without DNA, nothing’s one hundred percent, but nobody hacks like Owen, and he found the adoption papers tracing Fern’s parents directly to me.” The couple were the top-selling Realtors in Pine Shores. My intent was to scope out their office tonight, then drop by for a visit when they opened in the morning. Owen and Garrett felt this whole matter should have been handled via registered letter, but I disagreed. The immediate reaction upon seeing a registered letter was negative. I wanted the couple to view me not as a threat, but eventually as someone who could be an asset to their daughter’s life. I also needed to assure them I had no intention of fighting for custody. I only wanted to make sure my daughter—Fern—was okay. Of course, I would eventually like to be her friend, but I understood that could be years down the road, if ever.

  “Good. Your plan is solid. All we can do now is wait.”

  “I feel antsy.” I covered Nathan’s hands with my own. “Want to walk on the beach?”

  “Yeah, but . . . first, could we take a nap? Then I wanna talk.”

  “Sure.” I turned to face him. “You all right? You’re pale.”

  “I’m good,” he assured me. “Just tired.”

  “Okay, you sleep and I’ll walk off the excess energy, and hopefully, by the time I get back, you’ll feel up for a reconnaissance mission.”

  After a lingering kiss, I changed into yoga pants, a tank, a fitted hoodie, and sneakers, then paced the rocky shore, stopping to inspect tidal pools and a piece of driftwood I’d sworn from a distance had been a seal. The breeze caught my hair and swept through my mind like a broom, clearing doubts and fears to make way for daydreaming about how wonderful my morning meeting could go.

  That’s what Nathan did for me—made me look at my proverbial glass as not merely half-full, but bubbling over with champagne and whipped cream and cherries. I blanched at the notion of all of that being in the same glass, but I could always use two glasses.

  I’d left my phone in the room, and wasn’t sure how long or far I’d walked when my aching legs told me I’d gone far enough.

  By the time I got back to the room, I was ready for my own nap.

  Nathan was still sleeping, so I crawled into bed alongside him, spooning him from behind. I’d lain there a few minutes when I realized his breathing was off.

  Instantly awake, I made the short trip to his side of the bed to turn on his nightstand’s lamp. His coloring struck me as unnaturally pale, and his breaths were more like gasps.

  “Nathan?” I gave him a light shake. He showed no sign of response, so I shook him again, only harder. “Nathan? Honey, what’s wrong? Wake up!” When he didn’t, with my heart in my throat, I dialed 9-1-1.

  It seemed to take years for the ambulance to show.

  Decades for someone to tell me what was wrong.

  My existence funneled to broken snatches of medical jargon that might as well have been Latin.

  Negative on obstructed airway.

  Let’s get a pulse ox.

  One blink, and Nathan looked as if he’d stopped breathing. Two blinks, and he’d been placed on a gurney and rolled to the ambulance.

  A small crowd gathered, and the elderly woman who’d checked us into our room now had her arm around me, murmuring niceties that I knew were well intentioned, but that failed to ease my panic.

  “Ma’am?” a paramedic asked. “We’re taking him to Pine Shores Memorial if you’d like to follow.”

  “I’ll drive you,” the checkout lady said. I didn’t know her name.

  “I-I need to stay with Nathan,” I said, but the paramedics had already shut their vehicle’s double doors. What happened? He’d been fine earlier. Had he eaten something bad since I’d been gone? Why was it that the moment I let the universe know I was happy, my life went straight to hell?

  The ER waiting room was a medical cornucopia.

  Two screaming babies. A moaning elderly man. A middle-aged woman coughing. A teen nursing a bruised and swollen arm. A little kid dressed as a pirate who kept wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. Still more people occupied all available chairs with no visible issues aside from boredom.

  A TV blared Poltergeist.

  I’d learned my angel’s name was Ingrid, and she led me to the information desk to ask about Nathan. I lied, telling them he was my fiancé. The clerk made a call, then told me she’d buzz me back as soon as Nathan’s nurse allowed him to have a visitor.

  “Here you go.” Ingrid led m
e to the closer of two empty chairs near a pillar that cut off the view of the TV. I guessed that was why they hadn’t already been taken. “You sit tight, and I’m going to find you a nice cup of tea—or would you rather have coffee?”

  “Tea, please. That sounds nice.”

  On my own, I tried making sense of what had just happened, but it was like assembling a puzzle with only a third of the pieces. When I left for my walk, I’d thought it strange that Nathan wanted a nap. In all the time we’d known each other, he’d never struck me as the nap sort. But then he had been working odd hours. Maybe he’d gotten his days and nights swapped?

  Ingrid returned with a paper cup filled with steaming tea.

  Even though I wore plenty of clothes, coldness shrouded me like a damp cloth.

  “Your fiancé’s going to be just fine.” Ingrid patted my knee.

  My fiancé. Was that little white lie going to turn around and bite my ass? I hadn’t thought about it before, but maybe I’d like being Nathan’s wife. Maybe I liked the thought of finally being with someone who would love me and protect me and always have my back. The thing is, not only was he facing what could potentially be a life-threatening injury, but he hadn’t exactly professed his love or proposed. Our sexual heat was undeniable, but were we in love? It had been so long since I’d asked myself that question, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Was this terror lodged in my throat for Nathan’s well-being a result of being wholeheartedly, head-over-heels in love? I thought it might be.

  And the fact felt good. Right. Nathan had to be okay. He just had to. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

  “Carol?” Ingrid woke me with a gentle shake. “Your Nathan is stable. The nurse says you can see him now.”

  My Nathan. The phrase sounded good. “Thank you—for everything. I’m not sure how I would have coped without your help.”

  “I’m glad I could be here for you.” She took the rental car keys from her purse. “Hope you don’t mind, but my Larry found your keys in your room, and then drove your car over. Think you’ll be able to find your way back to the motel?”

  I nodded, then thanked her again with more words and a hug.

  The nurse showed me to Nathan’s room, but I wasn’t prepared for what I found. He was asleep, but beneath an oxygen mask, his expression was anything but peaceful. He had an IV in his right arm and a blood pressure cuff on his left. A pulse monitor had been placed on his left index finger. He was big enough to make the slim ER bed look like a cot. His color was still too pasty to be normal and more than anything, I wanted to hug him, but wasn’t sure where he was safe to touch.

  “What happened?” I asked when the nurse finished typing notes into a wall-mounted computer keyboard.

  “He has four broken ribs and multiple contusions—some, the doctor suspects, may be bone contu—”

  “Wait, wait.” I held up my hands. Broken ribs? This was all too much. “What is a contusion?”

  “Bruises. The fight left him with many, many bruises. Poor guy. He’s under heavy sedation. His CT scan and blood tests came back okay, but the doctor wants to watch him till morning. After that, there’s really nothing more we can do. We’ll send him home with ice packs and pain meds. From there, he’ll just need time.”

  Fight?

  Nothing else the nurse said registered, because I couldn’t work past that one word. Now, I was the one needing oxygen. Where in the world had Nathan gotten into a fight? Had he won? How else would he have escaped without even a black eye? I had so many questions. But for now, all I could do was sit here watching Nathan fitfully sleep.

  Nathan

  Where am I?

  Memories of the previous night roared as loud as the pain in my chest. I recalled barely making it to our motel room’s bed before passing out. Then came flashes of sirens and lights and finally, the ER.

  I looked to the side of my bed to find Carol bent forward at an awkward angle, using my raised bed rail for a pillow.

  Fuck. How did I come back from this? What should I say? She would have questions upon questions, and yeah, yesterday, I’d totally planned to come clean with her—about everything— but now, I wasn’t so sure. We were in Oregon for a specific reason—something she’d waited years to summon the courage to do. Now that she had, who was I to get in her way? We were safe here. I needed time to heal, and she needed time to figure out how she wanted to handle her daughter. It might be the pain meds talking, but for the time being, for Carol, I thought it was best to keep my mouth shut.

  I reached for her, but the crown of her head was the most I could touch without causing a fresh burst of pain.

  She stirred. “You’re awake. What happened? Why didn’t you tell me—”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Nice try,” she said while readjusting my pillows, “but you are going to tell me why my big, strong boyfriend looks like he came out on the losing end of an MMA fight.”

  “Kiss me . . .”

  “Nathan . . .” She stepped back, eyeing me with her head cocked and hands on her hips. Not a good sign. “Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been? You could have died.”

  “I didn’t. And sure, I got my ass kicked by a guy at work, but it wasn’t the first time, and probably won’t be the last.” Not a lie. “I didn’t say anything, because all I needed was a nap.”

  “You could have died.” Her voice had turned shrill. “What’s wrong with you? How could you keep something like that from me? You have four broken ribs—you shouldn’t have even left San Francisco.”

  “But I did—we did.” I held out my hand, and to my relief she took it. Even that slight connection proved better than any drug. She was my drug. “You and your daughter are all that matters.”

  “About that—” She shook her head, taking a tissue from a box on a rolling tray to daub tears. “I changed my mind. The whole plan was no good from the start. And now, you—you’re hurt. A few months from now, I might try again, but for now . . .”

  “Bullshit. Don’t use me as an excuse because you’re scared.”

  Back turned to me, she asked, “What were you even fighting about? And how do you have broken ribs, but no black eye? The whole thing’s weird.”

  “Look, I walked in on something I shouldn’t have. End of story. Back to you, please don’t do this—act like meeting your daughter doesn’t matter. What happened to me sucks, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Did you even file a police report?”

  “Fuck no. File this under ‘shit to forget.’ I’ll look for a new job when we get home.”

  “Let me talk to Liam. He’ll find you a position that—”

  “No. I’d rather break my neck than stoop to pick up his breadcrumbs. Don’t bring it up again.”

  “Let me get this straight—you’d rather pretend to like women for money or get the crap beat out of you for no apparent reason than enter a perfectly legit corporate training program that could totally change your life for the better? Sure, that makes perfect sense.”

  “Damn right it does. I’ll make my own way or die trying.”

  “Key word—die?”

  I sighed. “You know what I mean. Liam’s a punk. Take his money out of the equation, and there’s no way Ella would have picked him over me.”

  Carol flinched as if my words had been a physical blow.

  “Babe, that didn’t come out the way I planned. All I meant is that—”

  “Save it.” She took her purse from the small room’s only other chair, then swept back the curtain. “Your meaning is perfectly clear. Even after all we’ve shared, Ella’s still the one who got away. The one who matters.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  She flipped me off before trotting her sweet ass down the crowded ER hall.

  I tried getting off the bed to follow, but couldn’t get past the side rails. I rattled them, then shouted, “Carol!”

  Two nurses came running.

  “Mr. Black,” the short one, wear
ing a Smurf scrub-top, snapped, “you need to calm down.”

  “I need to get the hell out of this bed.” I shook the rails again. “See that woman?” I winced while raising my arm to point at Carol, who was just rounding a corner. “I need to catch her.”

  “Mr. Black, please. You have to calm down.”

  When I struggled all the harder, one of them forced the issue by plunging knockout drugs into my IV.

  The next time I woke, Carol was back in the guest chair, reading Cosmo. She’d showered and changed into jeans and a white sweater. Her hair and makeup were flawless, reminding me of the ice queen I used to believe her to be. Now, I knew better. That frosty bitch routine was all an act.

  She felt as deeply as anyone else; she just worked harder to not let people see.

  “When can I get out of here?” My mouth was crazy dry, and my tongue felt thick.

  “Soon.” She spoke, but didn’t look up from her magazine.

  “I’m sorry.” And I was. But she knew how I felt about working for Liam, and she shouldn’t have brought it up. “Just hearing Liam’s name makes me crazy.”

  “I thought you were over Ella?”

  “Of course I am. I was just pissed and spewing the first ugly thing that popped into my head. It was a stupid analogy, and I’m sorry. But you know better than to even say his name. It was like kicking me when I’m down.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare compare me suggesting an incredible opportunity is in any way comparable to you getting all misty-eyed over losing the great love of your life. You make me feel like a second-rate consolation prize, and I deserve better.”

  “Of course you do. And I already told you I was a stupid ass for even mentioning Ella, so let’s take her out of the equation. I’m with you. I only want to be with you. That’s it. End of story.”

  “Only this isn’t the end, Nathan. Not really, when you consider the fact that I spent all night by your bedside, scared to death you’d stop breathing. It makes no sense how I assume that we’re together—you know, like a couple—yet you can get beaten to the point that you have four broken ribs, but find that so inconsequential that you don’t even bother to tell me.”