“That was my first clue that she wasn’t much of a drinker. I could swear the bartender put in four times the fruit juice than he did alcohol.” Sweet Louise nodded toward the other chair across from where the bed had been. “Sit.”
A wise man never refused Sweet Louise.
“Tell me what happened.” Her voice was calm.
“I was about to take her home when she got out of the car to cancel the Uber she’d called. She was getting out when I accidentally took my foot off the clutch. Her foot was caught between the curb and the car.” And she was hurt badly. He hated that his carelessness had caused her so much pain.
“Hold up. She called an Uber?” Sweet Louise’s tone was now less calm.
He’d been hoping that part wouldn’t make an impression.
“I took her to Rave Nation before dinner. I thought we could have a drink.” The truth was that he hadn’t wanted to go out with her, and he’d wanted to disappear into the crowd so he wouldn’t have to spend one-on-one time with her. When had he become as shallow as he’d always pretended?
Sweet Louise arched one eyebrow. “So, you didn’t want to have to talk to her one on one?”
“How did you know that?” He stared at a scuff on the floor where the bed had been.
“Men are easy to read.” She looked down her nose at him. “So, what, you didn’t like the look of her?”
He looked away from her direct gaze. “Not at first.”
Sweet Louise sighed long and hard. “Just because she doesn’t have giant fake breasts, and a face with so much lip filler that it looks like she has hot dog wieners for lips, doesn’t mean she’s not pretty.” She shook her head. “Now I see it. You are shallow. I can’t believe I wasted my time or hers on you.”
Talk about a punch to the gut. It hurt to make Sweet Louise mad. “I know. I’m sorry. I like her now.”
“Why?” She glared at him. “Feeling guilty?”
“Yes, well … I mean, no.” Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure. “I think it’s a little bit of both. I owe her. She’s taking the blame for my mistake. No one has ever done that for me.”
Slowly, Sweet Louise stood. Her face was hard and her eyes were mean. He’d never seen her like this. She raised her right hand and pointed to the door. “Go. Now. Chloe is hands down one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She deserves better than you. I expected more from you, and you should expect more from yourself. Since all you have to offer her is guilt and pity and obligation, you’re going to leave now. I don’t want you contacting her again. Leave.” Her voice was monotone and anger radiated off of her in waves. He’d never seen her this upset.
He stood his ground. Right now, he didn’t care that Sweet Louise was angry with him. “No. I’m taking her home.” He folded his arms. “I might even stay the night to make sure she’s okay. And tomorrow I’m spending the day with her, just to make sure she’s comfortable.”
Sweet Louise’s mean eyes looked him up and down. Her expression softened. “If you hurt her, I’ll make you wish you were dead.”
He held out his hand. “Deal.”
She took it and held it. “Don’t make me regret giving you her number.”
“I won’t.” Why was he agreeing to this? Hell, he’d already hurt her. Since he was pretty sure that Chloe really didn’t like him as a person, there was no chance of her falling in love with him. At least on the emotional front, he couldn’t hurt her even if he tried.
Sweet Louise dropped his hand and walked to the door. She turned around, made a V with her index and middle fingers, and pointed first to her eyes and then to him. “I’m watching you.” She turned back around. “Give Chloe my best. I’ll check in on her tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to stay?” Surely, she wanted to make sure Chloe was okay.
“No, I’m getting out of your way. I expect a text when you get the diagnosis.” Sweet Louise walked down the hall.
He relaxed back into the chair, which provided about as much comfort as a folding chair. He crossed his legs out in front of him and pulled out his smartphone. His screen was covered with about a million Twitter and Instagram notifications. Apparently, the valet hadn’t wasted any time posting his pics. He tapped on a post at random.
There was a picture of Chloe holding her foot, with the caption, “Pierce Rogan’s sister in crippling accident. Will she ever walk again?”
That was a little over the top. She wasn’t paralyzed—or he was somewhat sure she wasn’t paralyzed.
He touched another notice. There was a picture of him cradling Chloe to his chest. That one read, “Tragic accident; Pierce Rogan comforts his sister after she trips and falls under his car.”
That one made it sound like it was all her fault and that he’d heroically pulled her out from under his car. This was insane and completely false. He hated that he’d hurt Chloe and that she was taking all the blame. He shook his head. He couldn’t live with that. He needed to tell the truth.
He touched another alert. It was the same as the other two. It seemed that all of the posts were about Chloe having an accident and being his sister. They didn’t mention him as anything but comforting his sister. She had been right. No one thought he was involved in her accident. While it had been nice of her to offer to take the blame for him, he didn’t feel right about it. This was his mistake and he needed to own it.
The door swung open and Chloe, asleep in bed, rolled in.
“Did she have anything to drink tonight?” The nurse glared at him.
“No, not that I know of. She’s kind of a lightweight.” He watched Chloe. Her breathing was shallow and rhythmic. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
“We had to wake her up three times to finish the X-rays.” The nurse set the brake on the bed. “She talks in her sleep. She kept talking about having too many mai tais.” She looked down at Chloe. “I guess we gave her too much pain medication.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“The radiologist is reading the X-rays right now. The doctor will be in as soon as he gets the report.” The nurse hesitated by the door. “I know it’s a huge imposition, but would you mind if I took a picture of you for my nephew? He’s a huge fan and he’s in the hospital right now. He has non-Hodgkin lymphoma.” She held up a hand. “I’m not using his cancer to guilt you into it, I just wanted you to know that it would really brighten his day.”
“I would have said yes even if you hadn’t told me. Is he here at Seton? I could stop by his room for a visit.” He stood so she could take a selfie with him in the frame.
“No, I wish. He’s in Children’s Medical Center in Dallas. They’re great, but I’ve been trying to get him into a drug trial here.” She held out her hand. “You weren’t in the room when I introduced myself. Lisa Ribbons.”
He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Lisa.” He glanced out into the hall. It looked pretty dead around here. “Do you have time now to tell me more about this drug trial? Is Dr. Laney Harding involved?”
Lisa’s eyes lit up. “I have a little time. Do you know Dr. Harding? The drug trial is at Dell Children’s and Dr. Harding is in charge of it.” Her forehead furrowed. “We were assured my nephew would have a place, but it’s been so long since we heard from anyone …”
“Laney is married to one of my best friends.” He grinned. “We’ll figure out what the holdup is. Your nephew will be in that drug trial by tomorrow morning.” He hit the text icon on his phone. “What’s your phone number?”
She gave it to him.
“Shortly, you’ll get a text from Sweet Louise Harding. She’s Laney’s mother-in-law. Sweet Louise will get the paperwork or whatever is holding up the process fast-tracked and help you get him moved from Dallas to Austin. She’s a force to be reckoned with. You’re going to love her.” He texted Sweet Louise.
Lisa’s hand went to her mouth and her eyes flooded. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. Thank you.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him ti
ght. She dropped her arms.
“You are very welcome.” Chloe was helping him, so he was paying it forward. It felt good helping people. He should do it more often.
Lisa’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. “It’s Sweet Louise. She wants me to call her when I have a minute. She works fast.”
He slid his phone into his suit jacket pocket. “You have no idea.”
“Thank you again.” Lisa held up her phone. “I’m going to call Sweet Louise and then I’m going to tell my brother that his son will be in the drug trial.” She walked down the hall with the phone to her ear.
“That was very nice.” Chloe’s voice was groggy from sleep.
“See, I can be a nice guy. Most people like me.” He tried to be a nice guy … mostly.
She smiled. “I’m sure everyone loves you.” That type of tone was usually used by mothers when agreeing with their five-year-olds that of course the moon was made of cheese.
“Everyone except you. You don’t like me.” He sounded pathetic. He didn’t ever remember sounding pathetic.
“Well, I don’t not like you.” She thought about it. “I don’t know what that means. I guess you’re nice enough.”
That was the consolation prize to actually being nice. “You’re the first person who hasn’t liked me.”
She sat up, shocked. “Really?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I need some advice.” She yawned. “Usually, I don’t ask strangers for advice, but I’m high on pain meds and I’m your sister and I’m desperate.”
According to social media, she might never walk again, so he guessed he owed her some advice. “Shoot.”
“What do you think of the name Reginald Van Card?” She held up her right index finger. “Oh wait, it’s now Jamison Van Card.”
“I think it sounds made-up.” She needed advice on a name?
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Are you going to tell me about Jamison Van Card?” He really wanted to know who this guy was.
“He’s my fake fiancé. He was eaten by cannibals in South America.” She sounded so matter-of-fact.
“Did you have anything to drink before I picked you up?” He thought back. She hadn’t seemed drunk, although she had maybe seemed a bit wobbly.
“No, I’m not much of a drinker. The last time I went to a happy hour, the bartender made me a very strong mai tai. I’ve sworn off alcohol ever since.”
He mashed his lips together to keep from laughing.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think you should tell me everything about your cannibalized fake fiancé.”
“It all started with my publisher. They emailed me about doing a relationship self-help book based on my podcast and blog.” She glanced at him. “I have a relationship blog and a podcast. I counsel children during the day and I kind of do this other thing on the side. It’s kinda fun for me.” She waved it away. “So I agreed to do this book. I’d been batting around the idea for a while. I even had an outline. After I turned in the first draft, I started working with a freelance developmental editor. He was overly flirty in emails, but I pretty much ignored it. Then one day he flew to Austin and showed up at this coffee shop where I like to write. I told him I had a boyfriend. He backed off, but somehow my boyfriend turned into a fiancé.” She thought about it. “I have no idea how.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “I can see why you came up with the boyfriend. It’s kind of stalker-y for him to show up in Austin. Go on.”
“So then my editor and my agent congratulated me on my engagement and sent me presents.” She held up a hand. “I sent them back.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and her hand dropped.
He cleared his throat loudly to wake her up. “How did Jamison get eaten by cannibals?”
He couldn’t wait to find out.
She yawned. “I was trying to think of a way to still be engaged to him, but to have him not be around for my book release. I thought about breaking up with him, but how would it look if I broke up with my fiancé of over a year right before my book called L-O-V-E came out? I needed a way for him to be away from Austin, but I needed a good reason. I thought about Doctors without Borders.”
“Where do the cannibals come in?” He’d never met anyone whose brain worked quite like hers.
“Well, I thought my publisher and agent would find it strange that my fiancé, who is a caring doctor, wouldn’t take time off of his job with Doctors without Borders to support me for my first book release.”
He nodded. “I know I would if my fiancé had a book coming out.”
He thought about it. Well, maybe not during football season.
“With that in mind, I was thinking that maybe Dr. Van Card disappeared into the jungle, but then everyone would assume I should go looking for him, so that was out. But if he were eaten by cannibals …” She shrugged one shoulder.
“Wouldn’t you be horribly upset? Surely you would need to mourn for your dead and digested fiancé.” He loved how her mind worked, especially when it was on pain medication.
“Yes, I would be sad.” Her brows knit together. “What do you think the mourning period is for having a fiancé eaten by cannibals?”
He scratched his chin. “That’s hard to say.”
“I guess I could pretend to mourn him.” She looked worried. Somehow, he doubted she would be very good at pretending to feel a way she didn’t.
“What about justice? Wouldn’t you want those responsible for his murder to be brought to justice?” He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.
“No, that’s the beauty of cannibalism. It’s bound to be protected as a cultural rite. You know, like how Christians eat the symbolic body and blood of Christ. Cannibals just take it more literally. For some groups, it’s still a sacred part of their culture.”
Clearly this wasn’t just the pain meds talking. She’d actually thought this out—maybe even done some research.
She yawned. “It’s still a work in progress.”
The door swung open. The doctor walked in carrying a tablet. He swiped across the screen. “Your results came back. You have two broken metatarsals and a calcaneus fracture.” He smiled down at Chloe. “The good news is I’ve already had an orthopedic surgeon look at the X-rays, and he says you won’t need surgery.”
“Yeah!” Chloe clapped like she’d just won the lottery.
Now Pierce really felt bad.
“Because of the calcaneus fracture, we’re going to go ahead and put your foot in a cast. You’ll need either crutches or a knee scooter.”
Chloe’s face fell. Pierce could see how someone as independent as her might feel bad about losing her mobility. Not to mention the pain.
He felt his eyes sting. He hadn’t been this close to crying since childhood. He’d hurt Chloe … badly. He owed her even if she didn’t know it or realize it. Starting now, he was going to be the most attentive fake fiancé ever. It was the least he could do for her.
Chapter 6
Chloe woke to rhythmic snoring. Since she was awake, she was sure it wasn’t coming from her. Bright, cheerful morning light filtered in from the three windows on the left side of her bed. A dark-haired man wearing a rumpled suit was curled into her. She shifted to roll out of bed, and a bolt of white-hot pain shot up her right leg.
Yep, the three bones she’d broken in her foot were still broken. She glanced longingly at the door to the en suite bathroom. She needed to pee and fast, or things were going to get ugly.
Pierce snuggled closer into her. The fact that he was sleeping on top of the covers didn’t change the fact that there was a man sleeping in her bed. And she had a guest bedroom. From the bits and pieces she remembered of him bringing her home, he’d done his best to make her comfortable and then refused to leave. After she’d fallen asleep, there’d been no need for him to stay, but he was still here just the same.
She got that he felt ba
d, but this was a little over the top.
Even in a wrinkled suit and snoring, he looked charming. She glanced down at her wrinkled dress. She looked like she’d been mugged and then thrown out of a moving car and had landed in a mud puddle.
Her bladder sent out an urgent about-to-spring-a-leak message.
Gently, she slid her right leg off the bed and carefully placed it on the floor. Her left leg followed, and she just sat on the edge of the bed garnering her courage. She reached for the crutches and slowly pulled herself upright.
“You should have asked for help.”
Chloe jumped a foot in the air and almost fell backward. If her hands hadn’t been occupied keeping her upright, one would have been covering her hammering heart. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He looked like he’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.
“Do you need help?” He sat up.
“No.” She hobbled toward the bathroom. “I’ve got this.” She stepped into her bathroom and turned around. “You don’t have to stay. I’m good. I know you feel bad, but it’s time for you to go home. I’ll be fine.”
She closed the door, locked it, and avoided looking into the mirror until after she answered nature’s call.
After she’d finished and washed her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. It was worse than she’d thought. The hairspray she’d used to give volume to her hair last night had melted and then dried again, making her hair flat as a pancake on her left side. Her makeup looked like she’d had to walk-of-shame it fifty miles in the rain to get home. And her dress … she pulled at it. It had holes and what looked like road grit embedded in it. She needed a long, hot shower and a good week of hiding under the covers to get over the humiliation of last night.
She looked down. She couldn’t get the cast wet. She glanced around for a solution. Surely, people with casts still washed themselves. And not in the sponge-bath kind of way. Her eyes landed on the small trash can next to the toilet.
She hobbled over. It was empty. She pulled out the garbage bag, picked up a handful of stretchy headbands, and hobbled over to the tub. She leaned against it, slipped the bag over her cast, and secured it with some headbands right above her cast. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she could get clean.
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