He swallows hard. “It’s still there, though? The leg?”
“Still there,” he says cheerfully. “Although it was touch and go for a while. And Max almost got thrown out of the hospital at one point.”
“Why?”
“For yellin’ at doctors.”
“It was that ugly, huh?”
“Yup!” Duff says. “Your GSW only shredded soft tissue, which was lucky. But it nicked a major artery. So you could have easily bled to death. You remember asking me a few weeks ago to take you for a spin on the racetrack?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I took you for a real spin through Manhattan. Too bad you don’t remember it. I hit eighty miles an hour on Third Avenue.”
“Jesus. Did the pedestrians on Third Avenue survive it?”
“Sure! Like steerin’ around cones on the raceway! And it worked, didn’t it? You’re still here.”
“Thanks man.” He yawns. “How long have I been here?”
“Two and a half days.”
“Did anyone else get hurt?”
“The other guy down in that basement didn’t make it out. And there was blood in the vestibule. Did you hit someone, or was it yours?”
“I shot at someone’s foot while I was trying to evade them.”
“You must have hit him. One guy escaped, two were arrested. They shot at Phelps—he was wearing a vest.”
Gunnar takes that in. “So the only one who died was the one that was actually supposed to kill me?”
“Yeah man.”
“Okay. Now tell me about Posy. They got my laptop from her. Is she—” He hesitates. “Tell me the truth. Is she okay?”
“You can ask her yourself.” Duff gets out of the chair. “I’ll be out front.”
I enter the room at last, my tears mostly dry. There are so many things I want to say to Gunnar, but right this second, I don’t know where to start. I set the bakery bag down and then pick up his bandaged hand. “Hi.” It comes out rough.
“Hi,” He says, closing his fingers around mine. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my throat is closing up, so I’m not very convincing. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Hey,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m still here. I don’t know about my vision. And it’s possible that my ass doesn’t look quite as flawless as you’re used to.”
“Gunnar,” I squeak. “You’re still perfect.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says. “I’m not even close. And I never should have left you alone that night.”
“We’re fine. I’m fine. I just need you to get better.”
“They got my laptop,” he says. “That means they were in your apartment.”
“Only for a few minutes,” I say, downplaying my terror. “And I have to thank you for teaching me how to get out of zip ties. Never knew that would be so useful.”
Gunnar makes a noise of dismay, and the machine that’s monitoring his pulse starts beeping faster.
“Hey—I’m sorry. That was supposed to make you laugh. I hit the panic button. One of your guys was upstairs within minutes.”
He grips my hand more tightly. “Holy—”
“Hello, Mr. Scott!” booms a new voice coming through the door. “I’m Doctor Warren, and I’m here to check on those eyes. You had some chemical irritation.”
Gunnar blows out a breath. “Chemical irritation is too polite a term for whatever gas was in that basement with me.” He shivers. “How bad is it?”
“Well, let’s take a look. We bandaged your eyes to keep them lubricated. Excuse me, please.” The doctor addresses me. “Would you like to step outside?”
“She stays,” Gunnar says in a firm voice.
“There’s a homemade donut in it for you,” I say, trying not to seem like a pest. But I’m not leaving this room until they drag me out. Instead, I skirt around the bed, trying to get out of the way. From the other side, I lay my hand on Gunnar’s strong wrist.
Then I say a silent prayer. Please don’t be blind. It won’t make me love him any less. But I want Gunnar to have his sight.
It seems to take forever for the doctor to unwind the bandage around Gunnar’s head. And I hold my breath as he pulls the gauze away from his eyelids. “Hold on a moment. There’s some mucus I can blot away.” He dips a cotton ball into something and dabs at Gunnar’s eyelids.
I run out of air, and take a gulping breath, and Gunnar squeezes my hand.
“All right,” the doctor says. “You’ll probably be light sensitive.”
Gunnar’s beautiful eyes flip open. They’re red, and they look irritated. But he turns his chin right away and smiles at me. “Hi, gorgeous.”
My own eyes well up immediately.
“Oh baby, don’t cry. I’m okay.”
“I kn-know,” I stammer. “But I was so worried.”
The doctor pulls out one of those eye charts and holds it up. “Could you cover one eye and read the third row, please?”
“Z Q R …” Gunnar does pretty well at this quick-and-dirty eye test.
“You’ll still need to make an ophthalmology appointment for a thorough exam after you’re released,” the doctor cautions.
“Uh huh,” Gunnar says. “Thanks.” I can almost hear him dismissing the idea. “Thank you.” The doctor takes his leave. And then the brave, crazy man in the hospital bed says, “Did you say something about donuts?”
“Yes,” I say, swatting at my tears. “Teagan is beside herself with worry.”
“She’s at work? Is that safe?”
I explain that Geoff is in hiding and that the criminal mastermind Max is hunting has disappeared into the wind.
“Fuck,” Gunnar says, relaxing against his pillow. “Max must be in a state. Is there a button somewhere to sit me up?”
The nurse comes clucking back in just then. “You want to sit up? It may cause too much pressure on your wound.”
“Let’s find out,” Gunnar insists. “I heard there were donuts.”
“You haven’t been cleared for solid food,” she says, arming herself with a remote control device, and pressing a button that slowly raises Gunnar’s head. “You’ll start with a clear broth. Maybe a popsicle.”
“Did I have gut surgery?”
She shakes her head.
“Then a donut won’t kill me. I almost died, nurse. Are you really going to stand between me and a homemade donut?”
“You should be more respectful to the woman who’s in charge of bathing you,” she says, straightening his pillow. “Here.” She angles the swiveling table into place over his lap. “At least have a few more sips of water first. And go slowly, okay? You had a long surgery and respiratory distress. You don’t recover from that overnight.”
“How long will it take?” he asks. “Tell it to me straight.”
“Well …” She sighs. “Wound care will be important for the first couple of weeks. But then your surgeon will have some strong opinions about the rest. He’ll give you a timeframe for when you can put weight on that leg. Two months, maybe? Or longer if you need a second surgery.”
“Yikes.”
“How’s your pain in this position?” she asks, patting his good knee. “Scale of one to ten?”
“A three,” he says.
“Let me know if it gets worse.” She turns to leave, then stops to look back at him. “And don’t you dare get any powdered sugar in those bandages on your palms.”
“I’ll feed it to him,” I offer.
She rolls her eyes. “Lucky man.”
“You know it!” Gunnar chuckles as she disappears. “Okay, baby. Hit me with a bite of donut. What’s the special today?”
I retrieve the bag and open the box. “She sent you apple cider and ginger cinnamon.”
“Let’s have both, then.” He taps the table with one of his bandaged hands.
As I spread a napkin onto the table and reach into the box, my emotions are bouncing around faster than the bonus level of a
pinball game. I feel a rush of joy that I’m here beside him. And a deep, cold fear for what could have happened.
Don’t forget about us! my hormones sing. Gunnar may be temporarily out of commission, but we’ll be waaaaaiting!
Today I recognize this symphony of emotions for what it really is. Love. That’s the sum of joy and fear and desire all together. It’s terrifying. I never meant to fall in love right after leaving a bad marriage. And Gunnar may well decide he’s had enough of New York, given the way things turned out.
Love doesn’t care, though. Love is hopeful anyway. Love sets out two donuts on the table and gently breaks off a bite-sized piece. And love lifts it to Gunnar’s waiting smile.
“Mmm,” he says as the ginger falls on his tongue. “Marry me.”
I let out a shaky laugh, because I’m overemotional right now. “I’ll give Teagan your regards.”
“No,” he says, licking his lips as I raise the straw to his mouth. “I don’t want to marry Teagan, or this donut. Although the donut would be higher up on the list. Someday I’m going to ask you to marry me, Posy. This bachelor is turning over a new leaf.”
“Gunnar,” I breathe, breaking off another bit of donut. “They must have you hooked up to some pretty great drugs.”
He pins me with those cool eyes. “You don’t understand. I came over to your apartment to tell you that we weren’t over. And I said it was because we were having so much fun. I don’t know why I had to be locked into a basement with a weapons-grade poisonous gas to be able to say this. But I love you. And I want us to be together.”
GUNNAR LOVES US! my hormones shout.
“Honey …” I pull one of those coffees Teagan sent me out of the bag and open the lid, because I need coffee for this conversation. “Don’t try to plan your life twenty minutes after waking up from your gunshot wound surgery.”
“Aw.” He reaches out a bandaged hand and catches my cheek. “I promised myself that if I got out of that basement, I’d tell you how I really feel.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Sometimes a guy needs to have a reckoning moment to get his priorities in order. Tell you what. I’ll get myself back into shape and then ask you again. Looks like I’m not going back to California anytime soon. I’m trapped here with you, baby. Use me.” He gives me flirty eyes, and then—my weakness—that loverboy smile.
“Damn you for being hot even when you’re in a hospital bed.”
Gunnar reaches up to fiddle with his hospital gown, tugging the halves apart a little.
“What are you doing?”
“This part of me doesn’t have any holes in it. So I’m using my best assets to convince you.” He takes a sniff of the air. “Is that a cappuccino? Who made it?”
“Some guy named Rico that Max flew in to cover the pie shop.”
Gunnar lets out a bark of laughter, but it makes him cough. And he doesn’t stop until I give him another sip of water. “Rico the barista?” he asks finally. “Lots of tats? Gruff voice?”
“That’s the guy.”
“He taught me everything I know. I worked my ass off for that guy. You know why? Because I wanted to impress you. I’ve always wanted that.”
“Gunnar.” I don’t know what to do with that.
“Hey—I have a question. And I need an honest answer.”
“Okay?” I’m afraid of what it might be. I take a nice gulp of Rico’s excellent cappuccino and prepare myself.
“Tell it to me straight. Is Rico’s coffee better than mine? You always seemed to appreciate the lattes I brought you before we opened each day. But a guy needs to make sure his girl isn’t faking it.”
I choke on the coffee. “Gunnar!”
“Just taste it again and tell me if it’s better than mine. Do I have to take more lessons with Rico to convince you I’m serious about you?”
“This is the craziest conversation we’ve ever had. This coffee is excellent.” He frowns, so I hurry to finish my thought. “But it turns out that technique isn’t as important as I thought. There’s nothing quite like the sight of you—with that loverboy smile—bringing me my first cup of the day. When you used to open up the cafe, and bring me a latte?” I look over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “I felt it everywhere.”
Gunnar lights up like he’s just won the Stud of the Year contest. “Excellent answer, baby. But I still need to know how I stack up. Let me taste it.” He leans forward, asking for a sip.
“Seriously? You hate coffee.”
“I haven’t eaten in two and a half days, and it smells good. Just try me.”
So I hand it over.
34
Gunnar
Taking care not to spill it, I take the travel mug from Posy’s hands.
My girl is doing her best to keep it together. I can tell she’s rattled. And I probably look terrifying, with a hole in my leg and a bandaged face.
But I hold her eyes and tip the cup towards my mouth. It’s bad form to spill coffee onto your bare chest when you’re trying to woo a girl. As the cup reaches me, I get a hit of that fresh coffee smell. And then the hot liquid washes over my taste buds, treating me to a wash of slightly aromatic acidity that’s immediately softened by the creamy milk.
And it’s … Wow. “That’s delicious!”
“What?” Posy laughs. “Gunnar! You tease.”
“No, baby. I love it.” Another gulp goes down my throat, and the heat feels wonderful against my aching throat. “I haven’t had coffee since college. Maybe I should have given it more of a chance.”
“College?” Posy tilts her head to the side. “You don’t mean dining hall coffee, do you?”
“Well, sure. But it was free, you know?”
“Honey.” Posy gapes at me. “You say you don’t like coffee. But your benchmark is that brown pisswater from the college urn? That’s like trying Velveeta and deciding you don’t like cheese.”
“I guess there’s still a thing or two I could learn from you. Here.” I force myself to hand the cup back. “I don’t want to hog it all.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” She bends over and grabs a second cup out of her bag. “They sent me with two. The other one was to share.”
I reach down and pick up the donut as best I can with my clumsy, bandaged hands. Then I take a nice bite and wash it down with Rico’s cappuccino. “Goddamn, it’s good to be alive.”
“You never say things like that.” Posy says. “It’s the drugs. All of a sudden you like coffee, and you’re full of crazy ideas. If you tell me you actually like New York, I’m going to ask the nurse to call a psychiatrist.”
Aw, my girl still doesn’t believe that I’m serious about her. But that’s okay, I’m going to convince her. “Come here. Come closer.”
“Why?” Posy steps in. “Do you need something?”
“Yeah, this.” I lean over, which makes my leg wound move in an uncomfortable way. But fuck it. I kiss her neck anyway. “It’s not the drugs, baby. A guy can change his stripes when he realizes what’s important.”
She wraps an arm around me and holds me tightly. “I need you, crazy man,” she whispers.
“I need you, too.”
We stay like this a long time. My leg is throbbing, but I don’t care. Posy is here. And she brought donuts.
Eventually, though, there’s a commotion in the hallway. “Why was I not told when he woke up?” demands an arrogant voice.
Then Max practically skids into the room. He takes one look at me in the bed, and his shoulders relax. No—all of him relaxes. He bends over and grabs his knees, letting out a loud gust of air.
“Huh,” I remark. “I guess a few people were worried about me.”
“You have no idea,” says Carl Bayer, striding in after his son. “Thank you for deigning to regain consciousness today. We were all about ready to sedate Max.”
“We sure were!” yells Scout from the hallway. “I have a tranquilizer gun at the ready.”
Max stands up, looking affronted. �
��Haven’t lost an employee yet, Gunn. What were you thinking, walking into that trap?”
“Oh, he wasn’t,” Carl says. “It happens to everyone at one point or another. Love makes you stupid. Doesn’t make him a bad person.”
“I am sorry, though,” I tell both of them. “I should have waited for backup. Hell, I should have waited forty-eight hours to see Posy. It seemed really urgent at the time.” I turn and give her a big smile. “Sorry baby. I just really missed you. But I don’t think I made the impression I was trying for.”
“Oh, Gunnar.” She gives me a soft glance in reply. And it’s almost worth the gunshot wound.
Okay, it’s probably not worth a gunshot wound. But it’s still nice.
There’s another bossy voice in the hallway now. “Is this where he’s been moved? That’s a good sign, right?”
“Shit,” I whisper. That voice is not a welcome surprise. “Is that …?”
“The mayor,” Posy whispers. “It’s the weirdest thing. He keeps showing up to see how you’re doing. I don’t get it. Maybe he wants to look tough on crime?”
“Max!” I groan. “Seriously?”
“It was me,” Carl says quickly.
“You knew?” I watch the door in spite of myself. I’m not interested in seeing that man. Not much, anyway.
“Sure, kid. I do a thorough background check of everyone at the Company. Wasn’t even hard.”
And there he is, darkening the doorway of my hospital room in a tasteful charcoal suit and a fedora, looking every inch the aristocrat. His eyes snap onto mine, and he looks me up and down. Then he sighs.
You could hear a pin drop in the room. Everyone’s staring at him. He glances around at them after a moment, then has the decency to look sheepish. “Hello,” he says stiffly. “It’s good to see you are on the mend.”
“Is it?” I struggle to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t need a kidney? That would have been a tough decision, right? And hard to explain to the family.”
“Holy hell!” Posy says beside me. “You’re Gunnar’s father? Seriously?” Her voice rises in anger. She’s like a steam valve that’s breaking under pressure. “You’re the asshole who was too selfish to take his own child to a baseball game in Shea Stadium? HE’S STILL NEVER BEEN!”
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