by Violet Duke
“Nothing. You can continue to do exactly what you’re doing. Make me ridiculously happy. That is your one job.”
“But—”
“No. You remember how you told me the father who raised you was a completely different man from the one who had hardly been home while Nate was growing up? How he’d missed out on eight years of Nate’s life, and how he’d been miserable with Nate’s mother? When he left what your circles consider the perfect marriage, when he gave control of Grayhurst Industries to the board so he could stay home, when he chose you and your mom over everything he’d ever known—he chose life. He chose to live his life, rather than live the dream. And you’re proud of him for that, aren’t you? Proud of the life he lived with you and your mother? Even if it may not have been as lavish as the one Nate had with all his boarding schools and silver spoon dinners.”
“I think you’re forgetting that my dad was still a billionaire, and we had, like, two summer homes—but yes, absolutely, I see what you’re getting at. And of course, I couldn’t have been more proud to be the son of a ‘reclusive billionaire,’ as the media liked to call him. I loved my life, and likely would’ve been miserable as hell if I’d grown up the way Nate did.”
She smiled. “Then trust me to know when my life is getting in the way of my dreams, and when my dreams are getting in the way of my life. We’re nowhere near that yet. But believe me when I tell you, if ever there were to come a time when I’d need to choose between living my life and living the dream? I’m with your dad. I choose life. All the time. What good is a great dream, without an equally great life? Too many people look at their lives in terms of their dreams as the goal. I don’t. I look at my dreams in terms of a happy, fulfilled, well-lived life as the goal.”
God, she was incredible.
She chuckled. “Enter hashtag ‘#DropsMic’—sorry to sound like one of those motivational posters there for a minute, but it truly is what I believe.” Popping a kiss on his cheek, and squeezing him in tighter, she added simply, “And just so you know, if ever it came down to a choice between being able to have an amazing career in sports casting or having an amazing life with you, I’m pretty sure I’d choose you. Probably. Or maybe I’ll just flip a coin.” She nipped at his earlobe, grinning all the while.
He snaked his arm around her and dragged the amazing woman onto his lap. “You’re too good for me.”
“I keep saying.”
Brushing his thumb against her cheek, he gazed into her eyes, lit with amusement. “I don’t like you making sacrifices for me.”
“Oh good, so we’re agreed.” She graced him with a sassy smile. “No more morning blowjobs and cuddling after sex, then? That’s a relief.”
He buried his face against her neck, smiling when she smacked his hand away after they both found it somehow wandering unsupervised under her sleep shirt. He was really starting to come around on the no-bras-before-breakfast rule she had. Provided he had the chain lock securely fastened on his front door—now that Leila was at his apartment practically every morning, Bennett and Donovan seemed to think his kitchen was now their own personal coffee shop.
“Woman, we both like to cuddle. And might I remind you that you’re the one who had an orgasm in the middle of giving me a blowjob.”
“More media lies!” she cried out, her indignation negated by her breathless laughter.
She hopped off his lap and did an impressive little Matrix bend to avoid the swat he’d had aimed at the most gorgeous panty-less target ever.
She scampered backward over to the door, an affectionate, patient smile curving her lips. “Now, before you keep going on about this sacrificing-my-dreams business, might I remind you, boyfriend of Leila Hart, that I am Leila Freaking Hart. I’ve got coaches and players ready to back me if this comes to a battle.” Her face sobered a little, her tone filling with emotion. “Jackson, I’m happy, that’s the main thing. When I stop being happy is when I’ll decide what to do next. There are at least a half dozen alternate careers in football waiting for me, not even counting the opportunities available for me related to my locks-and-picks algorithm.”
Slipping back into the room, she placed her hands on his cheeks and said firmly, “So stop making yourself crazy over all this. And for chrissakes, stop trying to save me. I’m woman, hear me roar.” She pulled him forward for a hot, sweet kiss. “Now get going. I’ve got an important meeting I need to get to, and so do you.”
The domesticity of the moment struck a chord deep in his chest.
I’m going to marry that woman one day.
It was a thought he’d honestly never had run through his head before, but hours later, he still couldn’t get it out of his mind. Not that he and Leila could possibly be there yet, of course. It was too soon. But it did get him wondering about things. Like how men knew what size ring to buy before those big romantic will-you-marry-me surprises. And if women—like Leila, for example—would really insist on something as crazy as a no-sex-for-a-month-before-the-wedding pact. Or if it was kosher for a guy with two best friends to insist on some kind of American Gladiator type of face-off—complete with those giant foam Q-tips for jousting—to determine best man honors.
He was a stats and facts man, after all; questions and answers were sort of his thing.
Seeing Leila’s avi photo lighting up his phone screen, he pulled the phone up to his ear to hear her thoughts on these idle ponderings. Just to see. “Hey, sunshine, quick completely random question for you—”
“Sir, sorry to interrupt you, but this isn’t Ms. Hart. I’m calling from Lincoln Memorial Regional Medical Center. You were listed as one of the contacts in case of emergency—we’ve been unable to get in contact with Ms. Hart’s family.”
Soul-numbing dread filled his veins with ice.
“I’m so sorry to tell you that she’s in critical condition, sir. Ms. Hart sustained multiple gunshot wounds and will be needing immediate surgery.”
Chapter 30
Jackson felt his heart seize in his chest, and threaten to stop indefinitely, when he saw the clothing Leila had worn out of his apartment this morning torn in pieces on the floor next to a blood-soaked ER bed.
A nurse and a surgical resident of some sort had attempted to explain what operations Leila was currently undergoing, but Jackson could barely wrap his head around the shooting, let alone the seemingly impossible surgeries the doctors were attempting to save Leila’s life.
Multiple gunshot wounds.
Leila had been shot four times.
One in the arm, one in the ribs, and two in her lungs.
Apparently, the shooter had fired ten rounds. The officer now standing in front of him stated that little factoid as if the number of bullets not lodged in her body was supposed to make Jackson feel better.
“The good news is that your brother didn’t sustain any injuries, sir.”
A dull buzz filled his ears and time itself seemed to slow. Jackson swiveled his attention back to the officer, tearing his eyes away from Leila’s bloody, discarded clothing—her favorite jacket among them—as he replayed the officer’s statement again.
He must’ve heard wrong. Must have. “What did you just say?”
The officer paused, seemingly surprised at Jackson’s arctic tone. “Uh, I said your brother, the other Mr. Grayhurst, is safe. He managed to avoid getting shot and was able to get away. Unfortunately, it took us much longer to find Ms. Hart—”
Caleb stepped in then to handle the rest of the officer’s questions. Meanwhile, Mike dragged Jackson over to a vacant chair in the waiting area and shoved him into it.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, just don’t.” Mike’s usual unaffected voice sounded anything but unaffected for once. “We don’t know what the hell happened there. All that matters now is being there for Leila when she gets out of surgery. Caleb will find out what your brother has to do with all of this, and I’ll call Spencer to get some of our guys on it too, see what they can find out through their channels. You f
ocus on Leila. We’ll take care of everything else.”
Jackson looked up at the TV mounted on the far wall of the ER waiting room. The shooting was the top story. The headline splashed across the screen?
GUNMAN IN BILLIONAIRE HOME.
“Sources tell us that popular NFL sideline reporter Leila Hart was the unintended victim of a former employee of Grayhurst Industries who’d been fired by billionaire Nathaniel Grayhurst Junior just last month—”
Jackson shot out of his seat and left the room before he could hear the rest.
Rage unlike any he’d ever felt for his brother until now blistered his insides. His fists shook with the effort to remain rational.
A feat proving more difficult the longer he stood there, not knowing if Leila was going to survive the next few hours. And it didn’t help matters one bit when he saw at least three folks in the ER take a photo of him with their camera phones.
Having some random reporter then shove a voice recorder in his face was pretty much the last straw.
“Mr. Grayhurst, do you have any idea what your girlfriend was doing in your brother’s home at the time of the shooting? And can you confirm that they were in his bedroom at the time?”
Mike shoved the reporter away before Jackson’s punch could knock the asshole out.
Caleb and several officers rushed over to block the path of the flood of paparazzi filling up the walkway near the entrance.
“Did you even know that the two were acquaintances?”
“Did she get shot trying to save him?”
“Is the shooter’s termination linked at all to your brother’s indictments?”
Jackson stared at them in disbelief. The woman he loved was fighting to live, for God’s sake.
He turned his back on them in disgust and made his way back to the nurse’s station, needing to talk to someone, hear something, do something.
“What can I do?” he asked the young doctor who’d explained Leila’s injuries earlier. “I know the logical answer to that is nothing, but I need to be able to do something.” Staring again back at the room Leila had been in, he saw that they’d cleaned the floor, and shoved all her clothes in a bag. “These are the times when money seems like one of the cruelest things to have. Did you know that I can buy a country? An actual country. I could buy the freedom and safety of countless strangers.
“But I can’t do anything to keep the woman I love alive.”
Raw, unfiltered sympathy streaked across the doctor’s features. “Come with me.”
Jackson and Mike followed the doctor—Dr. Ellis, according to the nurse accompanying them—down the hall to a small conference room.
“I can’t be in there with the woman you love any more than you can,” said the young resident. “But this, I can do.” He then took out Leila’s cellphone from her bag of belongings. “Ms. Hart was smart enough to have an ICE—In Case of Emergency—medical info listing on her cellphone. You were listed at the top of her contacts. You. Not her parents or her sister.”
Jackson frowned and looked over at the nurse, who was urgently shaking her head.
Ignoring the cryptic warning, Dr. Ellis handed him Leila’s phone. “When we called Leila’s parents, they informed us they would not be coming down to the hospital—stating it was a ‘difficult time’ for them to travel.”
Jackson saw red. What kind of monsters were that callous to their own child? And how on earth did Leila become the amazing woman she was today with parents like that?
“In our ER, we see patients all the time who mistakenly think that their emergency contact is able to make medical decisions for them. Without a living will or advance directive, all decision-making power automatically goes to the family members.”
Jackson stared at him in disbelief. “You would allow those sorry excuses for human beings to dictate what happens to Leila?”
“We wouldn’t have a choice.”
Mike pulled out his cellphone and called up Jackson’s attorneys without him even having to ask.
Dr. Ellis shook his head. “Your lawyers can only do so much. You asked me what you can do. And my answer to that is that I think you know. I think you know exactly how to get Leila’s parents to sign over their medical decision-making powers to you.”
Jackson blinked as the doctor’s words registered fully.
“But before you do that, I’d like to explain to you everything that Leila’s parents couldn’t be bothered with hearing. So when the decisions become yours to make, you’ll have as much possible information as you can to do what’s best for her. For the woman you love.”
Jackson didn’t even hesitate a moment before he tossed his phone over to Mike. “Call Caleb. Tell him to get everything in order to give financial, and only financial, backing to Leila’s father’s campaign in the next hour. I’ll pay whatever he wants to get ironclad medical power of attorney.” He sent Mike a dark look. “You make sure Caleb knows that son of a bitch is keeping his distance from his dying daughter for his own political career—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let my money help him get elected. So the very second the ink is dry on the deal, tell Caleb to write an even bigger fucking check to whatever candidate does deserve to be in that office.”
“Will do.”
Then Jackson grabbed a spare notepad and pen from the conference table and nodded at the doctor whom he was going to do everything in his power to see become a chief of surgery somewhere someday. “Okay, tell me everything I need to know.”
—
“Leila sustained multiple gunshot wounds—the bullets that hit her arm, ribs, and clavicle will require surgery to repair the damage, but they aren’t life threatening. It’s the two that lacerated her lungs that we’re most concerned with. There was significant damage and many life-threatening complications the surgeons are now dealing with.” Dr. Ellis paused. “Do you need a minute?”
Jackson tried to steady his breathing. Hearing the term “life threatening” in any context involving Leila had him shaken. “No, I’m fine. Keep going. I want to be ready.”
Dr. Ellis nodded and continued for the next half hour, describing every gut-kicking thing that Leila’s body had gone through and was currently going through. But even that wasn’t the end of it. A few doctors came in with updates for him, and finally after they did all they could do regarding repairs for that stage, the main surgeon came out to explain what they could expect post-surgery as they waited for her body to heal a bit more before they went back in.
“In addition to the damage she sustained to one of her major airways, Leila suffered a traumatic pneumothorax on the scene, where both of her lungs collapsed, and the bullet wounds caused quite a bit of blood to fill her lungs. Combined, she sustained a great deal of trauma to the entire area. While the surgeries were able to repair much of the damage, and we’ve been draining the blood from her lungs, but the swollen pulmonary tissue is still preventing normal oxygen intake. Thus, we will have to put Leila into a medically induced coma. She’ll receive anesthesia to cause a temporary state of unconsciousness to prevent further swelling.”
Jackson tapped a finger on the desk at Mike, who—as had been the case all day—was already one step ahead, googling medically induced comas.
Leila’s main surgeon maintained it was their best course of action. “As you’ll find in all your research, there are always risks with medically induced comas. But without it, she’s in much more danger. Putting her in a medically induced coma will essentially shut down her body so it can focus on healing and fighting off any possible infections as well—we’ll be keeping an eye out for pneumonia and respiratory distress, but the main purpose of the medically induced coma is to get that swelling down so she can breathe again.”
“Okay, let’s do it. Do you know which room she’ll be in already? Is she already there? I just need to head home to get an overnight bag and changes of clothes, but if she’s already there, I want to see her first.”
The kind doctor looked truly apologetic then
. “I understand entirely, Mr. Grayhurst. Yes, Leila is already getting transported down to the ICU, since we need to monitor her closely at all times. Unfortunately, we have a hospital policy against overnight guests—”
Jackson stood up resolutely. “I’m staying. Call your hospital chief or your whole friggin’ hospital board for all I care. Tell them Reginald Jackson Grayhurst II is making the request.” Christ, for once, he was glad for his name. “I’ll buy this entire goddamn hospital if that’s what it takes, but I’m not leaving Leila’s side.”
Chapter 31
THREE DAYS LATER
“She’s out of the woods.”
Jackson felt himself take what seemed like his first breath of air in days, followed by a waterfall of relief so intense, it left him speechless.
Even Mike looked choked up there for a microsecond.
“Her progress these last few days was everything we’d hoped for. We were subsequently able to go in and complete the last follow-up surgeries this morning. At last check, her status has officially been upgraded to stable.”
The team of surgeons who had been working on Leila since she’d entered the hospital all gave their status reports, and their green light to bring her out of the medically induced coma. The head of the cardio department had the most to explain, and the most to be optimistic about. “We’ll be reversing her anesthesia this afternoon and expect her to be out of the ICU very soon.”
Behind the surgeons stood Dr. Ellis, who’d been stopping by regularly to check on both Leila and Jackson. If anyone would tell Jackson there was smoke being blown up his ass, it would be him. This was literally the first time Jackson had ever seen the young resident smiling.
“Thank you all.” Jackson stepped forward and shook hands with each of the surgeons, his voice raw with emotion. “You saved Leila’s life, plain and simple. I will forever be grateful to each of you for that.”
Each surgeon gave a few specific post-hospital-discharge information, mostly regarding time frame of rest and rehab, before they each filed out of the room.