Hidden Depth (Lockhart Brothers Book 4)

by Brenda Rothert

  She interjects. “Most of which aren’t true.”

  “I figured.” I rest my chin against one hand and gather my thoughts. “The thing is, I’ve never seen anyone in that kind of condition. I thought she might die in my arms that day, and I didn’t know or care that she was Elle Tyler. I just knew she was a person, and that I’d watched the guy who did that to her walk away. It . . .” I clear my throat. “It haunts me.”

  Chloe’s eyes soften. “Me too. I let her go into that bathroom alone.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “We have to be prepared for that kind of thing. Always.”

  The anguish on her face gets me. Gary Beasley didn’t do just physical damage that day—he inflicted emotional pain that may never go away. The thought brings on a new knot of tension in my gut. I don’t know how I’ll ever find peace until the cops find him. I hope he resists arrest and gets shot a few dozen times.

  “Anyway,” Chloe says softly. “She said she wants to see you, but I will need you to sign a nondisclosure agreement first.”

  “Sure.”

  The corners of her lips turn down in a frown. “Also . . . there’s no easy way to say this. She doesn’t know how bad she looks. We all agreed we wouldn’t let on. So, please—”

  “I understand. Don’t worry. I’d never want to upset her. And she can’t possibly look worse than she did when I saw her last.”

  “She looks pretty bad,” Chloe says soberly. “Her face . . .” She stops. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say anything to you until you’ve signed the agreement.”

  With a small smile, I say, “I’m ready when you are.”

  She gets up and leaves the room, returning a couple minutes later with a manila folder. It doesn’t take me long to read through the agreement and see that if I share any details about Elle, I pretty much forfeit all my money and possessions, plus my firstborn child.

  I take a pen from my pocket, sign it, and pass it back to Chloe.

  “We’re in a secure wing of the hospital,” she says, putting the papers back into the folder. “If anything from an ‘anonymous source’ hits the news, I’ll know it was you.”

  I narrow my brows in a glare. “I get it. Can I see her now?”

  She leads the way from the room, and we walk down a long hallway and through a set of double doors. There’s a huge nurses’ station, but only a handful of nurses and doctors are there.

  I can tell this wing was built to house many patients, but it looks like Elle is the only one here. Must be part of the security. I imagine nothing is simple when you’re as famous as she is—even being hospitalized.

  Chloe stops in front of the door to a room and meets my eyes a final time. I see a warning in her expression. She’s clearly very protective of Elle.

  “It’ll be okay,” I say softly. “I promise.”

  She opens the door and walks in. I follow her into a large white room, where the smell of flowers greets me. There’s a shelf on the wall lined with vases of bright floral arrangements. I don’t notice anything else in the room because my gaze goes right to the slight woman in a hospital gown.

  Elle is tucked beneath the sheet of the bed, the back of her bed inclined so she’s sitting upright.

  I smile, not revealing how crushing it feels to look at her. The bruises on her face are fading into light purple and yellow shades, a stitched-up line cutting a path across one of her cheeks. Bruises are also scattered across her arms, and there’s a bulge beneath the bedsheet from what I can tell is a cast on one of her legs.

  “Elle, I’m Justin,” I say, offering her my hand.

  When she takes my hand and shakes it, I feel like someone knocked the wind out of me. Her skin is soft, and her eyes are a warm, radiant amber. Even in her injured state, she’s beautiful.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Do you want to sit?”

  I just nod, unable to think of any words, and sit down in the chair next to her bed.

  “I must look pretty scary right now,” she says with a slight smile.

  “No. You look—” I swallow hard, trying to get ahold of myself. But I can’t think of anything to say besides what’s in my heart right now. “Beautiful.”

  Her eyes light up as her smile widens. “You’re very sweet. It’s okay to be honest.”

  “I am.”

  “I guess I look better than the last time you saw me, huh?”

  I nod, still unable to look away from her amber-colored eyes.

  “I’m glad you came,” she says. “So I can thank you in person for what you did.”

  “It was nothing, really. Any decent person would have done it.”

  She shrugs. “But not everyone is decent. And you haven’t sold your story, which means a lot to me.”

  “I never would.”

  “So Chloe tells me you’re an attorney?”

  “Yeah, but not the ambulance-chasing kind, I swear.”

  She laughs and tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. “And you live in St. Louis?”

  “For now. I’m finishing up some research for an old law school professor and then moving back to my hometown.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Lovely. It’s a small town about an hour from here.”

  “Lovely?” She arches a brow. “And does it live up to its name?”

  “Yeah, it does. I mean, it’s not perfect, but . . . it’s home, you know?”

  She nods. “I wish I had a place like that. Do you have family there?”

  “Yeah. My parents and four brothers.”

  “Four?”

  “I’m the youngest.”

  Her eyes shine with amusement. “And do all five of you look like Scott Eastwood?”

  With a single note of laughter, I shake my head. “Nah. The others are all ugly bastards.”

  “I’m not sure I buy that.”

  Her phone buzzes beside her on the bed, but she doesn’t look at it.

  “You need to get that?” I ask.

  She picks it up, looks at the screen, and smiles. “Just a text from my fiancé.”

  I feel a lead weight in my chest. Fiancé? Well, that fucking sucks. Not that I was planning to hit on her, but . . . still.

  “I’m sure you need to rest,” I say, standing up. “I just needed to see for myself that you’re okay.”

  She shrugs. “As okay as I can be. They took the mirror out of my bathroom, so I don’t know what I look like yet. I guess that’s a blessing.”

  “You look like a survivor. And a damned beautiful one at that.”

  She grins up at me. “Thank you.”

  “Take care, Elle.”

  “You too, Justin.”

  I head for the door, but then I turn back to her. “Are you getting transferred out of here?”

  “Not anytime soon. There’s no easy way out of this wing without making a fuss.”

  I want to tell her that if she ever wants company, she can call me. I’d be here in a minute flat. But that’s not right. She’s engaged to another man.

  “My phone number is on the agreement I signed,” I say. “If you need anything . . . I don’t know what it would be, but . . .”

  “Thanks. Are the police keeping in touch with you about Gary Beasley?”

  A shadow passes over her expression as she says his name.

  “Kind of. I call them every other day just to check in and see if they know anything.”

  “Can I . . . if I text you so you have my number, will you tell me what they say?”

  “Sure.”

  She leans her head back against the pillow, her eyelids drooping. “Okay.”

  “Bye, Elle.”

  “Bye.”

  I let my eyes linger for a couple of extra seconds. There’s something about her I just can’t look away from, and it’s not the cuts and bruises. She has an aura about her, and I’ve officially joined the ranks of millions of others.

  I’m an Elle Tyler fan.

  Elle

  I STARE
AT THE reflection in the mirror longer than I should. It’s the stitched-up gash across my cheek that I can’t seem to get enough of.

  I demanded the return of the bathroom mirror two weeks ago after Justin’s visit, because when he said I was beautiful, it seemed like he truly meant it. I’d felt a flicker of hope that maybe things weren’t as bad as I feared. Maybe Chloe and Andre and my parents looked so sad because I was hurt, not because it was painful to see my face now.

  But, no. When I saw myself for the first time that day, I cried like never before. If I’d had a baseball bat handy, I would have smashed the mirror to bits.

  What I’d really like to smash is Gary Beasley’s face. I’ve started having dreams about him that make me wake up sweaty and breathless. Sometimes we’re in that bathroom again, and I relive the attack. Other times, I’m playing a concert, and I look out into the crowd and see his face. And when I do, my voice goes silent. I try to keep singing, but no sound comes out.

  Last night’s dream was the worst one yet. It was definitely more nightmare than dream, because I saw Gary Beasley standing next to my hospital bed. I woke up screaming, in hysterics. Andre, who sleeps in the hospital room next to mine, came busting into my room with his gun drawn.

  It had felt so real to me. No matter how many times the nurses assured me there were cameras monitoring every angle of this floor to keep me safe, my heart wouldn’t stop hammering and I couldn’t stop crying. They’d ended up giving me medicine to help me sleep.

  My weakness is embarrassing. I want to be focused on my recovery, positive and gracious to the hospital staff helping me. Instead, I feel like I’m slipping away a little more each day.

  Eventually, I wipe away the tears, pee, and use my crutches to get back to my bed, slowed by my fuzzy nonslip socks. Chloe is sitting in her chair by the window, absorbed in her e-reader. No matter how many times I tell her I’m fine by myself, she insists on being “here, but not here” most of the time.

  “Colin will be here in an hour,” she says, looking up at me as I sit down on my bed. “Do you want me to help you get ready?”

  I shrug. “I took a shower earlier. And since I can’t wear makeup and my outfit is already kinda set in stone—” I look down at my white hospital gown with a swirly blue design on it. “There’s not much I can do.”

  “I can flat-iron your hair. And you can wear some lip gloss.”

  “I guess so. Maybe switch into my beige fuzzy socks instead of my blue ones?” I laugh at my effort at a joke.

  She grins. “The beige ones are way sexier.”

  Chloe’s expression is content as she works on my hair. She likes to feel like she’s doing something to help, and these past couple weeks, there hasn’t been much anyone could do to help.

  I’m so glad Colin finally got a break from filming to come here. Texting just isn’t the same. I think I’ll spend the entire visit in his arms.

  “Can you run interference with my parents?” I ask Chloe. “I need to spend time alone with Colin. I kind of wish I hadn’t even told them he’s coming.”

  “Oh, I told them he’d be here an hour later than he said.”

  “Good.”

  She steps back to look at her work on my hair.

  “I like it. It’s not as good as Aggie can do, but it looks nice.”

  “Oh, Aggie.” I sigh wistfully at the mention of my hair stylist. “I miss her.”

  “She’s been texting. She told me earlier that this would be a great opportunity for you to be deep conditioning.”

  I burst into a heartier laugh than I’ve had in a while. I’m locked away in a private hospital wing, healing from a violent attack by a crazed fan, and my hair stylist is still focused on the health of my hair. I can’t help but love her.

  As I count down the minutes to Colin’s arrival, I get nervous. I haven’t been nervous around him since we first met. He has a smile that melts me and excites me at the same time.

  When there’s a knock at my door, Chloe answers it, slipping out of the room as Colin walks in.

  “Hey,” he says, giving me a huge, fake smile.

  I can see the shock in his eyes as he takes me in. The lip gloss doesn’t exactly hide the reality of the new Elle.

  “Hi.” I open my arms as he approaches the bed, and he leans down to hug me.

  “I’d get up, but it’s tough with the cast,” I say.

  “No, it’s okay.” Colin hugs me gingerly and then steps back, a crinkle forming between his brows as he studies my face.

  “You’re buff,” I say, taking in his muscular physique.

  “Yeah, they needed me to bulk up for this movie.”

  “And how’s the filming going?” I gesture at the chair next to my bed. “Sit down.”

  He runs a hand through his short blond hair and sighs as he walks over to the chair.

  “Listen, Elle . . . I’m signed to start on another movie as soon as I finish this one.”

  “I know.” I smile proudly. “You’re in demand.”

  His return smile is halfhearted. “I mean . . . you’ve been here for a month now, and this is the first time I’ve been able to get away to visit.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He just looks at my face, his expression the same sad, forlorn one I’m used to seeing from my parents, Chloe, and Andre.

  “Damn, Elle. I’m so sorry this happened.” He shakes his head mournfully. “It’s such a tragedy.”

  “I know. There’s good news, though.”

  “Yeah? From the doctors?”

  I shake my head. “The police have some good leads on Gary Beasley. They’ve kept it out of the news, but I’ve been texting with the guy who saved me, and he’s been telling me.”

  “That’s great news. I hope they fry the bastard.”

  I sigh softly. “I’ll definitely rest easier when he’s behind bars.”

  “Listen, Elle,” Colin says for the second time. Something about his tone and the way he won’t look at me makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “What is it?”

  “I think . . . with where things are . . . I mean, you need to focus on getting better, and I’m swamped with work right now . . .”

  I close my eyes, my stomach churning. “You want to break off the engagement.”

  His expression is loaded with guilt. “It’s just a lot to handle. Too much.”

  “What, being with a woman who looks like this?” I gesture at my face.

  “No, just . . . being with someone the entire world is obsessed with. I’m not sure you realize how bad it is out there.”

  “It’s always been like that, and it never bothered you before.”

  He shakes his head. “Not like this, Elle. I’ve got reporters and photographers on my tail around the clock, asking me how you are and why I haven’t come to see you yet.”

  “So this is about you,” I say bitterly.

  “You think your life doesn’t affect mine?”

  I slide the platinum ring from my finger and pass it to him. “Just go.”

  He sighs heavily. “Elle. I don’t want it to be like this. I still want to be your friend.”

  “Fantastic.” I roll my eyes, willing myself not to cry in front of him.

  “I’m not a bad guy, okay? I just didn’t expect this whole thing to be so overwhelming.”

  I glare at him. “You’re overwhelmed? Poor, poor Colin.”

  “You don’t need to be a bitch about it,” he mutters.

  “Get out!” I scream. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  Tears of rage are streaming down my face as Andre runs into the room.

  “Get him out,” I say, choking on the words.

  Colin puts his hands in the air as Andre approaches. “I’m going, man.”

  Andre gives me a helpless look as Chloe comes running into the room. She sees the sparkling ring in Colin’s hand, and her eyes bulge.

  “Really, asshole?” she cries.

  Colin gives her a contrite look, and she
narrows her eyes at him, her face reddening.

  “I never liked you anyway!” she exclaims. “You’re a pussy for not doing any of your own stunts! Karma’s coming for you with a raging case of hemorrhoids, asshole!”

  Colin puts his head down and leaves the room as quickly as possible, and Andre holds Chloe back when she tries to follow him.

  “Let go of me!” She tries to twist out of his hold. “I’m not through with him!”

  “It’s okay, Chloe,” I say, half laughing and half crying.

  “It’s not okay. How dare he come in here and break up with you? Talk about kicking someone when they’re down.”

  “Look at me,” I say, shrugging.

  “Don’t you let him get to you, Elle,” Chloe says in a firm tone. “Don’t let him get inside your head for even a hot second. He’s a shallow asshole.”

  I wipe my cheeks with my bedsheet. “I feel stupid for not seeing it coming.”

  “You’re not stupid, Elle,” Andre says, walking over to hand me a tissue. “He is.”

  I lean back against the bed and exhale heavily. And just when I think things can’t get any worse, my parents walk into the room.

  “Where’s my future son-in-law?” my mom asks, looking around.

  “Come with me,” Chloe says, practically pushing my parents out of the room.

  I’ve never been so grateful for her. She’ll explain and let me have this time to myself to grieve for yet another thing I’ve lost.

  “You okay?” Andre asks, looking down at me.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods and leaves the room, pulling the door closed. And I’m pretty sure we both know I’m not okay at all.

  Justin

  I TIP MY GLASS up and finish the last of my beer, then set the glass back on the table.

  “I’m out,” I say to the three guys sitting with me.

  “Me too,” my friend Ryan says.

  We all take out our wallets and settle our tabs, then leave the downtown Irish pub together. After a game of two-on-two, we went out for dinner. And at a little before 10:00 p.m., I’m ready for bed.

  “Is twenty-six the new eighty?” I ask, yawning.