Hidden Depth (Lockhart Brothers Book 4)

by Brenda Rothert

  “Let’s not,” she says wryly. “But if it gets worse, let me know.”

  As soon as she leaves the room, Chloe comes in.

  “What’s this I hear about a booty call last night?” she asks with a grin.

  I laugh so hard I snort. “I pity the guy who thinks of me as a booty call right now.”

  “Don’t deflect with humor.” She sits down in the chair beside my bed. “I want details. Was it his idea or yours?”

  “It was no big deal.” I hold my hands out to her. “Can you help me sit up a little more? This cast weighs like a hundred pounds.”

  She helps me sit up, fluffing my pillow before I rest back against it.

  “I texted him because I was craving a burger and a milk shake.”

  “And also craving him?” She nods knowingly.

  I roll my eyes at her. “He’s really nice and easy to talk to.”

  “And hot as fuck.”

  “That, too.”

  She squeals happily. “I don’t know if I’m happier about you eating a good meal or wanting to see him. I guess I’m equally happy about both.”

  I put out a hand to stop her racing train of thought. “I am not trying to get with him or anyone else.”

  “Well, not right away . . .”

  “Don’t you think any man who looked at me would just see the scar?”

  Chloe lowers her brows disdainfully. “Absolutely not. You stop saying shit like that, Eleanor Simpson.”

  I smile at her use of my full, real name. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m in a hospital bed for the foreseeable future.”

  “Not because you have to be,” she reminds me.

  “Has the crowd of reporters thinned out at all?”

  “Uh . . . no. Even the reporters who have reported you were snuck out in a laundry truck or ambulance are still out there.”

  “Hmm, those are ideas. But then, where would I go?”

  She gives me a surprised look. “Anywhere? You can rehab in a house on the beach if you want.”

  “Not without photographers hounding me.”

  “We could find an island or something.”

  I consider but then shake my head. “Vultures can fly, remember? They shoot from helicopters.”

  She sits down on the edge of my bed and gives me a sympathetic look. “We’ll figure it out. We can hire all the private security you need. I think it would help you to get out of here and back home.”

  “I know how crazy this sounds, Chloe, but . . . I don’t want to go home. Both places are filled with memories of before. Photos and things I bought on tours. Kitchens and pools I remember hosting parties at. I think it would just make me sad.”

  She takes my hand. “I understand. We can find you a new place, where you can have a fresh start.”

  “I know I’m superficial for not wanting photos of my scar to get out.”

  “You’re not. Very few people know what it’s like to live under the scrutiny you do. You deserve time to heal in private.”

  I nod and squeeze her hand. “I think we should release a statement. I want it to say that I’m still here, receiving the best of care, and that I thank everyone for their concern and support.”

  “I’ll have Anthony work with the publicist on it this morning.”

  “Let’s release it on my Facebook page.”

  “Okay.”

  I feel a lump tightening my throat. “I can’t believe that after almost a month . . . people still care. I see the messages on social media.”

  “Your fans love you.”

  My voice shakes when I speak. “I never want to disappoint them. I don’t see how I can ever be the Elle they knew again.”

  “You may never be her again. But I know they’ll love you no matter what.”

  Nancy walks in with my breakfast tray, and Chloe gets up from her spot at the end of my bed.

  “I’m going to call Anthony,” she says.

  “Tell him if he hasn’t canceled all my pending contracts within twenty-four hours, he’s fired.”

  Chloe arches her brows, looking impressed. “There’s the Elle I know and love.”

  “Also tell him I expect all communication about me to be with either you or me. I don’t want him even taking my mom’s calls.”

  “Got it. Mama Simpson’s gonna blow her top, though.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Guess I can’t threaten to fire her, huh?”

  Chloe just shakes her head and walks out of the room. Nancy laughs as she sets down my breakfast tray.

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes for our walk,” she says.

  I eat half of the toast, which isn’t nearly as good as the food Justin brought me last night, and then Nancy and I take a walk around the empty hospital wing. Well, she walks, and I hobble along on my crutches. I kind of look forward to getting the cast off because it’s cumbersome, but I kind of dread it because the doctors have told me the damage to my leg was so severe I may have a permanent limp.

  After the walk, I crawl back under the covers, relieved I don’t have to put out any more effort today. I think about Gary Beasley and have to pull the covers all the way up over my face to keep warm.

  He’s out there somewhere. Maybe he’s hurt someone else. Is he still obsessed with me? I’m certainly not the same woman anymore. Surely he doesn’t want to stalk the hollowed-out shell I am now.

  The door to my room opens, and I hear someone walk in. I peek out from under the covers, assuming it’s Chloe.

  But it’s not. It’s a tall, beautiful black woman with long braids held back in a loose ponytail.

  “Elle, I’m Merona, your new day shift nurse,” she says with a bright, perfect smile.

  “Hi.”

  “My daughters just love you.”

  “Thank you, that’s really nice to hear.”

  She walks over to the window and reaches for the cord to the blinds. “Hardest thing I ever had to do was sign that confidentiality agreement. I can’t even tell them I’m taking care of you.”

  “No!” I cry. “Don’t open that.”

  “We need some sunshine in here.” She pulls the cord and light comes streaming into the room.

  “No! Paparazzi can shoot from helicopters!” I cover my face with my hands.

  “We’ll move your bed, then, so your back faces the window.”

  I crinkle my brow in confusion. “Or we could just leave the blinds closed?”

  “Can’t do that,” she says, checking my pitcher to see how much water is in it. “Two things we have to have when Merona’s working are sunshine and optimism.”

  “Ugh.” I don’t mean to say the word out loud, but it slips out.

  Her laugh is a warm, rich sound. “Don’t be givin’ me no sass, girl. I’ve got five kids at home, and I don’t let them sass me either.”

  “Okay.” I sigh with defeat. “We’ll have the blinds open.”

  “My friend Diane is coming to see you at two. That gives us plenty of time to get you showered and ready.”

  “What? I don’t want to see anyone.”

  Merona waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, you’ll love Diane.”

  “Why is she coming here?” I feel a panicky tightness in my chest over the thought of not one, but two new people in my room today.

  “She’s your psychologist.”

  I shake my head. “No, no, no. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I’m a private pay patient, and I want things the way I want them.”

  Merona just looks down at me from beside the bed, hands on her hips. “Honey, I don’t care if you’re private pay or broke as hell. I treat all my patients the same.”

  “I’m not asking for special treatment, I just want to be left alone.”

  She scoffs. “What kind of nurse would I be if I left you alone?”

  “Nancy left me alone.”

  “Mmm-hmm. And where’s Nancy at now?”

  I haven’t even gotten out a response and Merona is sliding my legs across the bed, easing my cast onto
the floor.

  “You’re just as pretty in person as you are on TV, you know that?” She grins. “That red hair is just to die for.”

  “Well . . . thanks.”

  She helps me get up, her arm strong around my back as I hold on to her and hop to the bathroom without my crutches.

  “I used to sing in the church choir,” she says as she turns on the shower. “I was pretty good.”

  “Yeah?”

  She laughs. “I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t, but I loved the way it made me feel. Just . . . full.”

  “I feel that way about it, too.”

  She helps me get my gown off and supports me as I step into the shower and sit down on the shower seat. The warm water feels good rolling over my skin.

  “That’s your natural hair color, isn’t it?” Merona asks.

  “Well, yeah. The carpet matches the drapes, right?”

  “Oh, Lord!” She shakes her head and laughs. “I didn’t look there. I meant because of your eyebrows.”

  Her mortified expression makes me laugh. “Sure you did, Merona.”

  “You’re something else, Elle Tyler.”

  “So are you.”

  I wash my hair and body, then shave my one bare leg. Merona helps me step out, and then I dry off and she puts a fresh gown on me.

  “I think this gown is much cuter than the last one, don’t you?” I crack.

  “Girl, you could wear a burlap sack and look gorgeous.”

  I snort-laugh. “Yeah, for a chick with a big scar on her face.”

  Merona doesn’t laugh. She just gives me a serious look. “None of that. You’ve got no reason to feel sorry for yourself.”

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Hmm.” She gives me a skeptical look. “Sounded a lot like self-pity to me.”

  “Well, I was brutally attacked by a crazed fan who nearly murdered me, so . . .”

  “But you survived, praise God.”

  She puts her arm around me and leads me past my bed to a chair in the corner.

  “I’ll just lie down in the bed,” I say, trying to stop.

  “No, you can’t spend all day in that bed, girl. Sit down, and I’ll go get you a drink. What sounds good?”

  She helps me into the chair, and I glare at her. “What sounds good is lying alone in the dark.”

  “Sprite, then.” She gives me a big smile and heads for the door, picking up my crutches on the way and leaving them by the door.

  And now I’m stuck in this chair in my sunny room. Today is not going according to plan at all.

  Justin

  ELLE’S BEEN ON MY mind all day. Not just because I can’t wait to see her later, but also because of the photographers and reporters who were waiting outside my apartment this morning. After a couple weeks of going to see Elle every day, wearing a hoodie or sneaking through a side door, I’ve been busted.

  They followed me to my car and then chased me to my office, yelling out questions about what’s going on between Elle and me. I figured something was up, and once I got to work and turned on my computer, I knew what. I had hundreds of tags on social media, all showing photos of me leaving the hospital yesterday evening.

  The headlines were so over-the-top. Things like “Is Elle Tyler Falling for Her Rescuer?” and “Hunky Hero Makes Late-Night Visits to Elle Tyler.”

  I had to deactivate all my social media accounts by noon because the notifications were getting crazy. And if I could, I’d have my phone turned off, too. I’ve gotten texts from pretty much everyone who has my number today. I’ve ignored all of them, but my brothers are ruthless.

  It started with a morning text from Mason asking if I knew where he could find himself a “hunky hero” and just got worse from there. I sent them all a photo of my middle finger and left it at that.

  This frenzy is what Elle is trying to avoid, and I can understand that. It’s distracting as hell. The partners at the firm have been good about it because they know it’s not my fault. And eventually, the attention on me will die down.

  She’ll have to deal with it for a lot longer. If I thought I could deflect any of it for her, I would. But really, it’s her everyone wants, not me.

  I leave the office a little after five, and as soon as I walk out the door, reporters clamor around me.

  “Justin, are you going to see Elle?”

  “How’s Elle doing?”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “Can we just get a comment, Justin?”

  I put my head down and push through the crowd, but they just follow me all the way to the parking deck. It’s not until I’m safely inside my car that I take a breath and relax.

  For fuck’s sake. I want to tell the throng of vultures to give Elle a break, but I know I can’t say a single word to them. They’ll take anything and run with it, making my words into something that suits them.

  They follow me to the hospital, and we repeat the process—them yelling out questions and snapping photos while I put my head down and walk to the hospital entrance. There are more reporters there, and it’s all I can do to get through the crowd.

  “Behind the line!” a security guard yells, pointing the reporters back to the taped-off area the hospital makes them stay in.

  I make it into the front door and go to the front desk, where I ask the receptionist to call Chloe or Andre to come get me.

  “Actually, Mr. Lockhart, you’re on the approved visitors list. You can go right up. Just push any button on the keypad outside the wing, and someone will come let you in the door. You’ll have to show photo ID.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  She opens her mouth to say something else, clamps it shut, and then opens it again. “I just want to say . . . I think it’s great that you’re here. It’s really sweet.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I just smile and nod. Then I head for Elle’s room, my pulse pounding at the thought of seeing her again.

  I know she’s a superstar and I’m just an average guy, but I like her. A lot. And if she’ll give me a shot, I’ll treat her the way she deserves. Not like that bag of dicks, Colin Hughes, treated her. I know romance isn’t on her radar right now, but I want to be a friend now and hopefully, more later.

  It takes a couple minutes for a security guard to come up and clear me into Elle’s wing. He calls the front desk, checks my ID, and then decides to check with Andre, too.

  “Sorry, man,” he says as he uses his keycard to open the door. “Security is tight on this wing.”

  “It’s all good. You’re just doing your job.”

  When I get to Elle’s room, she’s sitting up in bed, scrolling on her phone and wearing a sulky expression. Chloe is sitting in a chair in the corner scrolling through her own phone.

  “Hey,” Elle says, giving me a small smile.

  “Hey.” I take off my suit jacket and walk over to the bed, laying it over the back of an empty chair next to Elle. “How’s it going?”

  Chloe gets up from the chair.

  “You don’t need to leave just because I’m here,” I say.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m going to order some pizza for everyone, actually. What kind do you like?”

  “I’ll eat anything on pizza.”

  “Pineapple?” Chloe asks skeptically.

  “Eh . . . I’ve eaten worse.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not getting pineapple.” She looks at Elle. “Need anything?”

  “No.”

  Chloe leaves the room, and Elle sets her phone down on the bed.

  “Hi,” she says, the warmth in her eyes making me smile.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry about the reporters.”

  I shrug. “It’s not your fault.”

  She runs a hand through her hair, which is loose around her shoulders and a little wavy today. I like it. “I think they’re trying to run me out of here. They’re probably sick of the reporters outside.”

  “Who, the hospital people?”

&
nbsp; She nods and I laugh.

  “Trust me, they want you here for as long as possible. They can’t buy this kind of PR for any money. Treating one of the most famous people in the world, when you could be anywhere?”

  “Well, they should stop sending so many people in to see me, then.”

  I arch a brow in question. “People? What people?”

  “Merona, who is like a giant ray of inescapable sunshine. And my shrink, who’s making me write down all my feelings.”

  Her cross tone amuses me for some reason. “You mean they’re trying to treat you here? Like you’re a patient or something?”

  “Not you, too,” she grumbles, but I can tell she’s not really pissed. “Why can’t a girl just relax in the dark if she wants to?”

  “This is all part of healing.”

  She sighs softly. “Why don’t I get to decide when I want to heal?”

  “Because you’re kinda obstinate.”

  “Obstinate?” She’s trying to sound outraged, but a smile is playing on her lips.

  “Obstinate.” I reach for her hand and take it, feeling a surge of arousal from the warm, soft feel of her skin. “And beautiful. Charming. Sweet. Headstrong.”

  “You know all of this about me already? After just a few weeks?” Her cheeks are flushed pink as she studies me.

  “I do.”

  She squeezes my hand, sadness suddenly pooling in her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to heal. I’d love to leave here and spend more time with you. Write music again. But . . . I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not?”

  She looks down at the bed. “I almost told the psychologist this, but then . . . I just felt ashamed of it, so I didn’t. The truth is, I’m terrified.”

  “Terrified of what?” I stroke my thumb across the back of her hand, suddenly feeling protective.

  Her eyes widen. “Everything. And I know that sounds dramatic, but I am. I’m afraid to be alone. I’m afraid I’ll get this cast off and find out I have a limp. I think about Gary Beasley all the time. He’s still out there. God, am I afraid of him. I have nightmares about him, and I wake up sweating. And outside of this hospital, where I know I’m safe, it’ll be even worse. Everyone wants me to heal and go back to being the same old Elle Tyler, but . . . I can’t. That few minutes in the bathroom that day . . . it changed everything, Justin.”