Falling Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 2)

by Terri Osburn

  “Go where?”

  “They’re transporting him to Vanderbilt. The doctor at TriStar said he needs a good plastic surgeon to get the glass out and repair the damage.” She didn’t add that even with the best surgeon, there was still the possibility that Chance’s hand would never be the same again. “They couldn’t find a doctor to do the procedure, so I called Mary Beth, who got me in touch with Neal Nelson.”

  April’s jaw fell open. “You called the doctor you went through all of this mess to avoid? And he just dropped everything to operate on some guy’s hand.”

  “Dammit, April.” Naomi whipped off the bed and snatched her tennis shoes from the closet before storming into the living room. “Chance isn’t just some guy. He’s a musician. Don’t you get it? He has glass embedded in his hand. Without a working hand, he can’t play anymore.”

  “So he sings without a guitar. Why in the hell are you so worked up about this?” April asked, following close on her heels. “You’re acting like he’s going to die if you aren’t there.”

  Turning on her best friend, Naomi screamed, “I have to get there because I still love him!” Both women froze and Naomi’s hand covered her mouth.

  April stared wide-eyed. “You can’t be serious. Hon, he’s been out of your life for seven years. You can’t fall back into love with the guy in a week.”

  Naomi lowered slowly to the couch. “I’m still in love with him. Why didn’t I see that?”

  The cushion dipped as April sat down beside her. “You’re on an adrenaline high, that’s all. You aren’t thinking straight. Take a shower. Have a glass of wine. You can call the hospital and check on Chance tomorrow.”

  “No.” Leaning forward, she slid on a shoe. Whether Naomi was in her right mind or not didn’t matter. Chance needed her. Her feelings, whatever they were, could be sorted out later. “I need to get over there.”

  “For what? If he’s in surgery he won’t even know that you’re there.”

  Tugging her second shoelace into place, Naomi sat up to look April in the eye. “I need to be there.” She enunciated every word slowly. “I just do.”

  Her best friend took her hand. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but I remember how this went the last time. I don’t want to watch you go through that again.”

  “This afternoon you told me to be his friend.”

  “Being his friend and giving him the power to hurt you are two different things.”

  April was right. If she opened her heart, Chance could break it all over again. But so could any guy. Naomi had survived before, and she’d survive again.

  For too long she’d been playing it safe. Been cold, as Michael had put it. Where had that gotten her? Naomi was no better off now than she was that day seven years ago. It was as if her life had been put on pause, and Chance coming back into it pushed play again. Naomi had never been a big believer in signs, but even she couldn’t ignore something so obvious.

  “I love you. You’re my best friend in the world. But I need to do this whether you understand it or not.”

  April pulled her in for a hug. “Then go, honey. I get it. Really, I do.” Pulling back, she said, “I’ll be here if you need me. To bring coffee or tissues or a trashy magazine. Just say the word.”

  This was why they’d been friends for a decade. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 20

  Clay arrived at Vanderbilt Medical Center before eight on Monday morning to find his artist looking like a pincushion with a giant white ball where his left hand should be, and his PR director sleeping on a cot under the window.

  Leaving the patient be, he crossed silently to Naomi and nudged her shoulder.

  “What?” she muttered, bolting upright. “Is something wrong?”

  There were several things wrong with this picture, but Clay didn’t mention them.

  “I didn’t get your message until this morning. Here.” He offered her a cup of coffee. “It looks like you need this more than I do.”

  Taking a second to get her bearings, Naomi sat up and put her feet on the floor before accepting the drink. “Thanks.”

  The text message Shelly had sent said Chance was at Vanderbilt Medical Center and had undergone an operation to remove glass from his left hand. There had been no mention of Naomi or how the glass had gotten into his hand in the first place.

  “Where is Shelly?” he asked, figuring that was a good place to start.

  Naomi rubbed the sleep from her mascara-smudged eyes. “She has little kids. She couldn’t stay.”

  “Have you been here all night?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, before succumbing to a yawn. “They took him into surgery around eleven last night. He woke around four, I think. They had to give him more pain medication. He tried to fight them on it.”

  Considering the size of the bandage on Chance’s hand, he couldn’t imagine him not having pain medicine. “Why didn’t he want it?”

  Hazel eyes dropped to the cup she held in both hands. “I guess his addictions aren’t limited to alcohol. Chance doesn’t want to get hooked again.”

  Realizing this situation was more complicated than he’d originally thought, Clay dragged over a sterile beige chair and took a seat.

  “Let’s start at the beginning. How did he get glass in his hand?”

  She removed the lid from the cup and blew on the dark liquid. “We were locked out of his house, so Chance tried to jimmy a window open. The glass shattered, embedding a piece in his hand.”

  Okay. Clearly this wasn’t the beginning.

  “You were with Chance at his house?”

  “Yes.”

  Clay waited for more, but nothing came. A one-word answer wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Naomi, I’m going to need a little more info here.”

  “I know you are.” After setting the coffee on the floor, she swept her hair back off her face. “I told you that Chance and I have a history. It looks like we might have a future, as well. I didn’t see it coming, and I doubt Chance did, either.” Elbows on her knees, she looked Clay in the eye. “I honestly don’t know where this is going, if it’s going anywhere at all. But nothing between me and Chance will affect how I do my job.”

  On that she was wrong.

  “If there’s something more than business between you and Chance, it will definitely affect how you do your job. There’s no way it couldn’t.”

  “I’m a professional, Clay. That hasn’t changed.”

  “I’m not suggesting it has. I’m saying Chance is about to get the best PR attention he could ever hope for. If you care, you’ll go above and beyond. Much more than for a regular client. I just hope he doesn’t take that for granted.”

  The look on Naomi’s face was priceless. Clay wasn’t sure what she had expected him to say, but that clearly wasn’t it.

  “You mean you don’t care if Chance and I are involved?”

  “What you do on your own time is your business, Naomi. There are risks, of course. If this doesn’t work out, you’ll still have to work with him. Will you be able to do that?”

  She picked up the coffee with a smile. “Have you forgotten that I was already doing that, when I thought he was still an arrogant asshole?”

  Clay couldn’t help but laugh. “True. Then I don’t see a problem on my end.” Regaining his feet, he glanced over at the man in question. “All immediate publicity will have to be rescheduled, obviously. Do we know anything about recovery time?”

  Naomi’s smile faltered. “That’s hard to say. Chance doesn’t know yet, but the doctor says there could be permanent tendon damage. Even with months of PT, he might not regain full use of his hand.”

  The implications weren’t lost on Clay. “He won’t be able to play.”

  Biting her lip, she nodded. “That’s a possibility. But dealing with the pain-medicine issue will likely be the first obstacle. They’ve already said he could possibly go home as early as this evening. I’m afraid once he’s out of here, he won’t take anything
they send with him. At least not for pain.”

  Clay could only imagine how miserable that was going to be. “He’s a hard-headed man, but I can’t say that I blame him. Not after what he’s achieved in the last year.”

  “To be honest, I don’t blame him, either.” Naomi rose to her feet. “I emailed Daphne with instructions on where to find my folders on Chance’s interviews. She’ll let them all know that things have been put on hold. I also sent her a press release about the incident. That should go out this morning. I don’t want any speculation about what happened. This was an accident, nothing more.”

  When she’d said professional, she meant it. “You did all that since last night?”

  She offered a crooked smile. “I had a lot of time on my hands. I needed to do something.”

  “I guess we’re good, then. I’ll be in the office or on my phone if you need anything. Tell Chance that I was here and that Shooting Stars is behind him.” Contemplating his options, Clay said, “I’m not going to cancel the recording time just yet. I realize he won’t be playing, but that doesn’t mean he can’t record.” Eying Chance, he added, “Let’s give him something to work toward. The demos were in my inbox yesterday, and the songs are good. Maybe with the forced downtime, he’ll come up with a few more.”

  “I’ll let him know you were here, but I’ll keep the rest to myself until he asks. I think that will be for the best, all things considered.”

  Clay saw her point. “Okay. I’ve got to run, but keep me posted on his condition. And don’t forget to take care of yourself. That cot couldn’t have been very comfortable.”

  Naomi held up the coffee. “A few of these and I’ll be fine.”

  Doubtful. “If you want something better than cafeteria food, call Belinda. She’ll bring over whatever you need.”

  “I’ll do that, thanks.”

  With one last check on the patient, Clay noticed the flutter of an eye. No more snoring, either. So much for filling him in slowly. Taking his leave, Clay silently wished Naomi luck. She was going to need it.

  “When can I get out of here?” Chance had already asked twice and gotten a song and dance for an answer. “I’ve got a scratch. What the hell are they making me stick around for?”

  “You’ve got more than a scratch, buddy boy. And if you don’t stop being an ass to the nurses, I’m going to poke you in the middle of that scratch and we’ll see what you’re claiming then.”

  He should have known Shelly would be a pain in the ass. Chance had been poked a thousand times already, and if one more person came in with a needle pointed in his direction, they were going to get kicked in the head.

  The doc had been in and cooed over his work. Chance still couldn’t believe Neal the Neighbor had stitched him up. Prissy Dawn Mallard probably got a kick out of that one. What was Naomi thinking? She was probably thinking Neal was her hero now. She’d left the room with him a while ago, and still hadn’t come back.

  As he’d drifted awake earlier in the morning, Chance had caught an exchange between Clay and Naomi. They’d talked about him as if a factory had gone off-line. When can production start again? What do we tell the papers? Make sure the story is clear to mitigate any damage to our reputation.

  To his credit, Clay had also said Chance’s songs were good, but when the artist was lying in a hospital bed, maybe that shouldn’t have been the top priority.

  “Who wants a doughnut?” Naomi said as she flitted back into the room, all smiles and happy.

  Shelly raised her hand. “Right here.”

  Naomi held out a white bag. “Take whatever you want, but the Bavarian cream is for Chance.”

  “She knows you well, brother.”

  “I don’t want anything,” he said, sounding like Tristan when he didn’t want his dinner.

  “Come on.” Naomi pulled his treat from the bag. “Doesn’t this look good? Much better than the stuff they’re bringing you for lunch. I sneaked a peek at the cart outside. You need to eat this, trust me.”

  “I said I don’t want the damn doughnut.”

  Shelly rolled her eyes while Naomi looked stricken. “That’s okay. You don’t have to eat it.”

  “Ignore him,” his annoying sister mumbled around her bite of cinnamon roll. “And everything he says for at least the next week. Chance has always been a mean patient. When he’s sick, he’s ten times more stubborn than usual. Which is saying something.”

  Chance was not in the mood. “No one yanked your chain.”

  “See?” Licking her fingers, Shelly asked, “Where did you get these? This might be the best cinnamon roll I’ve ever had.”

  “Neal showed me a place down the block from the hospital.” Neal likely wanted to show her more than damn doughnuts. “He says their coffee is good, too,” Naomi went on, “but I didn’t get any since I’ve had three cups already this morning. I’m sorry. I should have brought you some.”

  Shelly waved the words away. “No worries. I’m off caffeine for a while.”

  “Wow.” Naomi blinked. “You’re stronger than I am.”

  “She isn’t stronger than anything,” Chance cut in. “She’s pregnant.” Both women stared in stunned silence, and even he realized he was being an asshole. “Surprise.”

  Gathering her purse, Shelly tossed the bag of clothes she’d brought for him on the foot of the bed. “There’s your shit. You’re welcome. Good luck getting them on.”

  Without another word, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Naomi remained at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and glaring.

  Chance threw his good arm over his eyes. “Well, shit.”

  Naomi fumed. “There’s no excuse for what you just did.”

  “Spare me the lecture.”

  “Being in pain doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk. Do you know she came here in her pajamas last night? Or that she stayed until nearly one in the morning, until you came out of surgery?”

  If he thought Naomi was going to tolerate him being mean for the whole of this recovery, Chance was sadly mistaken.

  He removed the arm from his face and snarled. “How do you know how long she was here?”

  “Because I’ve been here the whole time, too. Do I look well rested and freshly showered to you?”

  She’d have given her cell phone for a hot bath, and Naomi was never without her phone.

  For the first time all morning, she saw a spark of uncertainty in his brown eyes before he covered them again. “No one asked you to stay.”

  They were not going to play that game. “You couldn’t ask me to stay because you were unconscious. Because while trying to get me into your house to have sex, you broke a window and nearly bled to death. I stayed because after wearing your blood on my clothes for hours, I felt emotionally invested in the outcome. Heaven forbid someone care about you enough to stick around to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Do I look okay to you?” he asked, lifting his injured hand and regretting it immediately. “Goddammit.”

  She nearly ran to him. Ran to his side and offered soothing words. But no cooing or coddling was going to fix this. Naomi would be with him for the trial ahead, but she would not be bullied for her trouble, nor would she tolerate a grown man acting like a spoiled baby.

  “I suggest not doing that again.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Not if you keep acting like this.”

  Chance snorted through gritted teeth. “You’re as irritating as Shelly is.”

  Naomi leaned on the bottom bed rail. “Maybe. But I’m still here, aren’t I? I can take whatever you dish out, Mr. Colburn. I can also give as good as I get. So we can be a team, or we can be at war. Your call.”

  He didn’t reply right away, as if waiting her out. Waiting to see if she meant what she said, or if, like everyone else in his life, she’d walk away. Leave him to fend for himself.

  “I heard you and Clay talking this morning,” he said, eyes on the ceiling.

  So the anger wasn’t only f
rom the pain. “Then you know what we’re facing.”

  Pressing a button, he raised himself to a sitting position. “I know what I’m facing. My ass is still in this hospital bed and all you two could talk about was when I’ll get back to work. Screw you and your team.”

  Of all the things said in that conversation, the mention of getting him into the studio shouldn’t have been what pissed him off. There was no way he’d heard all of it.

  “How much did you hear, exactly?”

  “Enough.”

  “Yeah. I don’t think so.” Naomi moved the bag of clothes to a chair and climbed onto the bed. “Did you hear me tell Clay what the doctor said about your hand?”

  Chance snickered. “That it has a hole in it? I can figure that much out on my own.”

  “No, Chance. That the hole may be more than a hole.” She and Shelly had discussed revealing the possibilities once he was home, but the man deserved to know the truth. “The glass shredded several tendons that run through the center of your palm. Those tendons control your fingers. Without them, you can’t do things like grip a can or hold a plate.” Holding his gaze, she said, “You can’t play a guitar.”

  Staring in disbelief, he said, “That can’t be right. Your pretty boy Neal said the operation was a success. He said he put it all back together.”

  “Yes. He was able to remove all the glass and reconstruct your hand, but there’s no way to know how much function you’ll have until the wound heals and you start physical therapy.” She’d have given anything to be able to lie. To tell him he’d be good as new in no time. If only that was true.

  His focus shifted to the large white bandage on his left hand. “Then I’ll do the therapy and get it back.”

  Belief was good. Illusions were not.

  “Maybe. But there’s still the possibility—”

  “That I’ll get full use back,” he finished. “Nay, there’s no other option. I’m a musician. I play guitar. End of story.”

  There were several ways Chance could have reacted to this news. Raged against it. Given up without a fight. Or, worst of all, tried to drink it away. That his initial response was a show of blind faith in the face of potentially impossible odds revealed a great deal about the man, and how much he’d changed.