by Ranae Rose
No. Donovan was supposed to be taking care of Ricardo. If Ricardo was calling her in the middle of the night… “Is Donovan all right?”
“Shit.” Several seconds of silence ticked by, and Clementine had to fight not to grind her teeth. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but… He’s been in an accident.”
CHAPTER 12
She gripped the phone hard enough to hurt her fingers. “What kind of accident?”
“Car accident. It’s my fault – I left the keys on the counter and he took it out an hour ago. He told me over a year ago that he didn’t sleepwalk anymore. I didn’t realize…”
“Is he hurt?” The adrenaline spiking through her veins told her that he was, that Ricardo wouldn’t have called her at three in the morning if he hadn’t been.
“Yeah. He made it about four blocks before he plowed into a telephone pole. No seatbelt, so he got banged up… I’m at the hospital with him now. Listen, I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault. I shoulda hid the keys, shoulda—”
Ricardo seemed truly agonized, and the sound of his voice wrenched at some painful place inside her. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know yet. There was blood on his face when they pulled him out of the car, but I’m no doctor. It was dark anyway and I was scared shitless. Donovan gave me your number when he first got here – said it was in case of an emergency – and I called you right away. Didn’t know who else to call.”
Donovan had given Ricardo her number as soon as he’d arrived? In case of an emergency? Clementine’s stomach twisted. “I’m coming to Miami. I’ll be on the first flight out of Dulles. I’ll need the name of the hospital, and your address. Is this a number where I can reach you?”
“Yeah, this is my cell. Call it anytime. I’ll text you that other stuff, unless you have something to write with?”
“No…” Scrambling out from beneath the blankets, she was woefully unprepared for Ricardo’s call, for the thing she’d been dreading ever since Donovan had announced that he was leaving the state. At least her suitcase was still packed.
“Like I said, you can call me. I’ll call you when I know anything.”
“Okay.” Pulling off her pajama bottoms, she flung them across the room. “I’ll keep my phone on until they make me turn it off on the plane.” The thought that she might have to wait that long for information was agonizing – hopefully she’d know more before she even reached the airport.
And hopefully Donovan’s injuries wouldn’t be that bad. Praying for nothing more than a few bumps and bruises – head wounds bled easily, so it didn’t have to be something life-threatening – she pulled on jeans and a top, then raced down the hall with her suitcase in tow. Before rushing out the door, she grabbed her purse, checking to make sure her wallet was there before she left. She’d need her credit card to make it to Miami.
For every hurried step she took, her heart beat a dozen times, pounding so hard against her ribs that her chest ached, even as she sank into the driver’s seat of her car and sped away into the night. She was the only one on the roads, and it had been a long time since she’d felt so alone.
* * * * *
By the time she landed at the Miami International Airport, night had turned into day, though she still felt the darkness she’d woken in clinging to her, setting her on edge with thoughts of the unknown. The drive from Willow Heights to Dulles had taken two hours, even with her speeding a little, but she’d had no choice – none of the smaller, closer airports had had flights going out to Miami any time soon. At Dulles, she’d been able to purchase a ticket on a non-stop flight that had departed at six AM. Expensive, and she’d barely made it on board in time, but worth it.
During her drive, Ricardo had called to give her an update. Donovan had suffered some head trauma in the wreck, plus a fractured collarbone. The former worried her far more; his collarbone would heal, but his head? A few stitches were nothing to go to pieces over, though she hated the thought of him bleeding, but Ricardo had said there was a concussion.
She was no expert, but she knew that could lead to complications, and the thought had kept her awake throughout her flight, had made her snap at the poor woman next to her who’d wanted to talk about Florida’s beaches. And now, as she slipped into an idling cab, finally on her way to the hospital, she felt as crushed as the vehicle Donovan had steered into a telephone pole.
She texted Ricardo that she was on her way, and when the cab finally pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance, she checked Ricardo’s first text for the dozenth time, making sure she had the right hospital. After paying the driver, she hurried inside.
The first person she met wasn’t Ricardo, but a security officer. He made her walk through a metal detector and checked her suitcase, which she’d had no choice but to bring along. “I just came from the airport,” she explained, willing him to work faster, to let her go so she could see Donovan.
A man with a lean muscular build and deep brown eyes approached as the officer finished the security check. He – Ricardo – was attractive, not someone she could easily imagine chasing down and beating a criminal. Maybe that was because he looked so remorseful, though – his eyes were large, and clearly reflected his regret. “Clementine,” he said, stepping forward and holding out a hand.
She shook it briefly, staring past his shoulder and down the corridor beyond.
“Come on. I’ll take you to Donovan. And let me get that.” He took her suitcase by the handle and led her to an elevator.
“Any new news?” she asked. She felt as if she had something like butterflies in her stomach, only worse – moths eating away at her from the inside, maybe.
“He does have a concussion.” Ricardo pressed the button for Donovan’s floor. “So they wanna keep him for observation. They’re worried he could have some sort of more serious brain injury. Happens a lot with car accidents, apparently.”
Clementine’s stomach clenched, crushing the imaginary winged creatures she’d felt fluttering there seconds before. When the elevator finally stopped, she wanted to sprint out of it and down the hall. Instead, she followed Ricardo.
Donovan looked a lot like she’d pictured him over the past several hours. He sat in bed with a bandage at his hairline and his arm in a sling, a couple pillows wedged behind his back and head. At least there was no blood – he’d been cleaned and stitched up, dressed in a hospital gown. “Clementine.”
He seemed awake and alert – thank God.
Her heart raced anyway as she hurried across the tile to his bedside. “How are you?”
She glanced down at his right hand – the bandages looked fresh. Between the fractured collarbone and his burnt hand, he really wouldn’t be able to use his right arm any time soon.
“I’ll be fine.” He reached out with his left hand and squeezed one of hers.
The contact sent heat rushing through her, along with the barest hint of relief.
“Couldn’t believe it when Ricardo said you were on your way here.”
“What did you expect?” A hint of exasperation tinged her whirling emotions. “Of course I came – I would’ve traveled a lot farther than this, if I’d had to. Anyway, I got a direct flight – it wasn’t that bad.”
After a sleepless night and hours of worry, she would’ve been dead on her feet, but adrenaline and the pull to reach Donovan had kept her going. Now, her desire to make sure he was okay sharpened her senses. Even over the sterile hospital scent, she could smell traces of him – faint musk and soap, that same body wash she’d borrowed during her first day at his house, after he’d rescued her from the flood.
“I could’ve come home on my own as soon as I got out of here. Good news about Ricardo’s run-in with the law – the thief who got his ass kicked decided to drop all charges, and Ricardo isn’t pressing any either. Whole thing’s getting dropped. I was planning to call and tell you today, then catch a flight home.”
“You shouldn’t be traveling on your own, anyway. You’re an emergency room t
rip waiting to happen.” Her voice didn’t come out as light as she’d meant it to. No way would she have wanted him to fly home alone, especially with his head injury.
“Yeah, well, you know those pills I was taking for my hand?”
She nodded.
“I should’ve just dealt with the pain. Turns out Vicodin can mess with your sleep – not a good idea for someone like me to take it. It might’ve had something to do with last night.”
Clementine cringed inwardly. “I had no idea – I should’ve done some research.” Or hell, read all the fine print that had come with the drug, or asked the pharmacist. Her stupidity could’ve cost Donovan his life.
“It’s my job to worry about that stuff, not yours,” he said.
“I feel like I’ve taken on worrying about you as a full-time occupation, lately.” She squeezed his hand.
A nurse in bright pink scrubs entered the room, took Donovan’s vital signs and asked him a series of questions. Did he have a headache?
Yes, but he didn’t think that was surprising, considering the fact that he’d recently split his head open.
Blurred vision?
No.
Nausea?
No.
The list went on, and Clementine tried to remember everything the nurse asked him. When she was done, Clementine asked for an update on his health.
“He suffered a concussion in the accident and we’re monitoring him for any signs of potentially permanent brain damage,” the nurse said. “Are you Clementine?”
“Yes.”
Her surprise must’ve shown on her face, because the nurse flashed her a wry smile. “He was asking about you when he first got here – well, singing, really. He was pretty out of it, so Dr. Wexford is having him stay for further observation. I know he’s anxious to get out of the hospital, but it’s for his health – he seems to be doing well now, but sometimes it takes hours or days for more serious symptoms to develop.”
Clementine’s fear must’ve shown on her face, because the nurse’s smile faded and was replaced by a more serious look. “This is the best place for him to be right now – the fact that we’re keeping him doesn’t mean he won’t recover fully. Many concussed patients do – better safe than sorry.”
Clementine nodded, thanked the nurse and turned back to Donovan. “Anxious to get out of the hospital, huh? Have you been causing trouble?”
Donovan responded to her arched brow with a wry smile not unlike the nurse’s, but didn’t say a word.
“Has he been a difficult patient, Ricardo? I won’t have any trouble believing it – I practically had to drag him to the ER last week to have his hand treated.”
“He was kind of freaking out about you right after the accident. We lived together for years and I never knew he could sing until a few hours ago.” For the first time since Clementine had met Ricardo, he smiled. It made him look surprisingly charming.
Remembering what Donovan had said about Ricardo needing him, she couldn’t help but wonder if the accident had reversed their roles. At least he didn’t have to worry about an impending trial anymore.
“Fuck you, Suarez,” Donovan said half-heartedly. “I listened to you sing in the shower every morning – you can’t carry a tune worth a damn.”
Ricardo shrugged. “I think that knock on the head must’ve affected your memory – you were way more off-key than I’ve ever been.”
The two kept joking, and something twisted inside Clementine as she imagined Donovan thinking of her – singing – as she’d sped down the highway on her way to Dulles, thinking of him. “Thank God you didn’t make it any farther than four blocks. How fast were you going?”
“Only about thirty miles per hour, according to a witness that watched me plow into that pole like a dumbass.” Donovan frowned. “Could’ve been worse – I could’ve hit another vehicle, or a person.” The look that flashed in his eyes said that the possibility had been haunting him.
“Shit man, it’s my fault,” Ricardo said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “If I’d hid those keys, this never would’ve happened.”
“No, it’s my fault for taking those pills,” Donovan said. “Besides, without the keys I probably would’ve ended up in the street on foot and been flattened by someone else’s vehicle.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ricardo said, “but you came down here in the first place because of me.”
“Stop beating yourself up or I’ll sing again.”
Ricardo stopped blaming himself out loud, though the smile Donovan’s threat incited faded quickly.
“Stop arguing, you two. And Ricardo, if you want to head home, I can take over here.”
Ricardo shook his head. “I’ll stay too. He’s been babysitting me for the past several days; the least I can do is be here now.”
“All right,” Clementine agreed. “Just thought I’d offer.”
Leaning in, she did what she’d been longing to do ever since she’d last seen Donovan – kissed him. His stubble tickled her lips as she pressed them against his jaw, relishing the feel of his warmth against her mouth. “I’m going to stay too, until you’re discharged. However long that takes. And whenever you’re feeling better, I’d like to talk to you about something – I think you’re going to like an idea I came up with on the plane.”
* * * * *
“Hello?” Clementine leaned against the counter in Ricardo’s kitchen, gripping the edge hard with one hand as she cradled the phone with the other. Though she tried to sound neutral, she knew exactly who was calling – she recognized the Kellogg-Hart number.
DC seemed a million miles away as she stood in jeans and a tank top, surrounded by colorful tile and aging Formica countertops, her hair frizzing in the sub-tropical humidity.
“Ms. Lettvin, this is Craig from Kellogg-Hart again.”
“Yes, how are you?” If she’d had an old-fashioned corded phone, she would’ve been twisting the cord around her finger. She’d arrived in Miami in a whirlwind the day before and had stayed overnight in the hospital with Donovan. They’d discharged him just that afternoon and she, Donovan and Ricardo had only arrived at the apartment above the garage twenty minutes ago. She was scheduled to start her new job tomorrow, and she hadn’t called Kellogg-Hart to let them know she’d be unable.
“I’m well, thank you. I’m calling because I forgot to mention which documents you’ll need tomorrow morning when you fill out your paperwork. You’ll want to bring…”
Clementine listened, her heart sinking a little further with each word as he reminded her of the two forms of ID she’d need to have with her. “Thank you Craig, but I’m afraid I have some bad news – I won’t be able to start tomorrow. I had to leave the state unexpectedly due to a medical emergency involving someone very important to me.”
Not wanting to stretch the truth, she resisted calling it a family emergency despite the fact that she was infinitely closer to Donovan than any of her family members. “I know this looks bad, and I’m sorry. If this changes things with the job offer, I understand.”
Several seconds of silence passed, and a faint rustling sounded from the archway between the kitchen and the living room, alerting Clementine to Donovan’s presence. He leaned against the side of the arch, frowning, his injured arm bound in front of his body by a sling.
“We should be able to postpone your start date until, say, Monday? I’ll run it by your supervisor-to-be and get back to you before the day’s over. Will that work?”
Five days. Would Donovan be fit to travel home within five days? The hospital staff had given her a comprehensive list of symptoms to watch for, and if he exhibited any of them, it would be straight back to the emergency room. God willing, though, he wouldn’t. “I think it will,” she said. “I’d appreciate hearing back from you.”
When she ended the call, Donovan was still frowning, a line creasing the skin between his eyes. “You didn’t tell me you found a job.”
A ripple of guilt passed through her as she laid her phone down
. “I didn’t want to stress you out – not after your accident.”
“Is it the one you interviewed for last week?”
“Yes.” Immediately, memories of Donovan waiting for her outside the Kellogg-Hart building flooded back to her in vivid detail – she could see everything, from the shadow of stubble that had graced his jaw to the tendrils of steam that had curled from his coffee cup, floating past his lips.
“And you’re missing your first day?”
Why did he seem so upset? It wasn’t like he’d been eager for her to find a job in DC, to have to move out.
“They gave me an extension. Originally, I was going to start tomorrow. Now I’ll start on Monday, if we’re back by then.”
“And if we’re not?”
She shrugged. “They may move on to another applicant.”
“We’ll be back by Monday.” He straightened, wincing almost imperceptively. “Won’t be a problem.”
“Listen, this reminds me – remember when I said there was something I wanted to talk to you about?” She’d put it off because he was supposed to rest, to avoid stress or strain. Now, watching him frown as he promised to have her back in time to start the job he’d dreaded her landing, she couldn’t help but think that it would ease his mind to know what she’d been thinking.
“Yeah.” He seemed wary – not that she could blame him.
“It has to do with my new job. I can’t stay in Willow Heights, but I don’t see why that means we can’t live together. Would you consider selling the house to Hugh Jeffries if it meant that we could move together to somewhere halfway between Willow Heights and DC? That way we could both commute to work and wouldn’t have to live apart. You could still run your garage – nothing would have to change with your business.”
Surprise lightened his features, momentarily erasing the frown that had become his signature expression since the accident.
“I know you said you didn’t want to sell, but think about it – it would mean us getting to live together. And what are the odds that anyone will come knocking wanting to buy the place again? You could even make a little bit of a profit, if Hugh meant what he said when he spoke to you.”