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“It wasn’t his choice,” I say, my volume rising. “I asked him to do the tattoo. I’m the one who wanted it. I am a grown woman, and no one forces me to do anything against my will.”
“Honey, calm down,” Mom says in a dramatic whisper. “You’ll hurt yourself, and people might think we’re fighting.”
“We are fighting!” I insist in an only slightly softer voice. “I’m not a child, Mom, and I won’t let you turn Nick into a bad guy. You’re the one who told him to leave, and I bet you weren’t sweet about it.”
She huffs, and a wounded expression settles onto her face. “My manners might not have been at their best, but he didn’t even try to argue with me, Melody. If he really cares so much, it seems like he would have made more of an effort to stay.”
I push the tray back to the side of my bed and swing my feet over the edge on the other side.
“What are you doing?” Mom asks, hopping up from her perch.
“I’m going to call Nick. Where’s my phone?” I slide onto the ground, only swaying a little before my legs firm up beneath me. I’m not quite a hundred percent, but I’m feeling way better than I did last night.
“Get back in bed this second, Melody Anne.” Mom steps in front of me. “You’ve been unconscious, you almost died, and I’m not—”
“I’m fine, and I need to talk to Nick.” I start forward, holding my hospital gown together in the back for modesty’s sake, but Mom stops me with gentle hands on my shoulders.
“Where is my phone, Mom?” I repeat firmly. “Either help me find it or get out of my way.”
“All right, I will, but you have to get back in bed first.” She stands her ground, staring up at me with a no-nonsense look. “I mean it. You’re not too old for a spanking.”
I snort-laugh. I can’t help it, even if I am angry with her right now. “I’m way too old to spank, and you know it. And you never spanked me once in my entire life.”
“Well, it’s not too late to start.” Mom pats my arm with an affection that makes it impossible to stay mad at her.
“All right, I’m getting back in bed.” I ease back onto the mattress and tuck my legs beneath the sheets.
Mom retreats to the corner where she was napping earlier and lifts a canvas bag from the floor to the seat of the chair. “I had Aria stop by your place and grab extra clothes and your toothbrush,” she says, her voice muffled as she burrows into the bag. “I think I put your cell… Here it is.”
She crosses to the bed and holds it out to me. “But I’m not sure you’re supposed to use it in here.”
“I’ll be quick,” I promise, snatching the phone before Mom can issue any more warnings.
A moment later, Nick’s phone is ringing.
And ringing. And ringing.
Seven rings in all, and then I’m sent to voicemail.
I hang up and promptly dial again, knowing by now that Nick isn’t going to check his voice messages anyway. He always deletes them without listening.
This time, however, the phone only rings twice before going to voicemail, which means…
I end the call with a swift jab of my thumb as my stomach turns to stone.
“He sent me to voicemail,” I whisper, my heart squeezing miserably in my chest. “Why would he send me to voicemail?”
Mom arches her blond brows in a meaningful way, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to.
Her unspoken “I told you so” hangs over my head like a poisonous balloon, ready to pop open and fill the room with noxious fumes.
I’m about to call a third time—this time to leave a message and tell Nick exactly what I think of being sent to voicemail—when there’s a knock on the door.
“Hey, the nurse said you were awake,” comes a familiar voice. “Is it okay if I come in?”
I glance over to see Brian waiting in the doorway, a dozen roses in one hand and a stuffed white bunny with a hind leg in a cast in the other. His usually carefully combed brown hair is sticking up on one side, and his face looks puffy.
He’s obviously been here for a while.
“Of course,” I say, vaguely recalling a crazy dream I had last night while I was passed out, starring me, Brian, and a room full of flesh-eating zombies in overalls.
I make a mental note to share the dream with Lark, who always has crazy dreams and loves hearing about other people’s nightmares.
“It’s nice of you to stop by.” I force a smile. “How did you know I was here?”
“Your mom called,” he says, crossing the room to place the flowers on the table by my bed before setting the bunny gently on my lap. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been here since eleven o’clock last night. Scariest night of my life.”
