His face has become dear to me, and now it’s probably going to be scarredbecauseof me.
I hurt the people I love, just like my father.
I can’t let this go on, but I have to take care of him before I figure out what happens next.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Cormac says with a groan. “I’m not dead. I justfeeldead.”
“This is all my fault,” I insist, giving voice, again, to the words echoing through my head on a loop.
“I’m pretty sure it’s José’s fault. Pansy’s too, probably. You know, she might have taken the car so she can ransack his apartment.”
“Probably,” I say. “Do you have a headache?”
“I think I might have two.”
The nurse who patched him up earlier comes back in, dressed in black scrubs. She has black hair, brown eyes, and thick black lashes, and her name tag reads “Bianca.”
“The doctor will be back here in just a few minutes,” she says.
“And he’s going to stitch up the lacerations?” I ask.
Her mouth twists to one side. She glances at the open door, shuts it, and says in an undertone, “He would, but between you and me, you should go somewhere else to get him stitched up. You’re going to look like Frankenstein’s monster if you let old Doctor Rollins do it. His vision’s been going. I don’t think he’d choose himself to stitch up someone he loves, but he’s too much of a stubborn donkey to admit it’s time to retire.”
“Jesus Christ,” I say, probably too loud.
“It’s okay,” Cormac mutters. “They say women like scars.”
“It isnotokay.”
“Maybe you could drive him back to Asheville?” Bianca suggests.
I rub my forehead, trying to think past all the noise in my head. “I’ve heard the hospital there sucks too.”
“You could try Pardee?”
“Musical chairs to the hospital,” Cormac murmurs.
“How much of that pain medicine did you give him?” I ask.
She smiles and pats his hand. “Just the right amount, it seems.” After casting another cautious glance at the door, she says, “You give it a think, and if you want to go somewhere else, I’ll get you discharged.”
She leaves, and I immediately turn toward Cormac. “Where’s your phone?”
“Don’t call our parents,” he says with a groan. “I don’t wantto explain why your ex-boyfriend attacked me in a bowling alley. They’ll have too many questions.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m going to call Kenji.”
“You know Kenji?” he asks, giving me a dopey grin.
“Yes, we all went to school together, but no, I haven’t spoken to him in twelve years. He can help you, though. He has resources. He can have you medevacked to, like, Switzerland, or whatever, to have some celebrity’s plastic surgeon fix your lacerations.”
He laughs, then groans. “Nora, I don’t have to go to Switzerland to get my lacerations sutured. I’m sure there’s someone in the tristate area who could handle them to your specifications.”
I stomp my foot. “No, you’re going to get the best damn care on the planet, and I’m going to pay Kenji back for it. Every penny.”
“That’s not necessary. As Pansy pointed out a couple of hours or possibly an eternity ago, I have plenty of money.” He smiles. “Did I tell you she tried to seduce me?”
My nails bite into my skin, and I realize I’m making a fist. “I’d like to punchherin the face.”
