“Don’t say it.” She heaved up her duffle once more. “I’m on the way.”
Cami wasout of the Uber before it had made a full stop, and in the hospital as the driver wished her goodbye.
She didn’t like hospitals; never had, even before she’d spent all those years shuttling Grandma in and out of Baxter General. She couldn’t even blame it on her mother’s accident, since she’d been too young then for anybody to think bringing her along was a good idea. She’d never seen Mom or Grandpa in the hospital. They were alive one moment and in their caskets the next.
It may have been the smell. Hospitals all stank the same—like stale air and disinfectant.
She’d been counting the seconds it took her to get there in downtown traffic. The Uber had been faster than walking, but only barely, and precious minutes were wasted as she tried to get her bearings and locate the information desk. A nurse with a poofy bun on the crown of her head gave her cursory directions to the emergency department, and it was a struggle for Cami to keep from running through the corridors.
The nurse manning the desk in the ER took her information, then leveled a look at her. “Are you family?”
Cami opened her mouth, the habitual no ready to fall out, and stopped. That was the question, wasn’t it? Biologically, sure, she was family. And that’s all the nurse meant. Plus, if she said no, they wouldn’t let her see Lenny. “Yes,” she said finally, lips pursing. “I’m her granddaughter.”
She was given a room number and a vague gesture down the hall. When she turned to look, she hesitated.
Lenny was hurt, but they hadn’t left things well. Cami had packed all her belongings into the only bags she owned, and it was, at least in part, because Lenny had lied to her. She’d lied big, and the fact that she was in the hospital now didn’t change that. But she couldn’t leave Santa Monica not knowing if Lenny was okay. Whatever else had happened between them, Lenny had taken care of her, and she deserved some of that in return.
Straightening her spine, she started down the hall, only to stop mid-step when Des emerged from a doorway near a large, industrial rack of linens. Her heart, which had been thudding along irregularly ever since she got Tristan’s call, gave a gallop against her ribcage. For a fraction of a second, it occurred to her to turn around, to find a bathroom to hide in until he was gone, but he angled toward her almost as if he had sensed her presence. Wherever he’d been about to go, he halted, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stretching the fabric tantalizingly across his thighs. He watched her, waiting.
She crossed the remaining space between them with far less reluctance than she felt, keeping her posture straight and refusing to let her steps falter. When she stopped just out of his reach, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Cami,” he greeted. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze, and caught his glistening gray eyes flickering over her mouth and body. He lingered on the bag slung over her shoulder, then pulled his gaze away, glancing into the room he’d exited.
“What are you doing here?” She’d intended it to come out sharper than it did. Instead, she just sounded tired.
He paused, but she couldn’t tell if he was hesitating to answer or if he just thought she should have known already. Finally, he said, “I was with Lenny when she was hit.”
There was a beat as she processed this. Then: “What?” Why would he have been with Lenny? Unless he was pressuring herto sell the store. “Were you leaning on her to sell? Did you upset her? Is that why?—?”
“No, Cami.” He exhaled a quick, irritated breath. “No, I did not get Lenny hit by a car. We were discussing—calmly—the possibility of her selling, and Holmes saw a squirrel and bolted. He ran across the road. Lenny ran after him. The driver had dropped a cigarette in his lap and looked down to brush it off. He plowed right into her.”
All the breath went out of Cami at the visceral image. Stomach acid burned in the back of her throat. “Is she?—?”
Des’s expression softened, some of the annoyance leaking out. “She’s okay.”
The relief that swept over Cami at those two small words was so intense, she swooned and had to put out a hand to lean against the wall. He shifted, like he was going to reach out and steady her, but thought better of it, his fingers curling against his palm instead.
He cleared his throat. “She has a concussion, some fractured ribs, and a broken leg. She’s pretty beat up. She’ll need surgery to reset her leg properly, but she should recover just fine. She’ll just need to take it easy for a while.”
“Not frigging likely, Desmond!” Lenny’s voice, strong if a bit scratchy, blared from the room next to them. He rolled his eyes. “It’s my leg that’s busted, not my ears. I can hear you two nattering about me.”
Cami’s lips quirked as though she wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. She started toward the doorway, but he curled his fingers, strong and familiar, around her upper arm. He pulled it away almost immediately, but the touch jolted through her like a static shock.
“Wait.” He lowered his voice noticeably, eyes flickering toward where she assumed Lenny’s hospital bed was stationed.Then he stepped around her, angling them out of the doorway for privacy’s sake.
She didn’t want to do this. Lenny’s accident hadn’t changed anything between them. He’d still lied and schemed to screw her out of her job while screwing her.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me.” His gaze rested on her, but she wasn’t strong enough to return the favor. Instead, she busied herself looking everywhere but at him. “I can respect that, and I won’t force you to hear me out. I’m only here to make sure Lenny’s okay.”
Just bringing up the subject tightened and dried out Cami’s throat. She tried to swallow, but it got stuck as a lump.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he continued. “But I am sorry that I hurt you. It was never my intention.”
With that, he stepped back, and only then was Cami able to make herself glance at him.
He looked rough. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, his hair mussed from running his fingers through it. The knees of his jeans were caked with dust and dirt, and blood—Lenny’s blood—was clotted against his chest and shoulder. As though he’d picked her up and cradled her head against him. Had he held Lenny as they waited for help to arrive? Had he kept her comfortable while he called an ambulance?
After a pause that was probably too long, too expectant, she asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”
