Page 20 of Songs for Libby

“I’m Claire, by the way, and”—she gestured to a door—“this is our stop.”

Tucker stood guard outside the door, giving me a nod of acknowledgement before facing his eyes forward again.

Nurse Claire went on her way, but I just stood there, unable to make myself go in. Several times I tried, telling my feet to move forward. But I had to concede defeat, and instead sank down into the chair across the hall, bracing my hands on my knees as I tried to get a grip on myself. Knowing Sean was hurt was one thing. Seeing it was another.

A doorway down the hall opened and a young woman stepped out, closing the door carefully before coming to sit in the chair next to mine. She looked as ragged as I felt, so I did my best to give her a friendly smile.

She smiled weakly in return, then said, “So, who are you here to see?” before letting out a roll of slightly hysterical laughter. She scrubbed at her tired eyes. “I’m just kidding, of course. If you’re visiting someone in these rooms, chances are you don’t want to talk about who you’re visiting. Bad PR, being in the hospital.”

“Is this a VIP wing or something?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not officially. But money talks. And this is one of those times when I’m glad. My dad’s here,” she went on to say. “And I’m going a little bit crazy.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

She shrugged. “I need to go home and sleep.”

I looked over at her, wondering why she was so chatty. I didn’t necessarily mind; it was just odd. And she was right about needing sleep. “Yeah, you don’t look so good.”

She let out another burst of tired laughter. “Believe me, I know.” She turned to me. “So, who are you here to see?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. She was the one who’d just said no one in this corner of the hospital discussed it. Plus, she was in her twenties. Just the age to be a raving Sean Amity fan. “Looking to sell a story?” I asked without trying to keep the suspicion out of my voice.

She snorted. “Hardly. I don’t talk to the press unless I absolutely have to.” She let her purse slip to the floor and turned more fully toward me. “I meant is it family? Dad? Sister? Husband?”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No, just a friend.”

“How long have you two been friends?”

“Um…” I tried to gather my thoughts enough to answer. “Eight years.” I focused my eyes back on the floor.

“That’s a long time to stick by someone, especially when their life is complicated.”

Her chattiness and assumptions continued to leave me off-kilter. “How do you know his life is complicated?”

She turned her hands up at her sides, as if presenting the area around us. “You’ve got a guy in a suit outside your friend’s door. His life is complicated,” she said with a sardonic smile.

I let out a surprised huff. “Yeah…” I admitted.

“I mean, I know why I’m here. I’m the daughter. I really don’t have a choice. You, however…”

I didn’t bother looking up at her again. “He’d do the same for me,” I said, the words falling mechanically from my mouth with no conviction.

“And there’s that.”

“What?”

“It’s a he you’re talking about.”

“So?”

“So, any ‘friendship’ with a he that involves a personal security guy is going to be complicated.” She gave me a knowing but commiserating grimace.

I really hated that she was right.

“Do you love him?”

That blunt question earned my full attention and I looked over at her with mistrust. If it turned out that she was some ultra sneaky gossip columnist, I was going to be seriously pissed off.