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Inside the hospital’s cafeteria, she waited until he was seated with a tray containing a large black coffee and a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, wheat toast and a side of mixed fruit before asking him how Sierra was this morning.
“Iris is conscious, but she’s hurting,” he said, forcing himself to use the name Sierra so detested, even though the other tables in the corner they had chosen were all empty. “More so once I told her what we—what I insisted that we do to save her.”
Ainsley shook her head. “I can’t imagine waking up hurt and terrified after that ordeal, only to find out that everyone you’ve ever known has just gotten the news that you’ve been murdered. She must be—I don’t even—”
“She’s frightened and bewildered—and furious with me for doing this to her,” he said, what little appetite he had dying at the thought.
“With you? But you meant—you were only trying to save her life.”
He waved off her argument. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’s alive now. If that means alive and hating my guts, I guess I’ll have to live with that.”
Reaching past the small cranberry muffin she’d ordered, Ainsley touched the top of his hand. “Don’t give up on her too quickly. Not if you’re really in love with her.”
“Who said anything about love?” he demanded. Except that he nearly had, spilling his guts to Sierra like some smitten teenager after they had had sex, and what was more, he’d meant it in the moment. And still felt it—and couldn’t keep himself from feeling it even now.
“No need to bite my head off,” Ainsley scolded. “I’ll drop the subject for the moment—on the condition that you have some coffee and make a dent in that breakfast.”
“I’m not in the mood to sit here and chow down like everything’s just fine.”
“Please, Ace,” she said, her eyes, so much lighter than his own, implored...and reminded him of the tremendous debt he owed her, for standing by and helping him when few others would have. A debt that left him humbled and contrite.
“Sure, Ainsley, and I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll eat.”
By thinking of the food as fuel, he managed to get down most of it and all the coffee. Neither made up for the night’s sleep he’d missed out on, but he had to admit that he felt more human for the effort.
After disposing of their trash and going for a refill on the coffee, he told his sister, “Thanks for that. And for coming here to see me.”
Frowning, she blew out a breath. “You may not thank me after I’ve told you what I have to tell you.”
At her serious expression, he felt a cold chill overtake him as his thoughts ran to his stepmother. “Genevieve wants me kept out, doesn’t she?” he guessed. “She’s refusing to let me see our father? I understand what she’s been through, and it’s only natural that she wants to protect him, but if I could only talk to her, make her understand, I’m sure she’ll—”
“No, no,” Ainsley assured him. “Marlowe’s talked things over with her. Went over again why the clues have never really added up to you, from the height and size of the shooter seen on the video to that Sun Devils pin Dad’s assistant found in the boardroom after he was shot—”
“Speaking of that pin,” Ace said. “While I was...away, I spent some time online, searching Arizona Sun Devils alumni lists and forums. I kept hoping a name would jump out, or maybe I’d find out that our favorite evil stepmother was secretly some kind of closet Sun Devils groupie.”
He smiled and raised his eyebrows to show he wasn’t serious. Or not completely anyway.
“Selina?” Ainsley smiled. “That really is a stretch, big brother. As hateful as that woman is, she’s made it crystal clear she’d never risk killing the golden goose for a moment’s gratification. But getting back to Genevieve, Marlowe explained that even Spencer’s now convinced that you were set up from the start.”
The warmth of affection served to thaw some of his tension. “What would I do without my little sisters?”
“I won’t promise you Genevieve’s a hundred percent comfortable yet, but she’s willing to try. She does ask, though, that you
wait until—”
“But I’ve been waiting for months now. I won’t be put off any longer,” Ace said, sharply enough that a few diners some distance away turned to look, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
Realizing he had startled them, Ace grimaced and raised his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said before looking back at Ainsley and repeating the apology more quietly. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, but surely, you have to understand how big a deal this is for me. I haven’t seen Dad since before—”
“Until tomorrow, I was about to say,” Ainsley continued, “since he’s being transferred to a room on the third floor this morning.”
“Why would they do that?” Ace asked, realizing his father might well end up close to where they’d stashed Sierra.
“I guess there’s some kind of maintenance issue with his room that can’t be safely addressed with a patient in there,” Ainsley explained. “Not only that, but the specialist overseeing his treatment is coming by this morning to see if there’s been any more progress. Or anything they can do to make his transition to full consciousness easier.”
Anger falling away, Ace felt both soaring hope and deepening worry. “So they really think Dad’s waking up? That he’ll be—that he’ll still be him once he comes out of it?”
Most of all, Ace wanted their father back, whole and well, wanted him to be fully present to hear Ace beg forgiveness for the harsh words they had exchanged not long before he’d been found shot in the boardroom. But Ace desperately wanted to know, too, who had pulled the trigger. Was it possible that his father would remember what had happened and could name the culprit?
