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“And what are you going to expect in exchange for that? Because I’m not sure if my dad cut off my bank accounts, so I don’t have—”
“It would be incredibly fucking gauche to expect anything from you.” We’re almost to the end of the trail. Bettencourt’s lucky. If Catherine wanted nothing to do with me, he’d be dead right now.
Catherine laughs. “And you’re too hot to be gauche.”
“I’ll try not to distract you with my good looks.”
We reach the end of the trail. I take Catherine directly to the SUV and reach down to open the passenger door.
When I offer her my hand to help her in, she hesitates.
“It hurts. To sit in the car. He—” Her lower lip trembles, and really, how hard would it be to stop by Bettencourt’s hellhole and do a quick little murder? “He wanted me to agree to marry you.”
I take her hand in mine. “Is it worse when you have to step up?”
She nods, not meeting my eyes.
“Then I’ll lift you in. This is strictly to avoid unnecessary pain. I’m not trying to seduce you.”
“That’s good.” Her chin goes, too. “Because you’re too insufferable. I’d never fall for it.”
Catherine’s voice breaks at the last second, and then she’s crying, all wrapped up in my coat.
I might be insufferable, but I have manners. I put my arms around her and let her cry into my shirt and tell her soft nothings until there are no more tears. Then I lift her off her feet, buckle her in, and take her home.
8
GABRIEL
The head nurseon the morning shift—Sarah, or Sharon, her nametag keeps blurring—holds the clipboard with my discharge papers close to her chest.
“Mr. Hill. It’s my responsibility to reiterate—”
“You’ve reiterated enough times, Sarah, and—”
“My name is Sandra, Mr. Hill.”
“Sandra.” I’m completely aware of her objections, even if I’m finding it hard to remember the full list. Most of my energy is going toward sitting on the edge of the bed. It makes my head throb. A pounding headache keeps breaking through the painkillers. Sometimes, I swear I can feel the cracks in my ribs. “I heard everything you said. I’m not changing my mind.”
She watches me with steely compassion.
I watch her back and try not to be sick.
That wouldn’t help my case, if such a case existed. I can leave if I want to. Nobody can keep me here, least of all Samantha.
“Your care team, including the consulting neurologist—”
“I didn’t ask for that guy, so we’re clear. That was my brother.”
“He is also of the opinion that you should stay here for observation and continued care for the next forty-eight hours at minimum. Head injuries are no joke, Mr. Hill.”
“Actually, itiskind of funny. I don’t think my head even hit the sidewalk.”
Her eyebrows go together with what seems like sincere concern. “Mr. Hill.”
“You have to stop with theMr. Hillbusiness and just hand me the clipboard.”
“Gabriel.” Her voice goes soft and gentle. We’re moving into the next phase of the debate. I wish she wouldn’t waste her time. I have to leave. “You hit your head on the sidewalk. The fact that you have no recollection of the event is a result of your head injury.”
