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He hurries over. “Stay still, babe. I can always come to you,” he says gently.
Checking the time, Irene says, “It’s time for your pain meds. Let me grab them.”
I groan. “They make me so sleepy. I don’t want to keep taking them.”
“Sleep is good, bestie. You need to rest and heal. I need my pastry partner back in tiptop shape.”
Charlie leans in to hand me my glass of water from the table. Irene is back with my pills in a flash. I swallow them down without any more argument.
“Good,” Irene says.
“Irene and I prepped a few meals so you can just pop them in the oven. I wrote the temp and time on top of each dish. Should be a no brainer for dinner for a few days at least. Everything is clean, and the sheets are changed. Nothing else needs to be done,” Charlie says, standing.
“Thank you both so much. I don’t know what Andrea and I do would without you two,” Jack replies, reaching out to hug them both.
“Now, that’s enough of that. We love you both, and we’re glad to help. Get our girl better, Jack. The café won’t be the same without her,” Irene says.
“I’ll be back in no time. I promise.” I turn and scooting my butt so I can lie back down.
Charlie leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Call me if you need me. I can be here in a hurry.”
“I’m in good hands,” I tell her, looking up at Jack.
He gives me a grin. My eyes are heavy. It seems to be the constant as I take round-the-clock pain medication. I hear goodbyes being exchanged, but sleep is calling my name, and I don’t intend to ignore it.
I wake to the smell of food, delicious food. I don’t have a clue what was heated up, but it smells divine. Jack comes in holding two plates.
“There she is. You woke up just in time, babe. This is Irene’s lasagna.”
He sets the plates on the coffee table in front of us and disappears back into the kitchen while I pull myself into a sitting position. The lasagna does look delicious, and my stomach rumbles at the sight of the steaming food.
Jack reappears with salads for us both, taking his seat beside me on the sofa. I notice he has on different clothes now. Sweats and a t-shirt, his favorite loungewear. They’re also my favorite for him to wear if I’m being honest. His hair is damp. He must have taken a shower while I napped.
He lifts the top of the table up, so it meets us.
“The news okay with you?” he asks. “I’d like to see if they’re covering Asshole’s arrest yet.”
I shrug with my good shoulder. It doesn’t much matter to me. I’m at peace knowing he’s in custody. What the state of California does with him now is up to them.
“He was being taken to the airport in Denver when I finished with him for extradition back to California.”
“Good,” I say, glad he’s gone now.
Jack flips through the channels, finding a big network. Up in the the corner of the screen, the caption reads “Live: Sacramento Airport.”
I dig into my food, and Jack does, too. Each of us moan at how good it is.
The newscaster speaks.“We’re waiting to bring you live coverage of the arrival of Senator Christopher Gates. He was booked into a Colorado jail days ago for the attempted murder of his missing fiancé, Andrea Shaw.”
I put my fork down at the mention of my name. Jack stops eating as well, reaching over to place his hand on my leg. I cover his hand with mine.
Moments later, Christopher is on the screen. He’s wearing a jumpsuit, handcuffed, and his cuffs are attached to his waist. He shuffles from the bottom of the plane stairs because his ankles are shackled. He’s accompanied by an officer on each side. His head is down, refusing to look at the camera.
Coward.
A police cruiser waits for him, and the officers exchange custody of him, placing Christopher in the back seat of the police car.
The camera cuts to a news anchor live at the scene.
