The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(48)
Author: Alice Clayton

I had flown out of the house approximately seven minutes after hanging up the phone with Holly. I threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed my purse, and got in the car. Got back out of the car, went back inside for my shoes, and was on the highway in moments.

I didn’t have a clue what I would find when I got there, or what kind of reception I would get, but I was barreling down on the city of sin with determination. Something Jack had said to me when he came to see me in New York kept zinging around in my head: “I’m in this thing with you, a willing participant, and you can’t decide for both of us.”

Smart guy. He was totally right, though, and I had shut him out and shut him down last year when I went through my own meltdown. Granted, I hadn’t been in a bar fight, but I had been just as out of my mind as he seemed to be. I scrolled through my phone, checking the newsfeeds on all the gossip sites. Ugh, it was everywhere.

As breakfast came to the East Coast, people tuning in to their morning talk shows were getting their first taste of the events of the night before and how their Super Sexy Scientist Guy was a barroom brawler. Holly managed it as best she could, but she said only that there would be a statement later in the day. While I drove across the desert, she blew up the phones at the LVPD, finding out anything she could.

She called to tell me Jack hadn’t been charged. Yet. He was at the local hospital, being treated for injuries she’d been able to confirm were “non–life-threatening,” but that was it. I had no idea what shape he’d be in when I got there.

My phone beeped. I had a new text from Holly.

Talked to communications director at the hospital. You’re good to go. She said drive around and go thru the ambulance bay. No press back there. Call me later, fruitcake. Xo

I finished filling up the tank and got back on the road.

My navigation system took me straight to the hospital, and as I drove to the back entrance, I could see a gaggle of photographers outside the main doors. Keeping that in mind, I parked as close as I could to where the ambulances were housed, then used them for cover as I made my way to the back door. The fact that I was using anything for cover, rather than just entering the hospital the regular way, brought home to me one more time how far outside the regular way things were.

I was recognized by a hospital security guard immediately, and he ushered me to the elevator. “Your boy’s up on the fifth floor. Just tell them at the desk who you are,” he said, nodding as the door opened.

“Okay, thanks. Thanks so much.” I stepped into the elevator and smiled at him, my tummy suddenly very nervous at the thought that Jack was only five floors away from me.

“Oh, and Ms. Sheridan?” he said just as I pressed the button.

“Yes?”

“I’m a— I’m a big fan,” he stuttered, his neck and ears going the color of a kidney bean.

The door closed, and I was left with an embarrassed smile of my own. Surreal.

Before I could blink, the door opened again and I was faced with a desk full of nurses who looked at me suspiciously. I imagine once word got out who was on the fifth floor, there were lots of people who seemed to have business up there.

I walked to the desk and gave someone my name. By now my throat was dry, but my palms were not. I just wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay.

I walked to the end of the hall, turned the knob, and went into his room.

Lying on the bed, his face turned toward the window, was Jack. His arm in a sling, looking bruised and pale, his left eye a starburst of gray and purple, it was Jack. I gasped as I saw him—I couldn’t help it. He looked so beautiful and so terrible at the same time, and my eyes filled with tears.

Hearing my noise, he turned to the door with an impatient groan, but his eyes widened as he took me in. The smile that threatened to break over his face was luminous, and my heart caught in my throat. But then shame crept in, and he looked down at the bed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly, wincing.

I closed the door behind me and walked toward the bed. I stood next to him until he looked up at me. I smoothed his hair back from his face, the entire world stopping as I touched his skin.

“Where else would I be, you stupid jerk?” I grinned down at him, scratching at his scalp lightly.

Relief broke across his face, crowding out the shame. He closed his eyes, a small smile at the edge of his mouth, and leaned in to my hand.

“Grace, I’m so—”

“Shhh . . . not now. Let’s just get you fixed up and get you out of here. There’ll be time for that.” I sat down on the edge of the bed. With my fingers, I traced the face I knew so well, running a path from his forehead to his cheekbones, along his strong jaw, now colored with bruises, to his mouth, which was split in two places. When I looked back up, his eyes were on mine.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.

The doctor who had treated Jack came in a little while later to let us know he was being released. He had no injuries other than a badly sprained shoulder, a black eye, a few stitches in his forehead, and a split lip. With prescriptions for pain medication and instructions on aftercare for the stitches and shoulder in hand, we began filling out paperwork for his release. The doctor wanted Jack to remain until after lunch, which would also give us time to make some plans.

The lawyer Holly had hired arrived, and while he took Jack’s statement, I stepped out to call her. She answered on the first ring.

“How bad is he?”

“Not too bad. Sprained shoulder, black eye—he looks worse than he really is.”

“He got lucky. Doesn’t sound like the police are going to press charges. But you can bet there’ll be a lawsuit.”

“I was afraid of that. They’re letting him out after lunch. How’s the press?” I looked through the window into his room.

“Stories are all over the place. His fans love him, though. They just want to know he’s okay. He needs to release a statement.”

“No, he doesn’t. You put out a statement for him. He’s fine, he’s resting. Just a few scrapes, but he’s okay. That’s it.”

“Sure, sure. I can work with that. You’ll be so pleased to know that I’ve heard through the grapevine—the grapevine being his sleazy publicist—that Adam is in the same hospital.”

“Great! There’ll be a doctor close by when I slap that face right off his head,” I snapped. “Not kidding, Holly. I better not see that guy.”