Fall Into Me (28 page)

“I can get that.” Again, the shimmery idea that this baby might be an unexpected blessing of reparation whispered through him.

“Yeah.” Tick dragged both hands down his face. “After today, a little joy would be nice.”

Mark made a vague noise of agreement in his throat.

“You said if it’s yours…is there a question?”

“It could be Jim’s.”

Tick’s snort defined rude. “Like Jim needs a kid.”

“Like Angel needs to deal with him for the rest of her life.” He traced the edge of his nail again. “She and Troy Lee are good for one another. He’s…there’s a lot to him under that pretty-boy face of his.”

“I’m seeing that.” This time, the silence suspended between them felt comfortable, like, well, like before. Tick cocked a sideways glance at him. “Learning to roll with it, huh?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. I spent too much time hiding from it instead of fighting, which is probably the same thing, and I’ve lost too much to throw anything else away, you know?”

“Sounds like Troy Lee’s not the only smart one.” Tick’s quiet laugh emerged as the barest huff of humor. “Guess that makes me the dumbass this time around.”

“You said it. I didn’t.”

Tick pushed away from the car. “Let’s go home, Cookie. After today, I really need to hold my family for a while.”

With Tori waiting at home for him, Mark could get that. “Sounds good to me.”

Watery sunlight peeked in around the blinds. Midmorning, according to the angle. One night down. Mackey was talking about days on the respirator. It was like being at mile one of a marathon.

The door whispered open. He shifted his eyes, catching a glimpse of Chris’s and Cookie’s serious expressions as they slipped into the room. Man, they looked rough—tired, wrung out, worried.

Chris peered down at him, blue gaze roving his face, clearly concerned. “Brought you a present.”

Troy Lee grasped the smooth rectangle, about the size of a picture frame. The roughness of a hook-and-loop fastener dragged at his fingers. He held the object up. He’d have grinned if he could have. The dry-erase board from Chris’s dash.

Cookie proffered the marker. “But you probably can’t write as fast as you talk.”

Troy Lee cut his eyes at him, a visual screw-you-buddy. Chris studied the monitor screen, a slight frown drawing his brows together. “Layla was at the nurse’s station. She says you’re doing good.”

Resting the small board against his thigh, Troy Lee scribbled and held it aloft.

“
Want off the machine
,” Cookie read aloud. His gray gaze lifted to Troy Lee’s. “It’s got to be a bitch, but Mackey knows what he’s doing.”

Troy Lee focused on the ceiling for a second, gathering his nerve. He swiped his wrist across the board to wipe out his previous words and scribbled again. He held it up.

Kids OK?

The look Cookie and Chris exchanged was answer enough. Cookie muffled a cough with his wrist. “Paul’s in the surgical ICU upstairs. Santana’s at Emory and it’s kinda touch-and-go with her. Kaydee Davis and Devonte Richardson were DOA.”

Devonte? Shock sheared through him, leaving an emotional pain that rivaled the physical agony the nerve block kept at bay. Eyes wide, he looked to Chris for confirmation, hoping he wouldn’t get it. Cookie had to be wrong. Not Devonte, not when he had so much going for him.

Chris’s miserable blue eyes and stiff nod slammed the reality into him. He lifted his hand to press the heel against his forehead. Fuck. What a damn
waste
…

He smeared the words away with his fingertips and scrawled again, holding it up for Chris.
Miss Francie?

Chris wrapped his fingers around the bed rail, skin tight over white knuckles. “She’s taking it hard. I went by to see her last night.”

Cookie was right—he couldn’t write as fast as words and questions formed in his brain. The frustration dragged at him while he cleared and wrote again. Cookie leaned to read the board.
Knew would be bad why didn’t he stop?

Cookie lifted his gaze to Troy Lee’s. “Paul?”

Troy Lee raised two fingers as a negative. Cookie nodded. “The deputy.”

One finger. Cookie shrugged. “I don’t know. Tick’s all over that. The guy’s only been at Whitman a little while. He’s not even fully POST certified yet. He came over from Alabama, where he’s been at five departments in the last six years.”

“A gypsy cop.” Disgust tightened Chris’s tone.

“Tick and the sheriff are pushing McMillian to charge him, pending the outcome of the ART’s findings.” Cookie cleared his throat and a look passed between him and Chris.

Troy Lee frowned and scribbled across the board.
Not telling me?

Another pointed visual exchange. Cookie looked up at the ceiling, as if unseen answers might be written there, then dropped his gaze to Troy Lee’s. “Bubba’s kicking up a fuss, trying to take the heat off Paul.”

The marker slipped between Troy Lee’s suddenly sweaty fingers.
Blames me.

“Yes.”

Not my fault. On my side. Swerved to miss—

Cookie’s hand on his wrist stopped the frenzied script. “I know. Dale Jenkins saw it happen. He’s already given the ART a statement. Everything’ll be all right. We just have to wait it out, until the reconstruction team’s report is final.”

“Gentlemen?” The nurse, out of Troy Lee’s line of sight, spoke from somewhere near the door. He recognized that voice. The sadistic one, who’d about made him come out of his skin checking the wires in his chest and then nudged his broken nose while she messed with the tape around the ventilator tube. “I’m sorry, but your time is up.”

“We’ll check in on you later.” Cookie patted his arm in an awkward goodbye. “And don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

Easy for him to say. Eyes closed, Troy Lee lifted an affirmative finger. Chris murmured a quiet farewell, and the door whispered shut. F-uck. Everything would be okay? Not from where he was. No, everything—
everything
—spiraled out of his control, and he couldn’t roll with any of it because he couldn’t get his feet under him long enough before something else knocked him down and winded him. He sure as hell couldn’t fight against it.

All he could do was lie flat on his back and wait. Oh, hell yeah. He was loving this.

Angel snagged another fry from her McDonald’s bag and scrolled through her contacts. With the fry clenched in her teeth, she sank onto one of the benches scattered before the hospital entryway and typed in directions to Julie. Thank God she’d had the foresight to train Julie in the day-to-day operations of the bar. The automatic doors behind her whooshed.

“Do you think it was a good idea to tell him?” Doubt laced Chris Parker’s familiar voice.

“Wouldn’t you want to know, if you were him?” Cookie replied.

“Probably.”

Their quiet conversation, not meant for her ears, shivered foreboding over already taut nerves. She dropped her phone in her purse and looked up as they approached where she sat.

“Hey, Angel.” Chris met her eyes briefly and nodded, his gaze darting away in the manner she’d grown accustomed to.

“Chris.” Her own gaze flicked to Cookie’s. “Is he awake?”

Cookie nodded. “They’d only let us stay a few minutes. He was pretty alert, though.”

“He was last night, the couple of times he woke up.” The moment lulled, and she wanted to ask about the exchange she’d overheard but held the words back.

Chris coughed and glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going. I’m supposed to meet with McMillian at eleven.”

“I’ll catch up with you later.” Arms folded over his chest, Cookie met her gaze once Chris departed across the parking lot. “So how are you holding up?”

She clasped her hands around her knee. A half-hearted smile tugged at her mouth. “Better than the couple of times you saw me yesterday.”

“Do you mind?” He indicated the bench and she slid to give him room to sit. He leaned forward, wrists between his knees. Fingers laced, he tilted his hands to study his palms. “I told Tori. And Tick.”

She swallowed a facetious reply. Instead, she fiddled with her hem where it hit her knee. “I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you.”

“Pretty sure it hasn’t been a picnic for you.”

“Yes, well, it kind of pales in comparison to yesterday. I’ve discovered I have much to be thankful for.”

An ironic smile flitted over his face. “That’s along the lines of Tori’s reaction.”

“It can’t have been easy for her either.”

“She handled it okay. She’s pretty good with the hard stuff. How did Troy Lee take it?”

“He’s been great. Very caring, very supportive.” Sheer affection warmed her chest. “You know him. Troy Lee is…Troy Lee. He’s not like any man I’ve ever known.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Laughter lurked in the dry remark.

Angel cut her eyes at him in a suppressing glare, the way she’d done dozens of times over the years when he’d been teasing. “I guess it’s my turn to support him.”

“He’ll probably need it. He’s facing a hard few days.”

She pulled her purse onto her lap and gathered her empty McDonald’s bag. “I should probably go up and—”

“Angel.” He turned serious gray eyes in her direction. “When will you know?”

“Maybe another month.” She twisted her purse strap around her hand. “The measurements from my sonogram should narrow it down, although you’re not supposed to use that dating to prove paternity, from what I read on the internet. If I have an amniocentesis, which I think I’ll have to have because I’m over thirty-five, they can do a DNA test from that. That would be in a month or two.”

He nodded. “If it’s mine…I’ll want to be involved. I’ll be a father to her, take care of her. You won’t have to worry that she’s made to feel like anybody’s mistake. I’ll love her, Angel.”

“There you go, just like Troy Lee. Her, when it could very well be a boy.” She used the flippancy to cover a very real urge to cry. She touched his wrist, lightly. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “So I guess you need to get upstairs.”

“Yes.” She rose, turned to look at him. “Does it make me an awful person if I hope it’s you and not Jim?”

“No. Not at all.” His face softened a moment, then he pushed up from the bench. “I’ve got to get to work. Go check on Troy Lee. I think he’s going stir crazy.”

“Knowing him?” A puff of laughter escaped her lips. “Most likely. Something tells me he’s a horrible patient.”

“You know, I can imagine that.” Cookie’s quiet chuckle rumbled between them. “Later, Angel.”

“Bye.” Her spirit lighter by one encumbrance, she watched him walk to his patrol car. Slinging her purse over one shoulder, she turned away and headed inside, impatient to see Troy Lee. When she reached his room, after checking in with the nurses for permission to visit, she found him awake, staring at the ceiling, his entire body rigid and vibrating with tension.

Looking at him hurt her heart.

At his bedside, she smoothed his hair with a gentle hand and leaned to kiss his forehead. “Hey.”

Vivid blues brimming with frustration and anxiety locked on hers. He fumbled with a small dry-erase board, slashing words across it then turning it toward her.
Can’t do this
.

“Yes, you can.” She touched his cheek, stroked his temple. “I know you can.”

A vicious swipe of his wrist across the surface, more scribbling.
Can’t breathe
.

“What?” She darted a look at the respirator. It functioned the same way it had the night before. She reached for the call button, but he caught her fingers. The marker squeaked over the shiny surface.

Need to do it myself.

“No.” With a touch as soft as her voice was firm, she caressed his shoulder, almost bared by the hospital gown. “You need to get well. Right now, that means living with the ventilator. I know you hate it, but I want you to get better, Troy Lee.”

Out of control.

She wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but his agitation grew more and more apparent, through the stiffness in his body, the dismay radiating off of him, the rapid flutter of his long lashes. She rubbed her thumb across his biceps, hoping to smooth away some of the stress.

“I brought you something.” She dug through her purse and retrieved his iPod, which had been lying on her coffee table where he’d forgotten it the morning before. Hard to believe that had only been yesterday, when she’d been trying to lure him back to bed. “Maybe this will help.”

She slipped the buds into his ears, adjusted the cord and placed the small rectangle in his hand. Eyes sliding closed, he passed his thumb over the control pad. Some of the visible strain eased from his long body. She pressed her lips to his ear. “Better?”

He scrawled words on the board.
Yes
.

“Good.” She stroked his hair. “Now, rest and concentrate on getting better. Everything will be fine.”

She continued touching him, calming him, as he fell into uneasy sleep.

An hour later, Christine and the girls arrived. Eying her with a critical maternal gaze, Christine coaxed Angel away for a cup of tea, leaving Troy Lee under the watchful presence of his sisters.

“So how is he this morning?” Christine rubbed her arm with soothing affection as they boarded the elevator.

“Edgy. He was upset earlier, I think about the ventilator.” The memory of his anxiety and frustration bit deep, cutting because she could do so little to alleviate any of it.

“I’m sure.” Christine selected the lobby level and leaned against the wall. She watched the numbers above the door, a distracted, faraway expression on her delicate features. “He’s very much like his father, and Troy was always horrible about being incapacitated in any way. He wanted to be up, doing things.”

An affectionate smile touched Angel’s lips. “That sounds like Troy Lee.”

“Hmm.” The elevator arrived with a tiny jolt. “Yes. He caught chickenpox when he was seven. I finally gave up trying to keep him in bed. When he had the flu at twelve, I didn’t even try. The best I could do was getting him to sit in the armchair in Troy’s office with a quilt.”

Fondness colored the memories. Christine held the door and gestured for Angel to precede her. Angel darted a glance at the older woman from beneath her lashes. “You adore him.”