Last Breath (4 page)

Me either, Ross.

The accident had happened so fast. I couldn't process it. One minute my mom was healthy and strong. The next minute she lay like a broken doll on the pavement. The scene played and replayed in my mind. Could I have done something? If I'd gotten out of the car sooner, or kept her from leaving in the first place …

She'd been trying to protect
me
. I couldn't get over that. She was here, in this hospital, because of
me
.

“Anybody see what happened?” Stan asked.

I pulled away from Kim and straightened. “I did. Cat pushed her. On purpose. He rammed into her.”

Gasps rose around our group. Ross pulled up short. “You kidding me? He pushed her into that car?”

“He pushed her, and she stumbled. The car hit her.”

Rage and hatred tightened Ross's expression. He leaned forward, weight on one leg, gaping at me. “He'll pay for this. I'll make
sure
that guy's put away.”

“Yeah. I'll help you.” Rich looked sick.

“We all will,” Kim said. She laid a hand on my leg. “Shaley, can you tell us everything you saw, beginning to end?”

Staring at the floor, my voice wooden, I told them. When I was done my throat felt like a desert. Carly pulled a bottle of water out of her large purse and handed it to me. I managed a few sips.

Two officers came to talk to us. One looked about forty, with a wide face and pug nose. The other couldn't be more than twenty-five. He had short brown hair and large eyes the color of chocolate. I caught him gazing at me, and I looked away.

The older one introduced himself as Officer Hanston. He gave me a card with his phone number and I stuck it in my pocket. He and the younger man—Officer Rory—asked questions about what happened, taking notes. The fire of vengeance within me gave me strength to tell my story all over again. “Just put Cat in jail.” My mouth twisted, and fresh tears bit my eyes. “I
never
want to see him again.”

“Cat—that his real name?” Officer Hanston raised his eyebrows.

I shook my head. “It's just what Mom and I call him. His real name's Len Torret. He works for the tabloid
Cashing In
.”

Ross was still steaming. “I'm going to sue that magazine for everything they're worth. They won't be in business when I get through with them.”

“He wasn't even supposed to be near us in the first place.” A shudder ran through me. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Detective Furlow in San Jose said they told him not to get within five hundred feet of us because he'd been stalking me. Cat had pulled a fire alarm to force us from our hotel rooms. And he slipped a photo of me into a shopping bag when I was in a crowd at the mall. On the back he wrote ‘Always watching.' ”

Officer Hanston jotted a note. “Okay. Furlow in San Jose. We'll call him.”

A doctor with black hair and a craggy face walked toward us. We all rose to our feet, muscles tense. Awaiting the verdict. My hands were clammy. I wiped them on my jeans.

The doctor's gaze swept our group. “I'm Doctor Devlor. I wanted to give you a report.”

“How is she?” Ross demanded.

The doctor held up a hand in a calming gesture. “She'll be okay. She's pretty banged up with lots of bruises. X-rays show three cracked ribs and a broken left wrist. They've just put a cast on that arm. All in all, I'd say she's pretty lucky. Apparently the car that hit her wasn't going too fast. Is that right?”

I rubbed my forehead. “It was slowing to a stop. But a paparazzo was in it, and his driver was coming too fast for a drop-off area. He just wanted to get there and take pictures.” My throat tightened. I hated those paparazzi, all of them. “Wh-what do you do for cracked ribs?”

Dr. Devlor gave me a little smile. “You're Shaley?”

I nodded.

“She's been asking about you. The nurses told her you had plenty of people around you.”

Tears welled in my eyes. Hit by a car, and Mom was thinking of me.

“To answer your question—we've taped up her chest. She shows no signs of breathing problems or any internal injuries, so that's good. But cracked ribs are a slow heal, and there's significant pain. Just about every movement connects to those chest muscles.”

Ross made a sound in his throat. “How long does she need to stay?”

“Two or three days. We've put her on pain meds. When she's able to travel, she can go home. But that's … where?”

“Southern California.”

The doctor tilted his head. “That's a distance. We'll just have to wait and see when she's up to that.”

I bit my lip. “Can I see her now?”

“Sure.” Dr. Devlor looked around apologetically. “I can't let you all in—there's not enough room. But you should be able to visit her tomorrow.”

“I'll go in with Shaley.” Ross put a hand on my arm. “Come on, hon.”

My insides felt like Jell-O. Somehow I managed to fall into step with Ross. Together we followed Dr. Devlor around the corner and into the examining room.

6

T
he room was all steel and white, full of medical instruments. Cold. Frightening.

Mom lay on a gurney, covered with a blanket. Her blonde hair was mussed on a pillow, her left arm in a blue cast up to her elbow. She managed a crooked, pain-wracked smile. “Hi, Shaley.”

“Mom.” I scurried over and pressed a hand to her cheek. My throat choked up. “I'm so sorry.”

Her eyes drooped. “It's okay. I'll be okay.”

“Hey, Rayne.” Ross edged up beside me, putting his hand over Mom's.

Regret stitched across her face. “Ross, I'm so sorry. I've messed everything—”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “
You
didn't do anything. But those paparazzi are going to pay.” Gently, he squeezed her fingers. “How you feeling?”

“Like a truck hit me.”

“Well. Not quite that big.”

“Excuse me.” A dark-haired nurse touched me on the arm. “We're ready to take your mom to her room now.”

“A private one?” Ross gave her a firm look.

She nodded. “Our single-bed rooms are taken, so we're giving her one with two beds but turning it into a private room for as long as she stays.”

“Thanks,” I said. At least that was something positive. Instead of sitting in a chair all night, I'd have a bed to sleep in. Because no way was I leaving my mom.

The nurse focused on me. “You can come with her if you like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I looked around. “I left our purses out there …”

“I'll get them,” Ross said. “And I'll talk to Mick and Wendell. I want them taking turns posted at the door outside her room.”

Ross hurried out on his mission.

I stayed close to Mom's gurney as two young orderlies wheeled her into an elevator. “I'm so sorry this happened to you, Miss O'Connor,” one of them said as he pushed the button for floor three. He was sandy-haired, with a boyish face. As much as he was trying to act professional, I could tell he felt more than dazzled to be in Rayne O'Connor's presence. “I love your music. I've got all your CDs.”

Mom managed a smile. “That's great. Thanks.”

Floor three was darkened and quiet, with a metallic, sterile smell. I walked with arms crossed and shoulders drawn in, hating the feel of the place. The two orderlies rolled Mom inside room 321. I looked around at two beds with mustard-yellow spreads, a couple of wooden chairs for visitors. On a rolling, high table pushed against the wall sat a small computer. A swiveling TV was mounted on the wall in the center of the room. Two curved steel rods ran across the ceiling between the beds, housing long blue curtains that could be pulled around for privacy. I swept both curtains all the way back to the wall.

The window overlooked a street lit with lampposts that failed to chase away all the shadows. For a second I stared at the pavement, struck with the thought that the rest of the world was sleeping as if this was some ordinary night.

“Which bed?” the sandy-haired orderly asked.

“Here by the window,” I told him. “Okay, Mom? It's farther away from sounds in the hall.”

“Okay.”

“You got it.” They lined up Mom's gurney with her bed.

“All right, ready now?” The second orderly gave her a smile. “We're just going to slide you over.”

“Okay.” Mom's voice was pinched, as if she knew it would hurt.

He nodded. “One, two, three—go.” With one smooth motion, they slid her over. Mom groaned at the movement.

A short, gray-haired nurse came in and introduced herself as Anne. She fussed with Mom's adjustable bed, pushing the button until Mom could sit propped up on pillows. “You won't be able to sleep lying down for awhile, hon,” she said. “Those injuries will just hurt too much for you to get up and down.”

Mom grunted. “Tell me about it.”

I stood back, hands to my mouth, wishing I could take my mother's place.

The orderlies left. Anne put a pitcher of water and a glass by Mom's bedside. She showed me the button for calling a nurse, and how to move Mom's bed up and down.

Ross hustled in, carrying our purses. Mom managed to chuckle at the sight.

“Yeah.” Ross thumped them down on a chair in the corner. “Got some strange looks on the way up.”

Mom's smile faded. “You need to take care of Shaley.”

“No problem.”

“I'm staying here, Mom,” I said. “I'll be taking care of
you
.”

“No, Shaley, you can't stay here. Go to the hotel and get a decent sleep. You can come back tomorrow.”

I looked to Anne and shook my head. “This
is
a private room, right? I can stay if I want.”

She tilted her head in a reluctant yes. “Nobody's going to kick you out.”

Ross considered me for a moment. “Rayne.” He pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “It'll be safe for Shaley to be here. We'll have Wendell and Mick outside, around the clock. Besides, she wants to help look after you.”

Mom's eyelids fluttered. “I just … want …”

Anne gave Mom's arm a sympathetic pat. “The medication's putting her to sleep. It's the best thing for her.”

“Yeah.” I focused on Mom's bruised forehead.

After Anne left, Ross stayed another ten minutes until Mom was fully asleep. We turned off the lights, except for a small lamp hooked to my bed.

“I'll bring your suitcases in the morning.” He headed for the door.

“Ross?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“The tour's totally done, isn't it? I mean, no way she can sing before four weeks are over.”

He blew out a sigh. “Afraid so.”

I looked at the floor.

“See you tomorrow, Shaley.”

“Yeah. Good night.”

As Ross opened the door, I caught a glimpse of Mick, sitting on a chair in the hall.

The door closed, and suddenly I felt so alone. I looked around the functional, cold-feeling room.

I can't believe this. We're in a hospital.

My eyes landed on a plain white clock on the wall. It was past one o'clock in the morning.

I crossed the room to Mom's bed and gazed down at her. Now that she was asleep, she looked so relaxed, free of pain. If only she could sleep through the whole healing process.

Something inside my body gave way, and my legs went weak. I stumbled to my bed and sank upon it.

In two days' time I'd seen three people killed, been chased by a madman, and stalked by a paparazzo. I'd hardly eaten or slept. And now this accident. No wonder I felt like a wet noodle.

Stretching out on the bed, I tried to remember my life three days ago. When everything had been
normal
. The memories felt distant and grayed. I'd been counting the hours until Brittany could join us on tour —

Brittany.

I needed to call her about Mom. We hadn't talked since before the concert.

Rolling toward one side, I slipped my cell phone out of my back jeans pocket. In that very moment, it went off—Brittany's ring tone.

I punched the button to answer, throwing an anxious look at Mom. She didn't move. I'd have to speak softly. “Hi, Br—”

“Shaleeeey!” Brittany screamed in my ear. She was sobbing. “What's going
on
? I just saw Rayne on TV—being hit by a car!”

“It's on TV? Already?”

What a stupid question. Of course it was on TV. The reporters probably dashed all the way to their stations. Now the whole nation could gawk at the sight of my mom getting hurt.

“Shaley, what—”

“
Wait.
” The meaning of her words slammed into me. “Just what did you see?”

Reporters had been everywhere. I knew they'd filmed Mom lying on the ground. But had one of the TV cameras managed to shoot through all the bodies and film the actual accident—and the seconds leading up to it?

Cat pushing Mom.

If someone got that on camera—we'd have proof.

7

H
ang on, Brittany.”

Cell phone clamped to my ear, I yanked the TV remote from a metal roll table beside my bed and punched the power button. The sound sprang on to a loud, blaring commercial.

“Ah!” I threw another frantic look at Mom, praying I hadn't woken her up, my fingers scrambling for
Mute
.

My nerves sizzled. Where
was
the stupid thing?

“Brit, wait a minute.” I threw down my phone, took the remote in both hands, and jabbed the TV off. In the jarring silence, I looked for the mute button, my pulse beating double-time. When I found it, I turned the TV back on and immediately pushed the sound off. A car commercial snapped into silence.

I took a deep breath. Glowing light from the TV spilled into the room, onto Mom's still form. She slept on.

I snatched up my phone. “What channel is it on?”