She swallowed. “Nope.”
He blinked. “You sure?”
She tried not to glare at the man. “Believe me. I’m sure,” she said. She had no one.
The ride in the ambulance was short—she’d almost been there when she’d had her accident. When they arrived in the emergency room, she answered the same questions over and over, had ten different people shine penlights in her eyes, made her touch her nose, walk a straight line and had her head x-rayed.
She had a concussion. And needed eight stitches behind her ear, which was swollen and sore.
“I’m going to have an elf ear for Christmas,” she said to the ER nurse. “How festive.”
“You’d look pretty no matter what,”
the woman said, smiling. “I’m Aileen. If you need anything, just holler. I’m your nurse. Okay?” She handed her the remote control. “You’ll be staying with us for a while so might as well find something to entertain you.” Aileen pulled the curtain back. “So I can keep an eye on you. No sleeping, okay?”
“Okay,” Tatum said. She flipped channels. She couldn’t feel her incision; it was numb. But the rest of her wasn’t. Now that she wasn’t trapped in a vehicle, in immediate peril, her brain decided to replay all the times she’d been hurt. Not stitches or concussion hurt, but brokenhearted and defeated hurt. Her father’s desertion, her mother, Spencer, Brent... How many times did she have to fall flat to learn to stay on her guard?
Her divorce should have liberated her.
Sleeping with Spencer should have empowered her.
She was in control now. And somehow she’d forgotten that.
No matter what truths had come to light about Spencer and their past, she was still antirelationships. She didn’t have the strongest evidence that loving someone was a good thing. The crisscross cuts and angry coloring of her right arm was example enough.
No more pretending things hadn’t gotten way out of hand with Spencer. She only hoped she was strong enough to end it.
She aimlessly flipped the channels, unease and nausea setting her stomach on edge. News. Sports. Travel shows. It’s a Wonderful Life. She stopped, knowing George Bailey’s tale would cheer her up. With any luck, she’d be able to go home by the time the movie was over. If she was really lucky, she’d look into getting an earlier flight to California.
* * *
“SPENCER,” HE ANSWERED his phone, eating another of Tatum’s cookies. He’d been back at work for an hour, closing out two files, and four cookies. And every time he took a bite, his mind drifted to Tatum. Her smile. Her laugh. Her tongue licking icing off the spoon. It was a good damn thing he was at his desk tonight, because he’d be shit in the field.
“It’s Jared.” It was hard to hear his cousin over the background noise. “I just heard. Is she okay?”
“At work?” Spencer asked. “I can barely hear you.”
“Is Tatum okay?” Jared repeated, enunciating.
Spencer sat forward, a knot forming in his throat. “As far as I know. Unless you know something I don’t know?”
“Aw, shit,” Jared sighed. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Spencer asked. “What the hell do I not know?” He stood, staring around the station, his panic building.
“Tatum was taken to the emergency room—”
“Why?”
“Car accident.”
Jared’s words ripped the air from his lungs—more effective than a gut punch. The roads were ice slicks. Even with his four-wheel drive, he struggled. Tatum hadn’t driven in these conditions in years—that was the reason he’d told her not to come see him. That, and there was no point. He was fine.
His heart twisted and his throat dried up. “When?”
“A couple of hours ago. Sorry, Spence, thought you’d know—”
Spencer hung up the phone, grabbed his coat and ran from the police department. He pulled out of the parking lot, heading straight to Glenn Oaks Hospital.