My heart is pounding and I feel like a lying sinner, but the girl isn’t focused on me at all. “You saw Cross? Oh my God, how was he?”
I don’t want to tell her. I’m being possessive of my knowledge, because at this point it may be the only thing I have.
“He was…” I fumble, then realize I can bypass my emotions by playing the role of a nurse. “Your friend had a gunshot wound, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t hit anything vital. When they took him to the OR, the general consensus was that he would probably be fine.”
“Oh my God.” She covers her face, then seems to remember her chest and covers it with her other arm. “I’m so embarrassed that I freaked out like I did. It’s just…I heard my friend got married to this random woman he met on this biker trip to Mexico. My other best friend is getting married, too, and…” She shrugs, and her face collapses like she’s going to cry again.
All my possessive pseudo-animosity is gone, and suddenly it’s like I remember how to be a woman. A normal, American woman…not a sex slave or a nun. I wrap my arms around her, and the woman’s pretty face is pressed against my shoulder.
It’s pitiful, because all I can think is that I’m happy I get to comfort someone Cross knows. Someone he cares about. I know he would like that.
I really shouldn’t care.
After a minute, she pulls away. “Thank you,” she says, and I can tell she’s working hard to hid her embarrassment. She slips on the jacket and I smile. “See? No one will know about your shirt.”
“Except my therapist.” She laughs, a hollow little sound. “I think I need to find one, ASAP.”
I shrug. “You don’t seem too crazy to me.”
“Maybe not,” she sighs. “I’m definitely terrible at the boy-girl thing, though.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right boy.” It sounds trite, but it makes my heart ache because I think of Cross. No son of Drake Carlson can ever be the right man for me.
The girl standing across from me bites her lip, then shakes her head—reminding me, in that moment, of someone years younger. “Not really,” she says, as her eyes glitter with tears again. “I’ve started thinking there’s just…no one.”
I hug her again, this time one-armed. “That’s not true. There’s someone for everyone.”
She sighs. “My guy is probably a missionary on some tiny island somewhere.”
This makes me laugh, and a second later she giggles. She has a cute-sounding giggle. As we smile, I can see why Cross likes her. Before I can wonder how much, the intercom hums on, and a woman’s voice calls my name. Well, she says “Meredith Carlson. Please come to the Operating Room Intake Desk.”
My lungs seize up, because the woman didn’t say who was paging me—a nurse or the cops. Maybe I should just walk out. Hitchhike to Vegas. I could do that, couldn’t I? It would suck, but I could do it.
The girl sniffs loudly. “I guess I can go meet the real…” She almost loses it. “His new wife,” she finishes gamely. “I think maybe that means he’s out of surgery now, and we can get an update.”
I hold my breath. I hold it for so long I almost start to see stars. Then I make another choice—the choice not to leave quite yet, despite knowing Cross has people here for him. “Would you like me to walk you to the OR waiting area? You seem like you could use some company and I’d like to see how the patient is doing.”
Cross’s pretty friend smiles. “That’d be great.”
She zips the jacket, igniting a sting of envy somewhere behind my breast bone, and we step into an over-bright hallway that smells of stale coffee and antiseptic.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stepping out into these halls with nothing to shield me. No one to protect me. If the cartel is on my heels… If Cross killed Jesus’s sister, Christina… If he didn’t…
I’m a fool for not just leaving, but I can’t seem to walk away.
All of a sudden I notice Cross’s friend is looking at me, and I realize she doesn’t know where she’s going. I’m the ‘nurse’. I’m supposed to be leading us.
“Oh, the OR waiting room. Sorry.” I rub my eyes. “Long day.”
Her gaze trails down my clothes, and her lips pinch together. “Are those dark stains from…”
I let my sorrow over all of this show on my face, and her expression matches mine.
“He’s had a really rough time,” she tells me as I lead us to the waiting area.
I don’t want to hear this from her…but I do. “What happened to him?”
She sucks her perfect lip into her perfect mouth. “He got into a motorcycle wreck a couple of months ago. It’s a really long story, but let’s just say he had some enemies. One of them caught up with him and…it really is a long story, but it led to his wreck.” She lowers her voice and moves her head a little closer to mine. “People think he wrecked because he was drunk. It kind of tarnished his reputation…not that he was thought of as a saint before.” She sighs. “Anyway, after that he had a lot of health issues. He was in a coma, then he had a stroke. His parents are selfish, awful losers and they never came to visit him at all.” Her shoulders rise and fall, like she’s taking a deep, composing breath. “It just makes me so mad, you know. He’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve what’s going on.”