The door slid open. “Brook,” Chad barked. “We’re leaving.”
She perked up with a bright “Be right there.” But as soon as the door closed, she dropped back into her serious, confidential quick-talk. “When she freaks out, you tell her I’ve got her back. Tell her I’m taking care of everything I can take care of from this end. You tell her that she’d better not come back to work until her voice is one hundred percent, because I won’t let her sing any sooner than you will. You tell her,” she said with more emphasis and a wicked little gleam in her dark blue eyes, “that she won’t be singing again until she gets a writt
en release from Jacque.”
Troy rubbed a hand down one side of his face as the fatigue settled in deep. “And who’s Jacque?”
Brook’s mouth tipped up in a tired little smirk. “Only the very best laryngologist in the country. He treats all the big stars, and he’s someone who will knock Chad on his ass when necessary.”
Troy laughed and nodded. “Perfect. Shoot me his contact information when you get a chance, will you?”
“You bet. Take care of our girl, will you?”
“You bet.” Troy pulled Brook into a hug and whispered, “Thank you. For loving her. For being with her when I couldn’t.”
Brook sighed and patted his back. “It takes a village to raise a country music star.”
Troy laughed and let Brook slip from the room.
At Giselle’s bedside, he dropped into a chair, moved it to the side of the gurney, and lowered one metal arm. Resting one hand on her thigh beneath the blanket, he curled the other hand around hers and laid his head on the foam mattress and watched her sleep.
“Ellie, Ellie, Ellie,” he murmured as fatigue settled in. “Why did we cross paths now? And how do I keep you from slipping through my fingers again?”
Giselle floated out of a deep, deep sleep. The kind of sleep that made her feel like a rock in the bed. The kind of sleep that made her eyelids feel like cement and her mouth feel like a cotton ball. She tried several times before she finally forced her eyes open a sliver, then searched for orientation—day, time, place. But her brain was as groggy as her body.
She was warm but uncomfortable. Vague pain in her head made her wince. When she tried to shift her body, more pain erupted all over, and she groaned. Something flinched around her hand, and she forced her eyes that direction. A large male hand cradled hers. A hand with callouses and dirt-encrusted nails.
Her slow, heavy gaze followed the hand up a muscular arm marred with scrapes and bruises, then skipped to a full head of deep brown waves. Then jumped to Troy’s face, where his cheek lay on the gurney near her hip. His eyes were closed, his face loose in sleep.
Troy.
Her heart leapt with pleasure and spiraled with affection while a smile curved her mouth—until the condition of his face registered in her sluggish mind. More scrapes and cuts had been covered in strips of tape, bruises marred his smooth tan, a black eye made Giselle wince. Alarm sang along her nerves. She lifted her free hand to run her fingers through his hair, but her wrist jerked to a stop. Confused, she darted a look at her arm. Something was wrapped around her wrist. Fabric? Rope?
She didn’t understand. She just pulled at the fabric again and again. Fabric tied to a metal railing. A metal railing on a gurney. A gurney in a hospital room.
“Troy?” With each thought, panic jumped another rung. “Troy. Troy!”
She wasn’t thinking, just reacting, jerking and yelling.
“Shh, honey, I’m right here.” He was on his feet, pressing her shoulders to the mattress. “Everything’s fine. You’re okay.”
“W-what is this? Why…” She jerked both hands at once. “Get these off.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Just show me you can calm down first.”
Anger immediately replaced panic, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself to lie back and stay still. Which made it easier to fill her lungs. Helped her brain clear.
With two tugs, Troy freed her hands, and relief engulfed her, followed by a mess of other intense emotions she couldn’t define and didn’t understand. All she knew was she needed security, and she went directly to her purest form—Troy.
She threw her arms around his neck. Holding him tight, she closed her eyes as deep relief swept in with such force, she shivered. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Memories rushed in—the cave, Troy, nearly getting crushed and buried, losing it when they reached the hospital. Mortification made her bury her face in his neck.
“The others?” she asked. “Were there others?”
“One of the engineers was caught in the stunt cave, but he’s out and he’s recovering. A few others had minor injuries, but they’ve all been treated, and they’re on their way home. Everyone is going to be okay.”
Thank God. She closed her eyes in relief. “How long have I been here?”