“So I’m lying there, right? And it’s nice. I mean he’s nice. Or at least, I think he is. Until this alarm clock beside the bed goes off. Then he sits up and starts pulling on his clothes.”
I catch Damien’s eye. I do not like the direction this is heading, and I already know that it ends badly.
“I ask him why he’s getting dressed, and he snaps at me to hurry. Because his wife—his fucking wife—is going to be home soon and I need to get the hell out of there.”
“Oh, Jamie . . .”
“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. But right then I was just pissed. And scared, because he tells me his wife’s a cop. I mean, seriously, it’s like a goddamned movie of the week or something.” She draws in a deep breath. “So I’m hurrying, right? And he’s pushing me to move faster, and he’s basically turned into this total asshole. And I swear, if she wasn’t a woman who carried a gun I would have stayed and told her that her fucktard of a husband screwed around. But I’m not keen on getting shot and he’s practically screaming at me by now.”
“And somehow the wife caused the accident?”
Jamie shakes her head. “Other than by coming home and scaring the crap out of me? No. But I pull out of his house and I head down the street to get out of the subdivision and back to the main road. I’m distracted, and I know I’m driving faster than I should, and—oh, Damien—I’m so, so sorry. But that was it. Just too fast. I wasn’t being reckless, I swear to God. But when I turn the corner, this other car is pulling out. They couldn’t have planned the timing better if they tried. I mean, it was like they were just waiting for me to come, which is stupid, right, but that’s just the kind of day I was having. So I swerve, and I lose control and I wrap the car around this huge stone fence that marks the edge of the development. The airbags did their thing, but I still managed to bang my head.” She presses her fingertips to the bandage on her forehead. “I’m not even sure what I hit it on.”
Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath. “So that’s it. The whole thing was my fault. I was pissed off and driving too fast and the whole goddamn thing is because I spread my legs for some fucking stranger who only wanted a quick lay while his wife was off catching bad guys.”
I know she wants me to console her. To tell her it wasn’t her fault at all. And sure, that kind of accident can happen to anyone. But Jamie has fucked around for too long, with me and everyone else telling her that it can only end in trouble. I’m not about to say “I told you so,” but I’m also not going to tell her it’s no big deal and that it could have happened to anyone.
“You scared the shit out of me, James,” I finally say, and feel the tears well in my eyes again. “What would I do if something happened to you?”
Jamie got lucky—that’s the basic, bottom-line, absolute fact. A few inches in another direction, a few miles per hour faster, a little bit of oil on the road—just one tiny change and things could have been much, much worse.
I shiver, unnerved by the direction of my thoughts. By the knowledge that I could not stand to lose my friend. And by the certainty that if the worst happens, it is the sharp steel of a blade that I will crave—and if Damien is not beside me, then it is a blade that I will turn to.
Unnerved, I squeeze my hands tight, feeling my nails dig into my palms. Damien’s hand tightens around my ankle.
I sigh and savor the connection. For right then, it is enough.
When the nurse comes in to take Jamie’s vitals, Damien goes out into the hallway to find someone who can bring pillows and extra blankets. There is a hideously uncomfortable chair in the room that pulls out into a hideously uncomfortable bed, and that is where I am sleeping tonight, curled up tight against Damien’s side.
Despite the uncomfortable bed and the nurse visits that wake us every three hours or so, I am actually somewhat refreshed when I’m awakened the next morning by the smell of strong, slightly burned coffee.
“Nectar of the gods,” Damien says as he presses the Styrofoam cup into my eager hand. I sip it, make a face, and take another long swallow.
“The gods aren’t too picky this morning,” I say.
He brushes a kiss across my lips. “I’m sure Edward will be happy to stop for a latte.”
I frown, confused. “Why is Edward here?”
“I’m sending you and Jamie home in the limo.”
“We’re not riding back with you?” I hear the near-whine in my voice and immediately wish I could take it back. Yes, it’s Saturday, but the man has an empire to run, and he’s already been away from it for far too long. “Sorry,” I say. “I know you have to work.”
“There are things I need to take care of,” he says, and something in his tone catches my attention. “I’m going to San Diego,” he adds, obviously noticing my frown.
“Oh.” His father lives in San Diego, and I realize that he is going to confront the man about the photos sent to the court. I do not envy him the trip. My mother may have failed Parenting 101, but Jeremiah Stark never even took the class. “Hurry back,” I say, even though what I want to do is throw my arms around him and keep him safe. I do not want to see his heart wounded any more than it already is. And yet at the same time, I’m silently cheering inside. He could have so easily told me that he had business meetings, but instead he let me in. “I love you,” I say.
He cups my chin and tugs me in for a kiss. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
I nod, desperately hoping that he is right about that.
Since the cogs of the medical establishment do not turn quickly, it’s a full two hours before Jamie and I are finally settled in the limo. “If I have a mimosa, are you going to lecture me?” Jamie asks.
“I haven’t lectured you at all,” I reply indignantly. “I’ve been extremely non-lecturey. And it’s not like you have a drinking problem, James.”
“You’re right,” she says as she pours two and passes me one. I’m not really in the mood, but I take it anyway. Best friend solidarity and all that. “I don’t have a drinking problem; I have a fucking problem.”
I happen to agree, so I wisely say nothing and just take a sip from my mimosa. Since Jamie is a reasonably observant person who happens to know me well, my silence isn’t lost on her. She shrugs. “I know,” she says. “Nothing you haven’t been telling me for years.”