“You’re not giving me any choice.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “I need you, your support.”
“What if this kills you?” she whispered.
“Then it kills me. I have to…do it.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s reckless! I was afraid of this.”
“And you…made your reservations plain to…everyone. Your conscience…is clear.”
“It’s not my conscience that’s bothering me!”
He raised his eyelids and those blue eyes drilled into hers. “Careful…”
More tears welled up. She’d known she was rattled, but she hadn’t realized just how rattled until this moment. Frustrated by her own reaction, she snapped, “Careful of what?”
He grinned at her. “You’re acting like you care.”
“I do!”
“About me,” he clarified, sobering.
Those two words were more of a question than anything else. He was asking her about her concern, wanting to know if it went any deeper than what she might feel for anyone else in this situation. Did it? She was fairly sure it did. But how much deeper? And how should she respond?
“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she said. “Every time I close my eyes you’re there.”
She hadn’t expected to make this admission. But now that she had, she thought he’d be pleased. Instead, he frowned as if he’d just changed his mind. “We can’t do this. It’ll only make everything harder on both of us.” The nurse must’ve given him some painkiller because speaking suddenly seemed less difficult, but he was beginning to slur his words. “I have to do what I have to do, Peyton. I can’t change that. And even if I could, even if I already had a fresh start, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like you.”
She checked for the nurse again. The hall was still empty. “Like me? What do you think you need to offer? I’m not looking for a meal ticket.”
“Then what are you looking for? A guy who’s been in prison for fourteen years?”
“You have no control over what your mother and uncle—”
He refused to let her interrupt. “Or is it my gang connections you find appealing? What if I can’t break free of The Crew, Peyton? What if, because of your association with me, they come after you? Caring about me puts you in danger. Don’t you understand?” He lowered his voice, as if he spoke the next words grudgingly. “And it gives me so much more to lose.”
“You’re not afraid of losing me. Not like that. You’re afraid to care in the first place.”
“I can’t care. Not right now.”
She remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her on Saturday night. Maybe he didn’t want to feel anything, but he did. He was as susceptible to love and fear and pain as any other man.
“Nice try.” Even if his statement was true, she didn’t know what to do about it. She felt drawn to him, and that desire wasn’t going away. No matter how sudden, inexplicable or ill-timed it was, she wanted to be with him. His past didn’t change what she felt. Because logic had no place in this.
Footsteps behind her indicated that the nurse had returned with the doctor. Crossing to the sink to wash her hands, she motioned for them to take over as if she’d merely been helping out in the nurse’s absence.
The doctor worked on Virgil for several minutes while she watched, but when he began to suture the hole in Virgil’s stomach, she had to turn away. It made her feel faint, even though she wasn’t usually queasy around blood. “Will he be okay?” she asked, finally asking the question that burned in her mind.
Dr. Pendergast continued to stitch while he spoke. “He’ll be good as new.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Tell your friend she can rest easy. He’ll have another scar to add to all the rest, and he’ll probably wind up in the SHU for fighting, but he’ll live.”
She folded her arms. “He’s not going to the SHU. No one starts a fight that’s four on one.”
“He did almost as much damage to them as they did to him,” the doctor pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t start the fight. And he wasn’t the one with a weapon.”
The blood covering Dr. Pendergast’s gloves seemed at odds with his cavalier attitude. “That’s not what the others are saying. They’re saying he started the fight, that they took the shank away from him.”
Because the one with the weapon would get into more trouble than the others. They had good reason to make the claim.
Peyton didn’t argue. This wasn’t any of the doctor’s affair. She’d handle the situation herself.
“I’ll get to the bottom of it,” she promised. Then she left to see what had happened to Weston and the other two. Apparently Buzz hadn’t sustained more than a few bruises. If he’d caused this fight, he deserved more, but she felt somewhat vindicated once she visited his pals. Westy had a busted nose, a fat lip and a cut on the eye that required a couple of stitches. Ace Anderson, Westy’s cell mate, cradled a swollen hand in his lap. And Doug Lachette had what he swore were broken ribs as well as the more obvious bloody mouth and lost tooth.
“Way to hold your own,” she murmured, silently applauding Virgil as she left the infirmary. But she knew the next time a fight broke out, someone might be carried to the morgue in a body bag.
And that someone could just as easily be Virgil.
23
Wallace’s car was sitting in her drive when Peyton returned home. After the day she’d spent, he was the last person she wanted to see. Especially since she’d already made it clear that she preferred he go back to Sacramento. Why hadn’t he gone? What made him think he could hang out at her place indefinitely?
The fact that he was still here felt like an invasion of privacy. But she knew he wouldn’t understand why. She’d left him and Virgil alone in the house when she went to work as if she was fine with it—but she was more fine with Virgil being in her space than Wallace.
That she preferred Virgil seemed crazy, even to her. She knew Rick better. And Rick didn’t have a past.
“God, what’s going on with me?” she moaned. Then she collected her briefcase and purse from the car and took a deep breath before heading to the house. She was tempted to march up to Wallace and demand he pull Virgil from the prison. But Virgil would never forgive her if she did. He’d blame her if he was brought up on charges and sentenced to another prison term, or if Laurel ended up getting hurt. He preferred to handle this his own way and, while she respected that, she felt torn about his methods.