She presses her fingers to her lips. She gasps. And now, she’s shaking her head in disappointment. “Jude…”
“That’s why I slipped the pictures under your door.” Frustrated, I shove my tense fingers through my hair. “And if I…”
I glance up and make eye contact with a half dozen camera lenses. Shit—this is a private moment. I don’t want it ending up on some asshole’s YouTube channel or Facebook wall.
I step closer to Iris and lay a hand on her arm. “Petal, can we go somewhere private to talk? Let’s get out of here.”
The drunken man hawks sarcastically. “Yeah, go on with him, you lousy bitch.”
If he calls her that one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.
“Go home, Kirk,” I warn through gritted teeth. “You don’t want to do this.” Part of me still cares about this stupid fucker. I’m either going to embarrass him or beat him to a pulp if he stays. So this is me, giving him an out.
And how does Kirk Bunting thank me?
He smiles maniacally, crimson blood running over his lips and teeth. Then he swipes his leg out, with surprising speed for a man with his blood-alcohol level. His boot smashes into the side of my knee—my surgically repaired knee—with destructive force and I drop.
Lights out.
Blinding white pain sears through my leg, shooting up my thigh like a bolt of lightning.
I cannot hear anything.
I cannot see anything.
Just the deafening sound of colorless explosions firing throughout my body.
I lose track of everything and everyone else as I desperately clutch my leg and howl like a baby on the floor.
44
Iris
Jude Kingston’s family?”
I’ve been standing in this overcrowded emergency room for over an hour. The only available seat is next to a man who’s slumped over stock-still in his chair. I’m not sure if he’s dead or passed out or just in horrific pain, but my instincts tell me that standing against the wall is the safest choice.
Everywhere I look, there’s coughing and sniffling and medical masks, and I’m absolutely certain I’ll be taking home an incurable disease when I leave the ER.
“Here,” I lie, raising my hand and stepping forward to someone dressed in turquoise scrubs.
This is the first person I’ve seen tonight that has uttered Jude’s name, and I’m not passing up on these updates just because Jude’s parents haven’t arrived yet.
The short woman, who I presume to be a nurse, approaches me. “Jude is being admitted, so he will be moved to a room upstairs and undergo some testing.”
“How is he? How is his knee? Can I go back there?” I’m overly aggressive, but the nurse must be used to this behavior. Adrenaline is still zipping through my veins, and I have to do something. Have to help. Have to have some clear information to offer when Jude’s parents arrive.
The nurse takes a step back, out of my line of fire, but smiles grimly. “Sorry, they haven’t given me any updates. But I do know which floor he’s being moved to, so I can take you up there. That way, you can be in that waiting area. The on-call doctor will find you there to provide updates as they become available.”
I want to argue, but the woman has probably already told me more than she’s supposed to, considering I’m not actually family. I don’t want to push my luck, because I really suck at lying.
Are you family, ma’am?
Nope, but my ex-husband’s foot put him in the hospital. Does that count?
I follow her to the fourth floor, grateful to be out of the germ-infested cesspool downstairs. This waiting area is a bit quieter, but I find that even with available seating, my body refuses to relax. I’m jittery as I pace the room, uncaring about annoying other families, as I weave through the chairs, pass the coffee station, and loop back again.
I’m not sure how many times I’ve circled around the place when Diana and Lucas rush down the hall.
Jude’s mom frantically grasps my hand. “Oh, Iris. Is he okay? What happened?”
I swallow the golf ball sized knot in my throat and take a shaky breath. “They haven’t said anything. Just that he’s been moved upstairs, and they’re going to admit him.”
“Oh God,” Diana exhales. I’m thinking she is considering what I’ve already deduced, too. If Jude is not just in and out of the emergency room, then it’s clearly a serious situation. I couldn’t bring myself to say that, but Jude’s parents have done this before. I don’t need to state the obvious.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice is small as I force myself to meet both of their gazes. Lucas’s demeanor is making me nervous. His hand absently rubs his wife’s back, but he doesn't utter a single word.
“What happened, Iris? Did you see what happened?” Diana questions, begging to know more.
I was afraid of this. God. This is why I was hoping for some solid updates before they arrived.
I called Lexi as soon as we got to the hospital, and she passed the information along to the family quickly. Once they know that this is all my fault, they’re going to kick me out onto my ass. I’m responsible for this.
But I can’t lie to them. This is their son.
“It’s his knee,” I squeak. Jude’s dad smacks his hand against the wall hard and turns, dropping into a seat nearby. “We were at a bar, and there was a fight, and he got kicked.” I angrily swipe at a couple traitorous tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Diana squeezes my hands. “Dear, this isn’t your fault. We’ll get through this. He will get through this.”
No one dares mention that ‘this’ could very well be the end to Jude’s lifelong dream.
“It was Kirk,” I
