“Because I feel responsible,” he admitted. “Playing at a rally was my brother’s idea. I should’ve known how it would turn out.”
“A lot of people got injured. Why save us?”
“I couldn’t save everyone.” He shrugged. “She looks…special.”
Rhonda cocked her head. “No shit? She does need a man, and she was making eyes at you the whole time.”
“Shut…your…mouth,” Dee muttered.
The emergency room was a bigger zoo than the rally. Because she’d been stabbed, she was a high priority, but he didn’t leave her side until they forced him to.
“Does she have insurance?” he asked Rhonda at the information desk.
“Yeah, she’s an attorney.” From one of her many pockets, she pulled out a change purse with Dee’s ID and insurance card.
“Whatever insurance doesn’t cover, I will, okay?” What else would he spend his money on? Booze? Drugs for the band, which he never touched himself? A bigger boat? A newer truck? None of it had any meaning.
Rhonda raised her eyebrows. “Dang, you do have a thing for her.”
When his cell phone rang, he stepped outside to take the call. Like a shadow, Joe followed him.
“We’re at the municipal airport,” Jack said. “Our charter plane is fueled up and ready to go. Where are you?”
“Still at the hospital. I’m going to be here for a while.”
“How much is a while?” his brother asked with an impatient huff.
“Hours? Overnight? However long it takes. Dee is in surgery.”
“Who the hell is Dee? That black woman you rescued?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you flipped your lid, man?” Jack asked. “She’s a complete stranger. Get your ass to the airport so we can go home and rest up for our upcoming tour.”
“I have to stay, even if it means delaying the tour.” Rodney raked a hand through his long hair. “We’re responsible for at least some of those injuries. You’re the one who got us into this mess, remember?”
“You’re on your own, then,” Jack said before the connection went dead.
Which meant Rodney would have to hire his own charter plane or fly commercial with his security manager. He’d probably do the latter. First class wasn’t so bad, and those small planes gave him the creeps.
Why had he attached himself to a stranger? Did he simply need a change in his life? He’d be hard put to think of a bigger one than taking up with an African-American woman. His Southern roots had been his entire identity. Now, he didn’t know who the hell he was, and it didn’t feel good. She’d be in good hands here, so why not leave? Go back to his life.
Pocketing his phone, he walked back into the hospital and found Rhonda in the overflowing waiting room, face buried in a magazine.
“Any word?” he asked her.
She shook her head. To his dismay, some fans recognized him and rushed over with requests for autographs and a million questions. A couple of reporters even joined in. Why was he here? Where was the rest of the band? Had any of them gotten hurt? Was he upset the statue would be moved to a museum?
It would?
He made his face blank and said no comment. At least the bloodshed today, including Dee’s, hadn’t been for nothing. Southern gentility was about making people feel welcome. The fierceness of the statue, especially near a library where children visited, didn’t represent that.
If he’d taken the time to think the issue out earlier, he never would have done today’s gig. But then, he’d never have met Dee. He must have met her for a reason, and he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
A couple of hours later, she was out of surgery. He jumped out of his seat, but a white man with long, salt-and-pepper hair and the black woman with him beat him to it. When the doctor said Dee should completely recover from her concussion and stab wound, between the hip bone and top of her femur, Rodney experienced an elation he hadn’t felt in a while.
He tagged along with Rhonda to her room. “Are those her parents?”
“Yep.”
They looked as Southern as he was. The father wore a flannel shirt and work boots, and the mother had on a plain cotton dress. When they reached Dee’s room, the older woman rushed to her bedside. The man, seeming to notice Rodney for the first time, glared at him with hard green eyes.
“Who the hell are you?”
Before Rodney could speak, Rhonda interrupted. “He’s the lead singer for Breeze. He rescued Dee.”
“I don’t care if you’re the president,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the door. “Get out of my daughter’s room.”
“I need to see her,” Rodney insisted. “Make sure she’s all right.”
“People like you are the reason she’s here in the first place,” the father said. “Waving your damn Confederate flag around like it’s the 1860s. We should’ve hired our own band.”
“Stop it!”
Everyone fell silent and stared at the figure in the bed.
“Can’t everybody get along?” Dee cried, tears running down her bruised cheek.
“Now, look what you’ve done,” the other man grumbled at him.
Rodney kept his distance, hoping the guy would eventually calm down enough to let him spend some time with his daughter.
“Jeremy, please.” Dee’s mother gripped his arm and rubbed it. “Everyone’s a little tense.”
“I’m sorry, Adele. I just can’t stand seeing my baby this way.” Jeremy squeezed and kissed Dee’s hands. “We should have talked her out of going to the rally.”
“It’ll be the last one, for all of us,” the woman replied.
“You’re going to be fine,” Jeremy told his daughter.
Rhonda approached the bed next. “Bitch, you were fierce! I was so damn proud.”
Dee laughed then winced. “Don’t say anything funny for at least a month, okay?”
Eventually, they let Rodney talk to her. He placed one of her hands in his and stroked it.
“Feeling any better?” It was a dumb question, but he couldn’t think of anything else. For some reason, she made him feel more like an awkward schoolboy than a famous rock star.
She blinked at him. “Rodney Walker? Is
