Eyes fixed on him, squinting in confusion. “You’re not thenurse,” May rasped.
T.J. reached the bed. A face on a stark-white pillow tookhim back to a different time, a different hospital, adifferent face.
The guy looked like he’d been run over by a goddamn bus.Realization dawned on T.J. that May was as far from okay as Denver was fromAntarctica, and a prickle ran along his neck, making his hairs rise. His palmssuddenly turned clammy, and his stomach flipped upside down.
Why had he come? Better to have imagined May laughing,flirting, than seeing him like this.
For fuck’s sake, say something. T.J. swallowed thebile in his throat and forced out a laugh. “Bet you wish I was a nurse,huh? They’re a hell of a lot prettier than me.”
May’s eyes squinted a little harder. “Fuck. Either I’mdreaming or T.J. Shanstrom’s in my fucking hospitalroom.”
“You’re not dreaming.” T.J.’s calf muscles were coiled,ready to spring from the room.
May rubbed his jaw. “Jesus, you must have filled your gloveswith concrete before that hit.”
T.J. released a laugh—a real one—blowing some steam from hispressure cooker. “Do you remember anything?”
May started to shake his head, stopped, and winced. “Besideshow badly we were beating you guys? No. One minute I was on the ice, next Iwoke up in a hospital. My ex showed me the hit on YouTube.” May craned his headand looked at a clock. “Speaking of my ex, you better getthe hell out of here before she sees you. Her mouth packs a bigger wallop thananything you can dish out.”
T.J. schooled the urge to turn tail and run right then.“Yeah. Okay. I just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”
“Not so great.”
“No, I can see that.” T.J. let loose a breath. “I’m reallysorry, man.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Be well.”
When T.J. left May’s room, he swayed down the hallway,dazed, his mind zigging and zaggingas he tried to grasp what he’d seen. Kevin May wouldnot be all right.
CHAPTER 7
Friends and Family Get in Free
Days later, Natalie was frazzled asshe careened through hospital hallways to Kevin’s room. Not yet ten o’clock,and her energy was nearly spent. Soon she’d be dipping into her reserves, andwhen those were depleted, she’d be running on fumes. Next stop: life support.
Last night, she’d tackled her growing pile of client work,which had taken far longer to shrink than she’d projected. It hadn’t helpedthat she’d confused her clients and entered a stack of receipts into the wrongaccount, costing her hours to undo, redo, and recheck. When she’d last glancedat the clock, it had glowed 4:14 a.m. A bright sunrise had nudged her awake,and she’d been surprised to discover she’d fallen asleep, face plastered withpapers strewn over her table. Again. No amount of showering or hot coffeecould’ve sharpened her for the day’s tasks or erased the smudges from under hereyes.
Add to her sleep-deprived state her first dog-sitting stop,where she’d been delayed by a barfing incident, throwing off her neatly plannedmorning like a tumbling row of dominoes. Down went the first one, and she washelpless to stop the cascade. She waited until the dog’s owner called her back,reassuring Natalie the dog had gotten into some garbage that was merely“working its way” through his system. But just in case, would she please add areturn visit to her already-squeezed morning schedule? Yes, of course shewould.
As she was leaving that client’s driveway, she’d gotten acall from a potential bookkeeping client telling her thanks but no thanks; theywere hiring a different service—one with more time for them than she appearedto have.
Yeah, that one had hurt.
Glancing at her phone, she groaned inwardly. Forty-fiveminutes late to see Kevin. She’d tried calling his room without luck. Would hebe pissed off at her today?
Out whooshed an exasperated breath that lifted the hair fromher forehead. On that exhale, she told herself the best she could do now waspick up her pace.
The aroma of coffee pulled her up short, and she detoured toa nearby machine. She was already late; what would a few minutes more matter?
Delicious steam rising up her nose, she couldn’t resisttaking a sip of the hot brew as she rounded a corner. Where she collided with ahuman wall. She had no idea who yelped louder—the man drenched by her hotcoffee or her, also well-doused. His cursing wasdefinitely more voluble than hers—not to mention colorful—as he shook browndroplets from his dripping fingers.
“Jesuuus! Why the hell don’t youwatch where you’re going?”
“I could say the same to you,” she ground out. She lookedup, high up, into blazing moss-green eyes set in a face contorted inirritation. Suddenly, light shifted in those eyes, and the hard line of hismouth softened, turning up at the corners. He looked familiar, and she reeledin her anger, spluttering instead, “Are you hurt?”
By now, all attention was focused on them, and she felt likea bug pinned to a board for all to see.
He looked her over and gave himself a cursory scan. “Lookslike you got as good as you gave.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?”
Brushing at his arms and chest, he nodded. “From the parkinglot a week ago. You seem to lose things easily.”
She shot him a bemused look.
He returned it by arching a dark eyebrow. “Meathead?”
Recognition brightened her brain. “Right. You caught him forme.”
“Yep.” He bent to pick up her now-empty cup and handed it toher.
Contrition settled in. “Oh crap, I can’t believe I gotcoffee all over you. Can I buy you another cup?”
A frown drew his brows together, yet his mouth curved into agenerous smile. Like rain coming down while the sun shone. He pointed at thecup in her hand. “I believe that was your coffee, not mine, though itappears you were trying to share it with me. Very charitable of you, by theway.” His smile widened. She was pretty sure he was snickering behind thatsmile.
She pressed her hand to
