“Let’s just say I didn’t exactly trust the fucker. After we got her stable and moved her to the ICU, I made my case to the cops that he may look like the doting single dad who never left her bedside, but I was and still am certain he was the one who hurt her. I wanted him nowhere near her.”
“Understandably.”
“Where my story fell short was that her injuries could have been caused by a fall down the stairs. But I saw the blood on his knuckles he’d washed off. I saw the terror in her eyes before she fell unconscious. It didn’t matter how insistent I was because he had already convinced the police that he was some pillar of the fucking community who’d never hurt a soul. It’s my word against his until Ivy wakes up and can give her account.”
“I’m at a loss for words.” I squeeze his hand tighter, hating this story, hating that he’s reliving it just so I can hear it, but asking him to stop isn’t something I can do. He’s bleeding, so I won’t let him bleed alone.
“Yeah, well, where they saw a doting father who sat by her bedside day in and day out, I saw a man willing to protect his reputation and life by any and all means. He’d hurt her that badly, who said he wasn’t going to take it a step further? So I prohibited him from being in the ICU. I moved her to a different room when he got my superior involved. I then convinced a guard she was in danger and had him stand in her room whenever he was present. That is what got me suspended. He complained to someone he knows on the hospital board, and I was suspended from my residency program as well as blocked from her case pending review.”
“And Ivy?”
“She’s been in a coma since. Her other injuries have healed, but her brain, her cognitive function, is what we are waiting on. She needs to wake up. She needs to . . .” He lifts his free hand in defeat. “Can I tell you how much I hate saying I need her to wake up? It sounds fucking selfish. Her waking up and telling the truth will clear me from wrongdoing and put that fucker in jail. I’d get my job back, my life back. But that isn’t what I mean when I say it. I just want her to wake up because she deserves a chance at knowing what life is like without a hand being raised to her.”
He’s amazing. The thought runs through my head over and over, but I don’t voice it because I know he’d just refute it. He only sees a little girl he didn’t help when he wouldn’t have been able to prevent the situation in the first place.
“Is that who you were talking about on the phone yesterday?”
He nods but keeps his eyes straight ahead. “I was having John check on her status for me.”
I slide my arm around him, and he slips his around me so I can snuggle in beside him and offer comfort. “No change?”
“No change.”
“So, it’s a waiting game then?”
“Pretty much. The reason I couldn’t drive up here with you was because I had a meeting with the heads of the residency program. They were asking questions and reviewing my actions to discuss my suspension, but in the end, they want to hear from Ivy. If she says her dad abused her, then I look like a hero trying to protect her. If I’m wrong, then we shall see.”
“And if you aren’t reinstated in the program?” I ask.
“Then at least I was booted for a worthy cause.”
The fact that he cares more about a little girl than his own career says so much more about the man he is than anything.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
He turns and looks at me finally. “Thank you for listening.”
“Of course. Any time. Is there—”
Slade leans forward and kisses me—and not just a brush on the lips, either. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and insides furl and an ache splinter through every part of me.
But there is no urgency in the kiss, there is no endgame in his motions. There are just his hands framing my face and his tongue meeting mine in an intimate dance that takes hold of my emotions as much as it does my body.
It’s a kiss purely to kiss, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this.
Just kiss.
Just connect.
Just be in this space with a man who worships my mouth with an inexplicable reverence as if he’s getting as much out of this as I am.
I love the feel of my fingers threading through his hair at the back of his neck. I memorize the soft sigh he makes when he deepens the kiss. I revel in the taste of his kiss on my tongue.
I push away the thoughts of how perfect this feels, how afraid I am of how much I like him, and simply allow myself to be pulled under the haze of Slade’s kiss.
Every single second of it. The tug on my lower lip. The gentle pressure of his fingertips guiding my head. The adeptness of his lips.
When it ends, when his forehead is resting on mine and our hands are still on each other, right when I’m about to speak, the rope of the swing snaps, and we fall with a yelp and a thud.
Laughter.
It’s all I hear. We laugh so hard that we’re both on our backs with our hands on our stomachs and wine spilled on us. We laugh till our sides hurt and tears run down the corners of my eyes to my ears and then to the ground
