Lowering himself to the library steps, Everett rakes his fingers through his hair as Dr. Mullins speaks of broken ribs, a punctured lung, a severe concussion, and an arm broken in two places. “Those are the worst of her injuries. She has other minor cuts and bruises. I’ve been a doctor for thirty years, but I’ve never seen an assault of this magnitude.”
If his father wasn’t already dead, Everett would kill him with his bare hands. “When did this happen, Doctor?”
“An ambulance brought her in last Wednesday. She came out of the coma yesterday. We’ve been trying to reach you, but our calls keep going to your voicemail.”
Guilt expands in Everett’s chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. “I’ve been having trouble with my phone. I’m out of town now, but I’ll be home tonight, by midnight at the latest.”
“Good! Your mom needs you. I’ll expect to see you during my morning rounds tomorrow.”
After returning Rose’s phone, Everett takes off running. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the inn. Covered in sweat, he charges through the front doors. He ignores Naomi when she calls after him as he hurries around the corner to Stella’s office. Her door is open and she’s talking on the phone.
When she sees Everett, she tells the person on the other end she’ll call them back and hangs up.
Everett expects Stella to be angry, but she smiles at him when she waves him into her office and her tone is sincere when she says, “Come in, Everett. Or should I call you Rhett?”
“Either is fine. Everett is my given name.” When his butt lands in the chair opposite her desk, his legs begin to bounce up and down. He can’t be here right now. He came here to explain about last night, but his thoughts are too jumbled to make any sense. He doesn’t care about this job. Stella will probably fire him, anyway. He has a career waiting for him in Nashville. He needs to be on the highway to Atlanta. The only thing that matters is getting to his mom.
He jumps to his feet. “I’m sorry, Stella. I just got off the phone with my mom. I have a family emergency. I need to get home as soon as possible.”
Stella’s brows become one. “Oh. I’m sorry. Is everything okay?”
“Honestly, no. But it will be. Despite what Naomi says, I didn’t take any money from the inn.”
“I want to believe you, Everett. I truly do. But I can’t ignore the fact that you lied on your employment application.”
He hangs his head. “I don’t blame you.”
Coming from behind her desk, Stella, with one hand cupping his elbow, walks him to the door. “Your family is the most important thing right now. Be careful on the drive.”
Stella is a remarkable person, honest with strong morals. She’s worked hard, she’s persistent, and she should have success. When they reach the door, he leans down and gives her a hug. “I mean this as a friend, Stella. Beware of Naomi. I’m not sure what’s driving her agenda, but she doesn’t have the inn’s best interests at heart.”
Everett doesn’t wait for Stella’s response. He rushes back toward the reception desk. Relieved to find Naomi gone, he asks Valerie, the guest service agent, to ring Louie Daniels’ room. “Tell him he has a guest in the lobby who needs to speak with him.”
Valerie’s searching her computer for the room number when Louie and Carla emerge from the elevator. Louie’s battle scars are way worse than Everett’s. Both his eyes are black, and blood oozes from a gash above his right eyebrow.
Everett walks toward them. “Here’s your money.” He shoves the bank envelope at Louie. “It’s all there, if you wanna count it.”
“I believe you.” Louie takes the envelope from him and shoves it in his pocket.
“I didn’t steal your money, Louie. I forgot I had it in my truck. Then, after I left town, I had no way to get it back to you. Be honest, man. What is the money for? Was Waylon paying you on the side for our gig?”
His bloodshot eyes bulge. “Dude! No! I would never cheat you. You’re like a brother to me. Waylon bought an old dirt bike of mine.”
Everett’s cheeks burn. He’s reached a new level of low. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”
“And I’m sorry about the way I acted yesterday. We can work this out, Rhett. The band needs you.”
Everett lets out a sigh. “You will find out soon enough, so I might as well tell you now. I’ve been talking to Wade Newman. He wants me, Louie, not the rest of the band. It’s a tough break, I know. But that’s how it goes sometimes. Sorry, bro.” Everett turns and heads toward the door.
Carla calls after him, “Wait! Rhett! What about the baby? This is your kid.”
Everett returns to where they’re standing. “I’m not the father, Carla. I’m the sperm donor. You made the decision to get pregnant on your own. You can raise it on your own.”
This time, when he turns his back on them, he keeps on going.
23
Presley
Presley works from home on Monday morning. Still dressed in exercise clothes from her yoga workout, she answers emails and prepares notes for her wrap-up meeting with Stella at noon.
Around ten thirty, she’s still at her desk when she notices Everett . . . Rhett . . . whatever his real name is . . . hoofing it down Main Street toward their building. He’s wearing a red baseball cap, flannel shirt, and torn jeans. Why the sunglasses when it’s cloudy out? Is he trying to hide a black eye? He crosses Marshall Street with barely a glance in either direction, and seconds later, she hears the downstairs door slam followed by footfalls on the hardwood stairs. Leaving her desk, she goes to her entryway and presses her ear against the door. He makes three trips—down, up, and back down again—before finally leaving for good.
