When she woke the second time, Jazz was disappointed to find she was alone. After a moment of adjusting to the pain, she managed to sit up just as a nurse walked in.
The nurse smiled. “Your boyfriend has gone to get you a coffee. He seemed to think that was an important part of your morning ritual. I offered him one from the nurses’ station, but he said you were a bit particular.”
Relief and irritation warred inside. She was particular about her coffee. She did need it as soon as she woke up – or rather, she enjoyed it then. She didn’t necessarily need it. Although, the others who worked with her thought she did. Morgan knew that. Unerringly, the memories of waking up to Morgan’s magical touch filled her mind and heated her blood.
He’d been the sweetest morning lover. As if he’d gone all soft and gooey while sleeping and could show how much he cared before the harsh realities of life settled into place for the day. He’d always brought her coffee when he could as well.
Sadness filled her. Why was he here now? What was he up to? What brought him back and why?
Billy.
She frowned, her fingers pleating the sheets absentmindedly. The nurse bustled around her doing whatever nurses did while she lay in the bed, her mind full of Morgan and worse…his brother.
Billy had been a manipulator. A back-talker. A bullshitter. Someone who would talk up the girls, take them to bed, and then tell everyone else what kind of lay they were. She’d not heard it directly, but some of the guys joked about his rating system. That made him the worst of men in her books. She’d never gone to bed with him, but he’d been working on her for months until they had had a big argument and he ripped into her.
That had been a horrible ride and had given her some incredibly nasty insight into his character. She’d had nothing to do with him since.
Now look where she was. Because of him again.
Asshole.
No, he was dead – might be dead – but so what if he was? She’d have a hard time mourning him. Good riddance more likely. But that wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. Talk about keeping her walking a higher road to avoid becoming a female version of him.
Morgan was the opposite. The guy had been the big brother, bending over backward to make life easy for Billy. And Billy had always abused the damn relationship. She and Morgan had fought only once, and it had been about his kid brother.
A fight she’d never forgotten.
Now his brother was likely dead, Morgan was stuck in limbo, mourning a deep loss and needing to find a way forward.
What the hell was she going to do now? About Morgan? About going home? About a killer who apparently was targeting her?
Random shootings never happened in town – not that it meant they never would, but this was too big a coincidence.
So what was her next step?
She didn’t intend to go home where her shooter could get a second chance. In a pinch, she’d stay at the shop. But if the guy found her at home, he’d find her there, too. So why hadn’t he?
Cancelling the day of work was hardly an option… Roxy could handle some of it, but not all.
Roxy! Shit.
She searched for her cell phone and realized it wasn’t beside her. Damn. The nurse had left as quietly as she’d arrived, so Jazz couldn’t ask about her phone either. She swung her legs over the bed and hopped off.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Morgan walked in, holding two large takeout cups of coffee.
“Roxy. I never called Roxy and told her what happened.” She waved her arm at the empty cubicle. “Is there a locker here? My clothes? My cell phone?”
“Here, use mine while I look.” He tossed his expensive model on the bed beside her.
She snatched it up and quickly dialed Roxy’s number. It rang and rang. “Shit. Why isn’t she answering?”
“Maybe she’s sleeping,” Morgan said. “It’s not seven yet.”
She spun around to stare at him in shock. “What? It’s not?” She glanced down at the phone and read 6:48 am in big bold letters. She’d only had a short nap this second time.
“And she doesn’t know my number, so maybe she wouldn’t answer anyway.” His muffled voice sounded on the other side of the curtain. She pushed the heavy waves of hair back off her face and sighed. It was early. Roxy rarely woke before her starting shift and would never have called herself a morning person.
“I think I’ve got your stuff.” He appeared around the corner with an open paper bag, her jeans half out of them.
“Ugh.” The jeans were bloodstained and dried to a stiffness she couldn’t imagine putting on. “That’s not nice.”
“But your phone is here.”
“Yay.” Dumping the jeans and the rest of the contents of the bag, she reached out for her phone, thankful she always kept it in her pocket. Quickly she called up Roxy again.
Again, no answer. She sent her a short text telling her friend to call her back when she got up. Then dropping her phone on the bed, she proceeded to struggle into her stiff jeans without using her injured arm. Finally aware of an odd silence, she turned to face Morgan. Realizing she’d not treated him as a stranger but as a lover, getting dressed in front of him. Tough. If he was uncomfortable, that was his problem. Deciding to act normally in spite of there being nothing normal about this situation, she searched through the rest of the bag and realized her shirt was missing. “Did they cut the shirt off me?” She groaned. “Damn it. How am I supposed to get out of here without one?” Her cami knit top was there and she struggled into it, but it hid nothing.
“Maybe you should wait until you see the doctor,” Morgan suggested, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and offering it to her.
She brightened and snagged it up. It was excessively big, hanging down well past her hips and wrists, but it was warm and comforting. Her actions slowed as she considered that. He’d been gone a year and had treated her badly to begin with. So why the hell was she so comfortable around him? It was as if the last year had not happened.
But it had. And it would again. She’d do well to remember that.
He wasn’t here for her. He was here for his brother.
As she zipped up the front of the jacket, she heard noises from the other side of the curtain. It was opened up with a heavy swish, and two people stood there. A nurse and a man with her, presumably the doctor.
“Perfect timing,” she said with a bright smile and more energy than she was feeling. “I was just about to check out.”
“And you can,” the doctor said smoothly, “As soon as I check that wound over.”
She studied his face, then switched her gaze to Morgan’s. She caught the relief in his gaze and relented. “Fine. Let’s make this quick.”
It was quick. And painful as hell. When the doctor and nurse departed, she sat on the bed, desperate to hold the tears in and failing miserably.
Somewhere between being all fired up to go and the doctor leaving, she’d gone from energetic to bawling like a baby.
Strong arms gently enfolded her, tucking her up against a muscled chest. She burrowed her face against Morgan gratefully and let the hurt flow.
When the storm abated, she rested, his heart gently pounding against her ears. So strong. So steady.
So not hers.
Confused by everything that had happened, she asked, “Can we leave now?”
“Yes.” Keeping an arm around her shoulders, he gently led her outside of the hospital to the parking lot. There he helped her on the bike and stood indecisively staring at her.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly. “They gave me a shot. I’ll be able to hold on.”
With a short nod, he got on, fired up the bike, and after waiting for her to adjust, pulled slowly out of the parking lot.
This trip was so different from the last very hazy memory scorched by panic and pain. Yet also so different from the many they had taken while together. So different – and yet so much the same. It must be the pain making her so sentimental. She had to hold herself together. Get through this.
Be ready for when he left again, because he would. He was a traveling man, and he’d already left once.
*
Morgan drove slowly, carefully, opposite from the screaming, panicked ride he’d taken the night before. He could feel her gentle weight against his back. Loved the familiarity of her behind him. Loved having her there. Some girls rode stiff, others rode and you didn’t even know they were there. Jazz had always been one to blend and join with him when riding. It had made the riding more fun. More pleasurable. They’d always been good together.
Now that he finally had a chance to regain all he’d lost, some asshole was trying to take it all away from him. From them.
Her weight on his back deepened. He twisted experimentally, but her body responded. She was conscious, just using him for support. That was fine with him. She could lean on him all the way. Forever.
“Are you okay?” he called back.
“I’m fine.”
But her voice didn’t sound like she was fine. “We’re not far now.”
He took several more corners and came to a stop in front of a single house with a huge backyard and triple car garage in front. Parking, he hopped off and helped her down.
“Whose place is this?”
“Mine.” He watched her curiosity as she studied the large garage and home. He wanted her to like it because he’d finally gotten the garage set up the way he wanted it, but if she didn’t, he was okay to move. Her place was much too small for both of them. He needed a garage.
“Interesting.”
There was something about her voice that had him stopping to turn and look at her. “What’s interesting?”
“It’s a family home,” she said shortly, walking forward.
He stopped and studied it. The house was big. Four bedrooms, and a huge backyard, so in a way, it was a family-style. Then he looked at the neighborhood. Middle-class, with an elementary school one block away, in perfect suburbia. He’d chosen it for the garage. Right?
Or had he subconsciously thought to leave his road trip lifestyle behind? Having Jazz here now – it felt right.
Had he really figured his brother would fail at holding Jazz that he planned to bring her here since buying the place a month ago? Pondering the concept, he realized he’d some inner searching to do. Had it been in the back of his mind to buy a place here because of her?
Damn right. She was his.