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We were lucky, the hospital ER wasn’t busy. I was put into a bed immediately. I had the same nurse from the night of my allergic reaction, Joe. He was friendly and funny, even asking if I was working up to frequent flyer points. Joe organized syringes to inject into my IV line, explaining each as he went. The first was a much-needed painkiller. The second one was for nausea that the painkiller would induce. And the third was Valium.
"Valium? Like what Californian housewives in the 80s were addicted to?" I asked.
"Yes. It will help calm you; your heart is racing. Plus, for some reason, Valium helps with dizziness and nausea, both of which you have been complaining about," Joe said.
"Oh." I felt the drug hit my system, causing a warm floating feeling. The next few hours passed in a blur of X-rays and napping. The next time I woke, Joe was next to my bed, but Gray was gone.
"He went to get something to drink from the vending machine," Joe answered my silent question.
"Oh, okay." I could hear myself slurring like I was drunk.
"He must really love you. He would only take a break if I promised to stay with you."
"Not you, too, Joe. You sound like my mother.” I glared at him before putting my head back down on the pillow. “You can stop the campaign for him, I said yes to the proposal.”
"Congratulations! That man’s watched you like a hawk both times you’ve been here. Be good to him.” You would think Gray could walk on water. Even my nurse loved him.
“Can I ask you a random question?”
“You’ve asked me a dozen since you’ve been here. What’s one more?”
“I have?” I didn’t remember asking him anything.
“The valium made you chatty. Shoot.” Joe typed on the computer, updating my file.
“How hard is it to stab someone?” Joe stopped typing and looked at me with confusion. “I’m not going to stab anyone. I’m just curious. Does it take a lot of strength?”
“I think you are high as a kite from the pain meds.”
“I feel fine.”
“Sure. To answer your question, I’ve never stabbed anyone.”
“But you’ve probably seen hundreds of stab wounds.”
“Yes. Sometimes, the wounds are deep, with a lot of force behind the motion. Sometimes, shallower.”
“Like?”
“I think you are asking the wrong question.” Joe wheeled on his stool from the desk over to the side of the bed. “From the victims I have seen with stab wounds, the act usually flows from passion. Think about it. To stab someone, you have to be up close and personal. You have to be in their space. Stabbing someone is very personal. You feel their blood on you. You get messy. Unlike shooting someone where you can kill them from a distance. See, stabbing is personal and passionate.”
“Good point. It’s food for thought.”
“Do I want to know why you are asking these questions?” I gave him the pat answer that it was research for a book. I found the excuse of being a writer a great one to use to pry into someone’s personal life or to ask weird, inappropriate questions.
Joe left when Gray returned. I put my finger to my lips sending him the signal to keep our conservation between us. Joe nodded his acknowledgment, but he probably assumed the drugs would erase my memory anyway. He promised the doctor would be in shortly. I didn’t believe him. Doctors never arrived shortly.
Gray sat in the only chair in the cubicle. Between the bed, him and all of the machines, it was a tight fit.
“I can’t believe I am here. Again.”
“I can. You are the clumsiest person I know. I’m lucky you didn’t fall off a mountain while hiking.”
“How am I going to pay for this?” I have insurance, but let’s face it, it's crappy and cheap. I looked to Gray for his thoughts. He had a pained expression on his face.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“That’s as bad as ‘we need to talk.’” The heart monitor beeped faster as my body prepared for bad news.
“I assume when we marry, we will combine finances?” Gray posed the statement as a question.
“That’s what married couples do, right?”
“Then you need to know that once we get married, you will be rather wealthy.”
“You’re wealthy?” I took in his outfit. He was wearing his standard uniform. Black t-shirt, jeans, and scuffed motorcycle boots.
“I’m a trust fund baby.”
“How?” I asked. I sat up in bed so I could see him better over the rails. I felt he was playing a practical joke, but why would that be funny?
“My grandparents left my siblings and me each a trust fund.”
“I thought your family runs a small business in Las Vegas? How is that trust fund worthy?”
“The small business is one of the two casinos still independently owned and operated in Vegas.”
“Your family owns a casino? Joe’s right. The meds have gone to my head.”
Before we could finish the conversation, the doctor walked in. He was young and looked exhausted. I wanted to tell him to get out and come back later. Gray and I needed to finish our conversation, but I wanted to go home more. I shelved any further questions. For now. A trust fund baby? A casino?
My foot was not broken. Only badly bruised. Even being slow, the hospital took six hours to tell me that. I was supposed to ice it regularly and stay off of it completely for the next two days. Fat chance of that, but I didn’t say the words out loud. The doctor ordered another injection of pain meds before releasing me. My head floated away, but I made it perfectly clear to Gray that we were not done with the conversation.
The pain woke me from a deep sleep. The red numbers of the alarm clock showed 10:45. The meds must’ve done a number on me. I never slept that late. On the nightstand next to the alarm clock sat a glass of water and the prescription bottles from the hospital. Gray also sat out a muffin, so the ibuprofen wouldn't upset my stomach. I shrugged. Maybe, he was the marrying kind and I had just been too blind to notice.
The subject of his trust fund still left me feeling uneasy. It was a jarring revelation. I had never needed much money to be happy. I liked living a simpler life. Having lots of money had always seemed more of a burden to me. Not that I had any firsthand experience.
Of course, I never would’ve guessed Gray had money either. He’s a budgeter. Always aware just how much money he had on any given day. I nibbled on the muffin. The raisins in it were fresh. Knowing Peter, he’d probably gotten up early to whip up a batch.
I sat up, trying not to unsettle my foot. Gray propped it up on two pillows when we got home. I downed the pills and finished off my muffin. I hated feeling trapped. I knew Gray wouldn't let me go anywhere until Jax's show tonight—if he allowed that. I would fight him tooth and nail if he tried to prevent me. I would play nice, though. I resigned myself to lie in bed all day.
Gray opened the door to the bedroom, coming in with Peter following him. Peter had a tray filled with coffee cups, a full French press, and cups of sugar and creamer. Gray carried another tray full of muffins and bagels.
"Are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?" Gray asked.
"The easy way. I will stay in bed until we go the gallery later."
"Good. I expected a fight." He set down the tray, pulling two chairs toward the bed. The boys sat down, ready to eat.
I was not the best patient. I had too much energy to be confined to a room or a bed. With my history of klutziness and injuries, I usually made it about twelve hours before I started plotting my escape. Gray usually made it about ten hours before he tied me down.
"Are you two just going to stare at me all day?" I asked.
"Nope. We are going to make sure you eat, then plant you on the couch downstairs with your computer. You are actually going to get some writing done. We will then help Jax and pick up her mom, come back here to get ready and go to the opening. Got it?"
"Yes, Peter. I’m not happy about it, but I will follow your orders.” I blew on my coffee before taking a sip. “Just one question. How did you know about us yesterday, um, hiring Sarah?"
"Seth called me. Mother was next to him when he took the call. She recognized Gray's name, so he called me wondering if he should really charge my houseguests. Not your best plan." Peter shoved half a muffin into his mouth, tucking it into his cheek so he could continue speaking. "I talked to Sarah today. She was rather annoyed about yesterday. Since she’s a good, Christian, Midwestern girl with values, being compared to Mary Magdalene did not suit her."
"I clearly am not a master criminal,” I said. “Although, Seth didn’t recognize Gray’s name,” I pointed out.
“Seth only knows Gray in passing through you.”
I sighed and gave in. “Apologize for me, please.”
“No.”
“What?” I asked. “Why not?”
“Because you are an adult and you made your own bed. Now lie in it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Tough. End of discussion.” The rest of breakfast was a tense affair. He might’ve said he forgave me last night, but the event was clearly still on his mind. His brow was etched with worry. If I were him, I’d be worried about the staff finding out. With women’s lib these days, he could have an uprising on his hands. I wanted to feel sorry for the situation I had put him in, but I couldn’t work up the energy. Not today. Maybe tomorrow I would go to the pub and seek out Sarah. Or I’d send her a handwritten note. Everyone liked getting those in the mail.