Play It Again (13 page)

“I told them not to call you,” I say, my
voice coming out small. I sound like I’ve been eating glass, my
throat raw. “I know you have better places to be, more important
things to be doing than babysitting me.”

“You’re sick,” he says incredulously, his
dark eyes piercing into me. “Really sick. This is exactly where I
should be.”

I look at him with disbelief. I don’t have a
clue how to respond to that. I feel too awful, too tired, to even
process it.

“Come on,” he says, moving in close and
wrapping an arm around my waist. “Let’s get you changed and back to
the hospital.”

I don’t protest. I don’t think I could even
if I wanted to. I’m drained. Completely and utterly wiped out. And
the truth is, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Hangovers don’t last this long.

A mild concussion wouldn’t cause these
effects.

The hospital is exactly where I should
be.

My vision blurs and my body burns as I
shuffle down the hall toward my room, using Vance for support. He
helps me over to the bed, leaving me there as he goes to my closet,
pulling a clean tank off a hanger, and black yoga pants from the
shelf, and hands them to me, before stepping out, giving me privacy
to change.

Gripping the bedframe to steady myself, I
struggle to get my clothes off, and the new ones on, letting out a
stream of silent curses before I finish.

Vance is standing at the door when I emerge,
a glass of water in his hand. “You wanna try to drink something?”
he asks, offering it to me.

I shake my head, wincing at the movement.
“That’s probably not a good idea.”

He frowns at me, but he doesn’t push it,
wrapping his free arm around me, and helping me down the
hallway.

Kim and Jimmy are standing in the living
room, hovering. They both look anxious, and I try to placid them
with a reassuring smile, but I don’t really think I pull it
off.

There’s a man with them that I don’t know,
standing back a little, closer to the door. He’s tall, about the
same height as Vance, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes,
dressed in jeans, a sea-green tee, and there is a badge and gun
clipped to his belt at his right hip.

He brought the detective with him?

“You ready to go?” the man asks in a deep
voice, his eyes scanning me over, much in the same way Vance’s
had.

“Yeah,” Vance says, handing the water off to
Jimmy, and taking my purse from Kim. He reminds them to lock up and
set the alarm when they leave, not giving either of them a chance
to do anything but nod, before he’s hustling me out of the house
and helping me into an unmarked police car.

The drive to the hospital is not fun. I lay
across the backseat of the cop car, my head in Vance’s lap. All I
want to do is close my burning eyes, just rest them for a second or
two, but I swear, each time they drift shut, Vance feels the need
to ask me another question.

He’s rambling.

He’s trying to keep me awake.

He doesn’t believe that I’m just tired.

It isn’t long before Cruz pulls to a stop in
front of the emergency entrance. He exchanges a few words with
Vance, something about heading to the station with the envelope and
calling when we need a ride, and then Vance is helping me out of
the car and taking me in.

Within minutes, I’m stashed in a little room,
waiting for the doctor. Vance doesn’t talk, but he stays with me,
standing by my bed and holding my hand, his thumb stroking up and
down along my palm.

He’s stressed.

I can feel it, thick and suffocating in the
air.

I try to think of something to say, anything
to break the silence, but I’m drawing a blank, my brain too muddled
with pain.

When the doctor finally comes in, it’s a
welcome distraction from the silence, until he pokes and prods at
me enough I wind up threatening him with bodily harm if he asks me
one more time if something hurts. I don’t think he truly takes me
seriously, though, because he laughs, telling me he wants a CT scan
and blood work done before he leaves.

And then, silence descends once more.

My mind wanders, my thoughts going over my
upcoming deadlines, wondering if I’ll be able to complete the
covers in time, and I consider calling Jimmy to see if he can
search for potential images, or maybe even set up some quick custom
shoots for them.

Then, I think about last night, about dancing
at the bar and the way Vance watched me, and how he wanted the song
to be played again just so I’d keep dancing. I don’t think I’ve
ever felt so pretty before. So wanted.

I let out a small laugh, the act, only
managing to fuel my pain. “I can’t believe I’ve waited three years
for you to ask me to dinner and I’m missing it.”

He chuckles, although it comes out strained.
“Rain check?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “As soon as I’m out
of here.”

He squeezes my hand. “It’s a date,
freckles.”

The silence comes once again, except this
time, it isn’t as tense, isn’t as smothering. He’s more at ease,
standing beside me.

It’s comfortable.

It’s
nice.

A few minutes later the nurse comes in,
sticking me with needles and taking my blood, before wheeling me
away.

Vance

Piper snores, soft, cute little sounds.

It’s a little after five in the evening and
I’m sitting in the visitor’s chair in her room, legs stretched out,
crossed at the ankles, and arms folded over my chest, watching her
sleep. She looks so young, so innocent in sleep, her features
relaxed and a small smile playing at her lips.

They decided to keep her overnight. The CT
scan was all clear, but all the vomiting and the killer headache
she’s suffering from is a cause for concern, and they want to keep
her under observation and get some fluids into her.

I’m still not sure I understand exactly
what’s wrong, but from what I got, it sounds like a mix of
everything, the perfect storm. Mild concussion, hangover, and
stress causing her to vomit, leading into dehydration, which caused
the severe headache, dizziness, and more vomiting.

They hooked her up to an IV, the line running
from her right arm and leading to a machine that’s pumping a clear
liquid into her, and they gave her a shot for the pain, which
promptly knocked her out about thirty minutes ago.

Before she passed out, she made me promise to
stay with her, saying she didn’t want to be here alone.

I agreed. Of course I agreed. There’s nowhere
else I’d rather be, and the smile that lit up her face when I
promised her I’d be right here when she woke up was fucking
phenomenal, like I was giving her the best goddamn gift she could
get.

Sighing, I drag my eyes away from her and
pull out my phone. I fire off a bunch of text messages, letting
everyone know she’s okay and that we’ll be staying here for the
night. I get a bunch of messages back almost immediately, all with
a similar
glad she’s okay
response.

I read them all, then delete them, before
putting my phone away and leaning back in the chair, shifting
around, trying to get comfortable, but it’s hard. My muscles ache;
I’m stiff and sore from last night.

I’m considering getting up and finding a
nurse—maybe I can get a mild pain killer or muscle relaxant or
something—when my phone buzzes in my pocket with a new message. I
fish it out, tapping on the screen, and pull up the message.

Jase: We found something.

Vance

“It’s ...” I stall, searching the image
clasped in my hands. “An arm with a crappy tattoo.” I glance at
Jase and Wes, lifting a questioning brow, as we stand in the
hallway at the hospital, just outside Piper’s room.

“No,” Wes says and pauses, theatrically
leaning over and glancing down at the photo. “It’s an arm holding a
tire iron, sporting a very descriptive tattoo.”

Descriptive?
I laugh once, looking at
him incredulously. Descriptive is definitely not the word I would
use.

My eyes fall back down to the blown-up print,
scanning it over. The photo is slightly blurred, a still shot from
the security video at Constant Pub, showing a partial arm, and a
hand clasped around a tire iron, near the tailgate of Piper’s
truck. It’s male, judging by the size and muscle definition along
the forearm, and the tattoo is simple, one of those pre-made pieces
picked from an album all tattoo places have.

There’s nothing special about it.

Nothing overly unique or
descriptive
.

“It’s a heart with some chick’s name in it,”
I grumble.

“No,” Wes declares again, this time drawing
the word out, smirking at me. “It’s a heart with some chick’s first
and
last name in it. See ...” He snags the image from my
hands, holding it up in front of me, and points, underlining each
name with his finger, reading them off. “Trixie Starr. Two names.
First and last.”

I let my head fall forward and rub between my
eyes where a headache is starting to form. When Jase said he found
something, I thought it was something good, something useful. Not
some fuzzy photo of a partial arm with a shitty tattoo and a few
scars.

It’s frustrating.

Downright maddening.

“It sounds like a stripper name,” I say,
glancing back up.

“Exactly.” Wes wiggles his eyebrows up and
down. “I’m all for tracking this chick down.”

Jase groans, and I snort out a laugh.

“Who the fuck would tattoo a stripper name on
their body?” I ask needlessly, knowing neither of them will have an
answer.

Wes shrugs, exchanging a look with Jase. Jase
merely shakes his head.

“I sent a copy of it to Cruz before coming
here,” Jase says. “I know it’s not much, but this shot with the
tire iron is enough to get their asses in gear and seriously look
into the string of vandalism she’s been dealing with. He’s gonna
run it through the system, see if he gets any hits on the tattoo or
scars.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t put boots to the
pavement and do a little investigative work,” Wes grumbles under
his breath, folding his arms over his chest.

Jase cuts him a look, his eyes sharp and
speculative, and Wes meets it head on with a harsh glare of his
own.

Interesting.

Either Jase has had enough of this
conversation, or I missed something over the last few hours.

At the moment, I’m too tired, too stiff and
sore, to ask about it.

“Did Cruz say anything about that package she
got?” I ask, shifting against the wall that’s propping me up,
straining my stiff body as I settle against it once more.
Everything is aching, my arm is throbbing, my bruised up ribs are
screaming for rest, and I’m trying my damnedest to hide it.

“He’s sent it to the lab,” Jase says. “We
should hear something by Monday at the latest.”

I nod. “Let’s wait him out then. See if he
comes up with anything.”

“Sounds good,” Jase agrees, and then pauses,
letting out a long breath as he looks straight at me, eyes
narrowing as he takes me in. “You should go home. Get some
rest.”

Shit.

I guess I’m not hiding my discomfort as well
as I thought.

My response is immediate, though. “Can’t.
Promised Piper I’d stay with her.”

We all stare at each other in silence for a
moment and I see the shock and subtle amusement wash into their
features. Jase mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his
head.

“Holy shit,” Wes says. He laughs and shakes
his head, too, smiling genuinely. “You’re really doing this.”

It’s not a question, but I respond anyway.
“Of course I’m doing this. I told her I’d be here when she wakes
up, so that’s exactly where I’m gonna be.”

Jase laughs, flashing both dimples as he
grins at me. “That’s not what he means and you know it.”

I do know, but I say nothing, letting out a
resigned sigh instead.

Jase and Wes stare at me.

And stare at me.

And stare at me some more.

Their expressions are curious, their eyes
boring into me inquisitively. I get the sense that neither of them
are going to let this go.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter and sigh as I rub my
hands down my face in frustration. “Are we really gonna have this
conversation now?”

Wes shrugs. “Can’t think of a better time to
do it.”

I can.

I can name plenty of better times than now.
About a million and one better times, actually. Times that don’t
include me waiting around a hospital, aching and tired and
miserable, for Piper to wake up.

Silence hangs between us.

I know what they’re looking for, but I don’t
know what to say. I want to lie to them, tell them it’s nothing. It
would be the easiest response right now, and I like easy, but fuck,
they’d see right through me.

They always do.

“Don’t really know what I’m doing,” I finally
say. “But I’m here and I like being here.”

Jase snorts out a stunned laugh and clears
his throat. “You’ve been keeping your distance for years. What
changed?”

What changed?

Everything.

Nothing.

I don’t know.

I’m quiet for a moment, contemplative, as I
look around the busy hallway, considering how exactly I’m supposed
to respond to that. I nearly tell them it was a nasty bout of
jealousy that spurred me on to finally make a move, but thankfully,
my tired brain has enough sense to keep that morsel of information
to myself. Jase and Wes have known Piper a long time, just as long
as me, and I’m certain hearing that I jumped in without thought
over something as absurd as jealousy will only piss them off.

They like Piper.

They’ve looked out for her in one way or
another since they met her.