Dear Diary (29 page)

It was nine o’clock and the skies had deepened to a bluish gray, nearly the same shade as Nick’s eyes, Rory thought miserably when she decided she could wait no longer. “I need to know about Nick Shard, one of the boat accident victims,” she told the woman at the desk.

“You’ll have to wait—”

“I won’t. I won’t wait.”

The receptionist examined Rory’s determined face through eyes that had seen it all. With a sigh, she said, “Dr. Anthony will be down soon.”

“Who is Dr. Anthony?”

“Our surgeon on duty.”

“Can I wait for him somewhere else?”

“I—” The line rang and she picked it up, but her eyes were on Rory. When the call ended, she said, “Just a moment.” After punching out a number, she asked into the receiver, “When will Dr. Anthony be available?” A pause. “There’s a woman here who is very worried about one of his patients‌—‌a Mr. Shard.” Another pause. She glanced up at Rory. “Are you related to Mr. Shard?”

Rory drew a breath and prayed she wouldn’t be struck by lightning. But she wasn’t going to be deterred. “I’m his sister.”

The receptionist relayed the information and suddenly Rory was whisked into the inner sanctum. Dr. Anthony came striding toward her, still in surgical greens.

“We didn’t know he had a sister here, ma’am,” he said by way of introduction. “Your brother is fine. His left arm was severely lacerated, and it took a few stitches to put him together, but the nerves look fine and there are no broken bones. He was lucky.”

Reaction turned Rory’s legs to water. “I‌—‌I need to sit down.”

“Come along to your brother’s room. I’d like you to fill out some forms. He’s still in recovery, but we’ll bring him in soon. He didn’t want us to put him under, but we had to.”

“Nick doesn’t like hospitals.”

“No patient does. Sandra!” He turned to a young nurse at the medical station. “I need some patient forms for this young lady. She’s one of the boat accident victim’s sister.”

She’d been prepared for the injuries to his arm, but they hadn’t told her about the bruises and lacerations to Nick’s face. The whole left side of it was swollen and covered with some kind of yellow antiseptic. He looked as if he’d been beaten up by a band of thugs.

Just like in the third grade.

Rory sat in absolute silence, hardly daring to breathe. She’d been given a second chance, and she felt humble. What had she been fighting against for so long? She couldn’t even remember now. She loved him and always had. From the moment he saved her‌—‌and the frog‌—‌from those sixth-grade bullies.

Even with the bruises, she was painfully aware of how sinfully long his lashes looked against his cheeks, how sculptured his nose was, how sexy his lips, how thick and luxurious his hair.
Oh, Nick. I’ve been given a second chance. I promise you, I won’t blow it this time. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel.

There was a familiar scent in his nose. Hospitals. Nick slowly lifted his lashes, disoriented.
That’s right
, he thought.
They put me under.

He recognized the woman standing by the window the same moment he realized he was under the influence of some kind of painkiller. His head was fuzzy, his arm was sore as hell, and his mouth was as dry as cotton.

Rory.
He wanted to call out to her but didn’t have the strength. Vaguely he remembered that she didn’t love him and sorrow made him weak. His eyelids fell. His last conscious thought was that he didn’t want her to be there when he woke up.

Sunlight was beaming across his face. Nick groaned. Pain shot to his skull from his arm.

“Mr. Shard? Are you awake?” asked a brisk feminine voice.

Do I look awake?
he thought in disgust. “No.”

“Dr. Anthony will be in to see you in an hour.”

Nick opened his eyes. It was somewhere around midday. Where was Rory? “Wait! Can you tell me about John Marsden?”

“He’s still in critical condition. I don’t know anything more. Oh, your sister had to run an errand. She said she’d be back soon.”

Nick narrowed his gaze at her, confused. “I don’t have a sister.”

The nurse frowned at him, then shrugged and walked through the door, more interested in finishing her duties than easing his mind.

Now what was all that about?

He lay back and stared at the ceiling. The past twenty-four hours were in fragments. Had Rory been here last night? He could almost remember seeing her in his room, standing at the window, her dark-brown hair floating gently around her as the AC kicked in and lifted strands away from her face.

But that had to be imagination. They hadn’t left on the best of terms Friday night. His lips twisted. Well, she probably would come to the hospital as a friend, he allowed. Not a lover, a friend. Sucking air between his teeth, he squeezed his eyes closed. The pain of her rejection was a thousand times worse than the pain in his arm and face.

Dr. Anthony appeared. Nick remembered his trim gray hair and glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad. A little fuzzy still.”

“We want to keep you here until tomorrow, maybe Tuesday.”

Nick laughed. “Dream on, Doctor. I’m leaving as soon as someone shows me where my clothes are. And I want to know about John Marsden. And where’s Mary Lou, his wife?”

“She’s with him. He’s had a rather severe concussion and we’re keeping a watch on him.”

“But he’ll be okay.”

“We don’t expect any complications.”

Doctors. They always hedged their bets. Marsden could be doing handsprings in the hall, and they’d only admit he was making progress.

But it was an enormous relief. Nick hadn’t realized how worried he was until now, when he could feel his muscles unwind. Still, the room was close and his ears buzzed. “You didn’t tell me where my clothes are.”

“They’re in the closet, but my recommendation is that—”

“I don’t care what it is,” he muttered tersely. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

Light footsteps turned into his room and Nick looked up to see Rory standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, her eyes purple with shadows.

“You’re awake,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Ah, Miss Shard. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He insists on leaving today, but I strongly advise against it.”

Nick worked hard to keep his feelings under control. He was too weak. Whatever drug they’d pumped into him was working on his emotions, lifting them to the surface. If he didn’t watch it, he’d break down in some embarrassing way. What the hell was wrong with his hearing? “Miss… Shard?”

“Your sister’s been here most of the night.” The doctor patted Rory’s arm in a friendly way before he left.

Rory walked to his bedside. Her perfume was as light and soft as spring, cutting the thick dull air. Her eyes were sober, a deep cerulean blue, flecked with gray and surrounded by dense lashes. She flushed a becoming pink. “I lied. I was afraid they would let me stay if I told them I was just a friend.”

His head was slowly clearing from the effects of the drugs; he finally understood. “So, you’re my sister?”

She nodded, smiling faintly.

She wore the aqua tank top and white jeans he remembered sliding off her smooth skin that first night they’d slept together. He ached inside. His throat tightened, and he felt suffocated. So this was what love was. Real love. He wasn’t certain he could survive it.

Touching his bandage, Rory shivered a little. Nick’s gaze followed the path of hers. Around the fringes, his bandage was brick-colored from his blood.

“I don’t do well with blood,” Rory admitted.

“You never have.”

Their gazes locked. “You don’t do well with hospitals.”

Nick swallowed and glanced away, narrowing his eyes on the view outside the window.

“You scared me to death,” she said in a low voice. “For a while I was afraid…”

“Afraid you’d lost your best friend?”

Her brows drew together at his mocking tone. “Well, yes.”

He couldn’t take this. He wasn’t up to it. Better to cut it off now, before he suffered more humiliation. “Rory, you were right. I was wrong. Getting involved… it’s not the same between us anymore, and I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were huge dark pools. He noticed the ravages on her beautiful face and realized belatedly that she’d spent some bad hours on his behalf. “You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry I pushed you. We can’t go back and we can’t go forward. Looks like we’re in purgatory.”

“Why can’t we go forward?” she asked in a small voice.

He clenched his teeth until his fillings hurt. “I don’t think I love you, Rory. I was… wrong.”

He looked her straight in the eye and lied. It was simple, really. Maybe if she felt he didn’t care as much as he did, then they could have an affair, or a friendship, or something. Later. When he was ready… when she was ready… when everything didn’t hurt so much.

His breath caught. Brimming in her eyes were huge tears. He’d never seen her cry before.

“I came to… the pier yesterday… to tell you…” She covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes. Two tears slid over the hills of her cheeks “I thought I’d lost the chance, and then at the hospital… I wasn’t sure if you would make it.”

“Tell me what?” he demanded, focusing on the one part of her speech he wanted to hear.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Nick. I’m so, so glad.”

“What were you going to tell me?”

She licked her lips, staring at him. “I—”

The rattle of the medicine cart echoed in the doorway. A cheery young nurse entered like a typhoon, destroying the moment. “Dr. Anthony said you’re thinking of trying to leave us. I need to check you out, if that’s so.”

Rory abruptly turned toward the door.

Nick flipped the covers back, furious. “Rory, wait!”

She walked away in fast, efficient strides, never looking back once.

Michelle’s house was bearable only because she’d propped a fan on the kitchen counter and cool air kept everyone from being really cranky. Rory sat on the couch, too upset to want to go home and face her own company. The last day and a half had wrung every possible emotion from her. She was so happy Nick was all right she wanted to cry, and so miserable that his love had been an illusion she wanted to die.