Hell Without You (19 page)

“Clementine, I came here to let you know that you’re welcome at the house.” She said it like she was bestowing some kind of gift. “We never got to celebrate your graduation and the completion of your internship – we could do something now. Trevor is in town, visiting from Connecticut for a week, and—”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about Trevor,” Clementine said, feeling her temper and her pride slip away fast. “I can’t believe you’d show up here and mention him to me.” Her hands shook, and she clenched them into fists where her mother couldn’t see – one behind the door and the other against the frame. “I won’t be visiting, and I don’t want you to come here again. It’s Donovan’s property now, and you’re not welcome. I hope I’m clear, because if anyone from your house shows up here, I’ll have the police remove them for trespassing.”

Pamela’s face transformed into an expression of combined offence and flippancy, and she opened her mouth as if to say that Clementine couldn’t – wouldn’t – dare.

Clementine closed the door abruptly, unwilling to listen to another word.

After watching her mother drive away in a shining luxury car that seemed out of place on Willow Heights’ rural roads, she retreated upstairs, alone. Though she was glad Donovan hadn’t been there for the exchange – it probably would’ve been too much for his temper – now she wished more than anything that he was there.

* * * * *

Clementine’s phone rang for the second time that day, shattering the house’s empty silence. The first call had been from the landlord of her cousin’s townhouse, who’d let her know that the repairs would be finished in two days. She’d informed the landlord that she wouldn’t need the accommodations, after all.

Donovan would be happy, and she hoped it was him calling – she’d hoped that every time her phone had gone off within the past three days.

His name wasn’t on the screen. Instead, an unfamiliar number was displayed. Unfamiliar, but she recognized the area code. “Hello?”

Suddenly nervous, she sat back in her chair at the kitchen table, leaning away from the plate that bore a handful of pretzels and a half-finished sandwich.

“Ms. Lettvin?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

The man on the other end of the line introduced himself as an HR professional with Kellogg-Hart Investments, the company she’d interviewed with the week before in DC. For a split second, she thought wistfully of her day at the museums with Donovan, then her mind turned to job prospects. If they were calling her, that probably meant she’d landed the job, didn’t it?

She broke into a light sweat as the man reminded her of her interview, briefly reiterating what position she’d applied for – as if she’d forgotten. She’d hoped for this call, feeling more confident about her chances than with many other positions because although she was flexible when it came to job options, she’d focused on value investing while studying for her MBA.

“I’m calling to offer you the job,” he finally said. “If you’re available, you can start on Wednesday.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs – the day after tomorrow. She had a job. A good one. “Wednesday will be perfect. Who should I ask for when I arrive?”

Minutes later, she was staring at her darkened phone screen, her half-finished lunch shoved to the side. Without taking another bite, she rose and climbed upstairs.

In the bedroom with the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, she hefted her suitcase onto the bed and began rummaging through it. There was no real need to choose an outfit for her first day of work right away, but it was something to do – something to be excited over. Willow Heights was boring as hell without Donovan.

It didn’t take her long to settle on a pencil skirt and one of her favorite blouses. She knew which shoes she’d wear, too, but laying out the ensemble at the foot of the bed didn’t bring the satisfaction she’d imagined. Yes, she was glad to have landed the job … but not as glad as she should’ve been.

She’d cautioned herself against talking about the jobs she’d applied for in PA for Donovan’s sake, but maybe she’d gotten her hopes up just as much as he had. Now it was final – she’d be working in DC, just like she’d figured – just like she’d planned. It was too far away to commute to and from Willow Heights, and Donovan wouldn’t be coming with her. Suddenly, the capital seemed as far away as Miami.

* * * * *

When Clementine’s phone rang at a quarter after three in the morning, a shiver raced down her spine, and not because she had to let the blankets slip off her shoulders in order to retrieve it. The number was unfamiliar, but that did little to assuage her worry. “Hello?”

“Is this Clementine?” a male voice asked.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

 “Ricardo Suarez – Donovan’s friend in Miami.”

No.
Donovan was supposed to be taking care of Ricardo. If Ricardo was calling her in the middle of the night… “Is Donovan all right?”

“Shit.” Several seconds of silence ticked by, and Clementine had to fight not to grind her teeth. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but… He’s been in an accident.”

She gripped the phone hard enough to hurt her fingers. “What kind of accident?”

“Car accident. It’s my fault – I left the keys on the counter and he took it out an hour ago. He told me over a year ago that he didn’t sleepwalk anymore. I didn’t realize…”

“Is he hurt?” The adrenaline spiking through her veins told her that he was, that Ricardo wouldn’t have called her at three in the morning if he hadn’t been.

“Yeah. He made it about four blocks before he plowed into a telephone pole. No seatbelt, so he got banged up… I’m at the hospital with him now. Listen, I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault. I shoulda hid the keys, shoulda—”

Ricardo seemed truly agonized, and the sound of his voice wrenched at some painful place inside her. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t know yet. There was blood on his face when they pulled him out of the car, but I’m no doctor. It was dark anyway and I was scared shitless. Donovan gave me your number when he first got here – said it was in case of an emergency – and I called you right away. Didn’t know who else to call.”

Donovan had given Ricardo her number as soon as he’d arrived? In case of an emergency? Clementine’s stomach twisted. “I’m coming to Miami. I’ll be on the first flight out of Dulles. I’ll need the name of the hospital, and your address. Is this a number where I can reach you?”

“Yeah, this is my cell. Call it anytime. I’ll text you that other stuff, unless you have something to write with?”

“No…” Scrambling out from beneath the blankets, she was woefully unprepared for Ricardo’s call, for the thing she’d been dreading ever since Donovan had announced that he was leaving the state. At least her suitcase was still packed.

“Like I said, you can call me. I’ll call you when I know anything.”

“Okay.” Pulling off her pajama bottoms, she flung them across the room. “I’ll keep my phone on until they make me turn it off on the plane.” The thought that she might have to wait that long for information was agonizing – hopefully she’d know more before she even reached the airport.

And hopefully Donovan’s injuries wouldn’t be that bad. Praying for nothing more than a few bumps and bruises – head wounds bled easily, so it didn’t have to be something life-threatening – she pulled on jeans and a top, then raced down the hall with her suitcase in tow. Before rushing out the door, she grabbed her purse, checking to make sure her wallet was there before she left. She’d need her credit card to make it to Miami.

For every hurried step she took, her heart beat a dozen times, pounding so hard against her ribs that her chest ached, even as she sank into the driver’s seat of her car and sped away into the night. She was the only one on the roads, and it had been a long time since she’d felt so alone.

* * * * *

By the time she landed at the Miami International Airport, night had turned into day, though she still felt the darkness she’d woken in clinging to her, setting her on edge with thoughts of the unknown. The drive from Willow Heights to Dulles had taken two hours, even with her speeding a little, but she’d had no choice – none of the smaller, closer airports had had flights going out to Miami any time soon. At Dulles, she’d been able to purchase a ticket on a non-stop flight that had departed at six AM. Expensive, and she’d barely made it on board in time, but worth it.

During her drive, Ricardo had called to give her an update. Donovan had suffered some head trauma in the wreck, plus a fractured collarbone. The former worried her far more; his collarbone would heal, but his head? A few stitches were nothing to go to pieces over, though she hated the thought of him bleeding, but Ricardo had said there was a concussion.

She was no expert, but she knew that could lead to complications, and the thought had kept her awake throughout her flight, had made her snap at the poor woman next to her who’d wanted to talk about Florida’s beaches. And now, as she slipped into an idling cab, finally on her way to the hospital, she felt as crushed as the vehicle Donovan had steered into a telephone pole.

She texted Ricardo that she was on her way, and when the cab finally pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance, she checked Ricardo’s first text for the dozenth time, making sure she had the right hospital. After paying the driver, she hurried inside.

The first person she met wasn’t Ricardo, but a security officer. He made her walk through a metal detector and checked her suitcase, which she’d had no choice but to bring along. “I just came from the airport,” she explained, willing him to work faster, to let her go so she could see Donovan.

A man with a lean muscular build and deep brown eyes approached as the officer finished the security check. He – Ricardo – was attractive, not someone she could easily imagine chasing down and beating a criminal. Maybe that was because he looked so remorseful, though – his eyes were large, and clearly reflected his regret. “Clementine,” he said, stepping forward and holding out a hand.

She shook it briefly, staring past his shoulder and down the corridor beyond.

“Come on. I’ll take you to Donovan. And let me get that.” He took her suitcase by the handle and led her to an elevator.

“Any new news?” she asked. She felt as if she had something like butterflies in her stomach, only worse – moths eating away at her from the inside, maybe.

“He does have a concussion.” Ricardo pressed the button for Donovan’s floor. “So they wanna keep him for observation. They’re worried he could have some sort of more serious brain injury. Happens a lot with car accidents, apparently.”

Clementine’s stomach clenched, crushing the imaginary winged creatures she’d felt fluttering there seconds before. When the elevator finally stopped, she wanted to sprint out of it and down the hall. Instead, she followed Ricardo.

Donovan looked a lot like she’d pictured him over the past several hours. He sat in bed with a bandage at his hairline and his arm in a sling, a couple pillows wedged behind his back and head. At least there was no blood – he’d been cleaned and stitched up, dressed in a hospital gown. “Clementine.”

He seemed awake and alert – thank God.

Her heart raced anyway as she hurried across the tile to his bedside. “How are you?”

She glanced down at his right hand – the bandages looked fresh. Between the fractured collarbone and his burnt hand, he really wouldn’t be able to use his right arm any time soon.

“I’ll be fine.” He reached out with his left hand and squeezed one of hers.

The contact sent heat rushing through her, along with the barest hint of relief.

“Couldn’t believe it when Ricardo said you were on your way here.”

“What did you expect?” A hint of exasperation tinged her whirling emotions. “Of course I came – I would’ve traveled a lot farther than this, if I’d had to. Anyway, I got a direct flight – it wasn’t that bad.”

After a sleepless night and hours of worry, she would’ve been dead on her feet, but adrenaline and the pull to reach Donovan had kept her going. Now, her desire to make sure he was okay sharpened her senses. Even over the sterile hospital scent, she could smell traces of him – faint musk and soap, that same body wash she’d borrowed during her first day at his house, after he’d rescued her from the flood.

“I could’ve come home on my own as soon as I got out of here. Good news about Ricardo’s run-in with the law – the thief who got his ass kicked decided to drop all charges, and Ricardo isn’t pressing any either. Whole thing’s getting dropped. I was planning to call and tell you today, then catch a flight home.”

“You shouldn’t be traveling on your own, anyway. You’re an emergency room trip waiting to happen.” Her voice didn’t come out as light as she’d meant it to. No way would she have wanted him to fly home alone, especially with his head injury.

“Yeah, well, you know those pills I was taking for my hand?”

She nodded.

“I should’ve just dealt with the pain. Turns out Vicodin can mess with your sleep – not a good idea for someone like me to take it. It might’ve had something to do with last night.”

Clementine cringed inwardly. “I had no idea – I should’ve done some research.” Or hell, read all the fine print that had come with the drug, or asked the pharmacist. Her stupidity could’ve cost Donovan his life.

“It’s my job to worry about that stuff, not yours,” he said.

“I feel like I’ve taken on worrying about you as a full-time occupation, lately.” She squeezed his hand.

A nurse in bright pink scrubs entered the room, took Donovan’s vital signs and asked him a series of questions. Did he have a headache?

Yes, but he didn’t think that was surprising, considering the fact that he’d recently split his head open.

Blurred vision?

No.

Nausea?

No.

The list went on, and Clementine tried to remember everything the nurse asked him. When she was done, Clementine asked for an update on his health.

“He suffered a concussion in the accident and we’re monitoring him for any signs of potentially permanent brain damage,” the nurse said. “Are you Clementine?”

“Yes.”

Her surprise must’ve shown on her face, because the nurse flashed her a wry smile. “He was asking about you when he first got here – well, singing, really. He was pretty out of it, so Dr. Wexford is having him stay for further observation. I know he’s anxious to get out of the hospital, but it’s for his health – he seems to be doing well now, but sometimes it takes hours or days for more serious symptoms to develop.”

Clementine’s fear must’ve shown on her face, because the nurse’s smile faded and was replaced by a more serious look. “This is the best place for him to be right now – the fact that we’re keeping him doesn’t mean he won’t recover fully. Many concussed patients do – better safe than sorry.”

Clementine nodded, thanked the nurse and turned back to Donovan. “Anxious to get out of the hospital, huh? Have you been causing trouble?”

Donovan responded to her arched brow with a wry smile not unlike the nurse’s, but didn’t say a word.

“Has he been a difficult patient, Ricardo? I won’t have any trouble believing it – I practically had to drag him to the ER last week to have his hand treated.”

“He was kind of freaking out about you right after the accident. We lived together for years and I never knew he could sing until a few hours ago.” For the first time since Clementine had met Ricardo, he smiled. It made him look surprisingly charming.

Remembering what Donovan had said about Ricardo needing him, she couldn’t help but wonder if the accident had reversed their roles. At least he didn’t have to worry about an impending trial anymore.

“Fuck you, Suarez,” Donovan said half-heartedly. “I listened to you sing in the shower every morning – you can’t carry a tune worth a damn.”

Ricardo shrugged. “I think that knock on the head must’ve affected your memory – you were way more off-key than I’ve ever been.”

The two kept joking, and something twisted inside Clementine as she imagined Donovan thinking of her – singing – as she’d sped down the highway on her way to Dulles, thinking of him. “Thank God you didn’t make it any farther than four blocks. How fast were you going?”

“Only about thirty miles per hour, according to a witness that watched me plow into that pole like a dumbass.” Donovan frowned. “Could’ve been worse – I could’ve hit another vehicle, or a person.” The look that flashed in his eyes said that the possibility had been haunting him.

“Shit man, it’s my fault,” Ricardo said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “If I’d hid those keys, this never would’ve happened.”