Landlady: A New Adult Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 1) (13 page)

I popped my head over the counter and said to the nurse, “Did you
see that big, tattooed hulk of a man? He's my friend's brother, but
they're not on speaking terms. In fact, he's quite angry at her. So
angry he might hurt her. Can you stop him from seeing her, or at
least wait until she's conscious enough to make her own decision?”

The African-American nurse, Daisy, her name tag read, said, “But
he's her emergency contact.”

Fuck.

“She listed him a long time ago. Things have changed since then.”

“So who should I call?” Daisy asked.

Her parents. Her best friend, Cal-what's-her-name.
But I
didn't have any of their numbers.

“You need to call her parents,” I finally said. “Her brother
will have their phone numbers.”

Daisy looked irritated. “You want me to tell that giant that he
can't see his own sister and he needs to give me his parents'
number?”

“Yes?”

“I'm afraid that goes above and beyond my job description,” Daisy
said, folding her arms across her chest.

“How can I sweeten the deal?” I asked. I was used to people
wanting something from me in return. “A hundred bucks?”

“Hell no,” Daisy said.

I was grateful that Daisy declined because I realized my wallet was
back at the hotel.

“Then what, Daisy?” I looked over and saw Jordan coming back and
heading straight towards us.

“How about an autograph, Mr. Morgan?”

“Huh?”

“I recognize you from the ads.”

Oh.

Those fucking ads.

Dad made me do a photoshoot for the giant billboard they bought out
last month. He said my handsome mug would bring in new clientele. All
it ended up doing was creating situations like these. Women coming up
to me as if I was some goddamn celebrity.

“Okay, Daisy. Do you have some paper?”

Daisy said, “I don't want it on paper. I want it here.” She
pointed to her chest.

Jordan was a few feet away now.

Desperate times called for
desperate measures.

“Deal,” I said. “Now make me proud, Daisy.”

As if on cue, Jordan popped his head beside me. “Hey man, any
news?”

I shook my head and left without saying anything to him.

I watched with Cameron as Jordan said a few things and then became
visibly riled up. Daisy's calm, even tone punctuated the air. “I'm
sorry but
—
you must understand
—
”

“
—Then why'd you fucking call me here?” I
heard Jordan cry.

“So what did you promise the receptionist?” Cameron asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You don't want him to see Sierra, so how did you
—
”

“
—
I said I'd sign her chest.”

Cameron burst out laughing. “What?”

“She wanted an autograph. My autograph. On her fucking tits.”

Cameron's face went bright red. “I will never understand women. Why
does she
—”

I groaned. “—Because she recognized me from that stupid billboard
on Highway Nine.”

CHAPTER 14

ASHER

“YOU OWE ME AN autograph,” Daisy said, smirking.

Jordan had stormed off to make a call so I fulfilled my end of the
bargain. Daisy unbuttoned her shirt and peeled back the fabric to
reveal wrinkled mocha skin that sagged against her collarbone.

She handed me a silver Sharpie.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She nodded.

I dipped over the counter, pressed the tip of the marker to her skin,
and left my mark on her.

She giggled a little, as if she was getting off on acting so
inappropriate at work. “Honey, that tickles,” she said.

The whole situation might've been hot if she wasn't pushing sixty.

Once I capped the pen and handed it back to her, she whispered,
“Sierra's in recovery. ICU room five. Tell them you're her
husband.”

I wanted to hug the fucking life out of this crazy woman. “Thank
you, Daisy,” I said, pressing my hands into hers. “I won't forget
this.”

I waved Cam over, told him the news, and we were about to go upstairs
when Daisy clucked her tongue. “Family only,” she said, glaring
at Cam.

I caught her meaning and quickly explained to Cam that I was
pretending to be Sierra's husband. He understood, patted me on the
back and said he'd wait downstairs.

I was practically hopping up and down in the elevator. ICU was on the
third floor. When the elevator doors opened, I scanned the signs and
immediately turned left. The woman at the desk didn't stop me or ask
any questions, thank God.

When I finally reached room five, I felt like throwing up.

Sierra was on the other side. Would she have stitches and bruises? An
oxygen mask? Tubes down her throat? What exactly had happened to her?
And was I really prepared to face this?

“Are you family?” a man asked.

I turned and saw a doctor wearing the whitest coat ever. He sported a
receding hairline, with dark curls wrapped around his ears. He
clutched a clipboard under his right arm.

“Um, yes, I'm her husband.” I never thought I'd be calling myself
anyone's husband. The word seemed foreign to me, but oddly, it rolled
right off my tongue.

“Your name?”

“Asher.”

“Full name, sir,” the doctor said, taking out a pen.

“Asher Morgan.” For some reason, I felt like a little kid who'd
just been caught stealing candy. Was he going to see through my lies
and report me? Kick me out? But the doctor just scribbled down my
name and told me to follow him inside.

“My name is Dr. Kumar Majumdar,” the doctor said. “General
surgeon. Sierra is stable now, but we'll keep her under observation
for at least a week.”

“Thank you, doctor. So what happened exactly?” I asked.

“She took quite a fall and suffered a mild concussion. There's a
nasty gash on her forehead, and she lost a lot of blood. But the
worst part was she twisted her ankle and fractured her right tibia.
It'll take quite some time to heal. She needs rest, so try to keep
your visit short. I'll be back to check on her tomorrow.”

“Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much,” I said.

Dr. Majumdar shot me a small smile before he left. I took a seat
beside Sierra's bed. She looked extremely pale; her lips chapped and
bloodless. Even her hair seemed to have lost its luster. Her head was
bandaged up, and a small patch of bright red blood seeped through the
gauze. An IV ran from her hand to a dangling plastic sac of fluids
beside her. Her other arm had a blood pressure cuff strapped to it.

Sierra's breathing came slow and uneven, and all I wanted to do was
to wake her up and tell her how worried I was. How terrified. How
much I wanted to give anything for her to be all right again. To see
that feisty smile and listen to her sarcastic remarks again. Selfish
Asher wanted to lift her up and spin her around; squeeze and kiss the
hell out of her.

But of course I let her sleep. She was probably sedated anyway, and
for good reason. Her immune system was waging war inside her.

“Christ, Sierra, you scared the shit out of me,” I whispered,
running my thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin felt like it was
on fire. I bent down and kissed her palm, feeling a sharp pain in my
nose. Stinging tears bit at my lash-line but I refused to let them
fall. “I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.”

She was okay. She'd survived. A little worse for wear, but alive.
That was what mattered.

I didn’t realized how much I cared about her until then. How much I
wanted her to be happy, healthy, and carefree. To be the naive and
adorable personality I'd grown to admire in the past two weeks.

Outside, thunder rumbled like a snoring giant, and flashes of
lightning lit up the dark sky. Even though it was late afternoon, it
felt like nighttime already. The thin curtains flew up as a heavy
gust tore through the room. I scrambled up to close the window. Once
the latch was secured, I realized I was breathing fast. In fact, I
was almost hyperventilating.

Sierra's mortality terrified me. She'd slipped down a hill and almost
died. I might've lost her forever, and not even had the chance to
tell her how much I liked her.

She'd broken her leg this time, but she could've just as easily
snapped her neck.

If
—so many ifs.

My mom lost her battle with breast cancer before I had even graduated
law school. In her final days, I spent weeks in and out of the
hospital. I should've been used to the sterile rooms, muted beeping
noises and chattering nurses by now, but I wasn't. That familiar,
musty smell only made me remember how much pain Mom had endured
before she finally surrendered to it. Between feeding her meals and
reading to her, Mom had talked about her childhood and mine. We had
envisioned my future together, and she even helped me pick out my
future children's names (Colleen and Bryan). The grandchildren she'd
never meet. Her final wish was for me to build my career and settle
down soon with someone and start a family. Surprisingly, Mom's last
days were some of the best (albeit bittersweet) days I'd ever had
with her. And when she finally breathed her last, I was so relieved.
Dad was too. It'd been a nightmare watching her lose all her hair and
her vitality; transforming into a hollow shell of a woman. We were
glad she was free now. But somehow, her death still sent me
spiralling out of control. Mayhem swept me up like a tornado and the
only way I could reclaim normalcy was to spend all my waking hours at
the office.

After the funeral, I vowed to do everything I could to help Dad at
the firm. After all, he'd started it with Mom when they were still
newlyweds. And Dad was grateful for my help. I knew he was proud of
me, even if he never said so out loud. Working at the firm and
burying myself in work somehow made me feel connected to my mother.
It was her legacy, and I would keep it thriving. Help it become the
best goddamn firm in Northbridge. Give it 1000% percent and then
some.

But lately, my heart wasn't in my work, and I knew it.

Another woman had taken over my thoughts. My priorities were
shifting...I no longer wanted to spend all day and night at the
office. I found myself wanting to go home because I knew Sierra would
be there. I found myself wanting to see her beautiful face when I
came home from work.

A pleasant, domestic scene.

“Hey honey, how was work?” she'd ask. And I'd wrap her in my
arms, kiss her senseless and tell her about my day. We'd share a
drink, and then we'd take turns making the best home-cooked meals. A
few years down the road, we'd have two or three rugrats running
around destroying the house...

How absolutely ridiculous, I know.

I looked over at Sierra. Somehow, seeing her unconscious and so
goddamn fragile broke my heart.

We'd only kissed twice and we'd never even gone on a proper date
before...yet somehow, I couldn't imagine my life without her. It
wasn't just about lust anymore. I didn't want to admit it, but I
actually wanted to spend more time with her. Talking, laughing,
joking around. I liked being around her. She was just always so
cheerful and bull-headed and loud-spoken....and so
right
for
me. My little ball of sunshine.

But now...

I listened to the beeping machines that surrounded Sierra. The ones
that kept her vitals steady. Kept her alive and breathing.

She wouldn't be here if she hadn’t been out looking for me.

I put her here.

Guilt edged in, and I felt a heavy sensation coil in the pit of my
stomach. I sank deeper into the chair and ran a hand through my dirty
hair. God I reeked. I hadn't even showered this morning, and my skin
and clothes were caked with mud. I wanted badly to take a bath or at
least change my clothes, but I couldn't bear to leave Sierra.

I needed to stay. At least until her parents arrived. Someone needed
to be here for her.

I sagged deeper into the upholstered armchair, propping my elbow up
to support my chin. Maybe I let the stress get to me; or perhaps it
was just sheer exhaustion...whatever it was, it eventually lulled me
into a dreamless sleep.

When I woke up, faint sunlight was streaking in through the window.
Finally, a few welcome rays after the yesterday's bleakness. I looked
at the wall clock and realized it was five a.m. I felt guilty for
leaving Cam downstairs. I'd wanted to tell him to go back to the
hotel, or even go home. But somehow my little nap extended through
the night. I wondered if Cam was still waiting downstairs for me.
Poor guy. He probably felt just as shitty as I did over what
happened. How the fuck did I fall asleep for almost thirteen
hours...especially on such an uncomfortable chair?

I sat up and blinked a few times to wet my irritated eyes. A crick
had developed in my neck, and I stretched to loosen it. After
softening the knots on my shoulder, I stood up and flexed my arms.
Pins and needles dug into my feet like thousands of biting ants and I
paced the room to alleviate the sensation.

A knock.

“She's probably still asleep, but you're welcome to come see her,”
a soft female voice said.

Shuffling feet.

“Oh my baby,” a shrill female voice cried.

“Sierra,” a deeper, male one whispered.

I looked over and saw an older woman (who was the splitting image of
Sierra) and a man hovering by the door. Both of them were wearing
dripping wet rain ponchos. They must've been Sierra's parents.

God, I wish I didn't look like a bum the first time I met them.

Another woman trailed in. I recognized her as Sierra's best friend.
She wasn't wearing anything waterproof and looked like a drowned rat.
Her long, brown hair was plastered against her cheek and down her
neck. She was wringing her sleeves into the sink by the door and
didn't notice me.