Secrets to Hide 3: Just a Little More (11 page)

“Treated for what?”

“Head injury,” the EMT said. “Seems your boyfriend figured he’d return the favor.”

Brad’s eyes flashed fierce, angry, as if her words were a reprimand. “Damn right I did,” he growled. “Bastard needed a taste of his own medicine.”

“What medicine? What’s wrong with me?”

“That’s what we’d like to find out,” Rachel said. “Let me check you. Nothing invasive, I promise,” she assured Angel, probably seeing the panic starting to rise all over again. “Just routine, that’s all.”

Angel finally managed a nod, but she kept her gaze ready, alert as the woman approached. She coaxed Angel up onto the love seat, the wide cushions enveloping her as she lay on her back.

“I’ll forgo the neck brace since you seem to be moving okay,” Rachel said. A light was flashed in her eyes, temperature and pulse taken, all the basics. Angel endured as best she could. From the corner of her eye she could see Brad, mere feet away, and the desperate longing in his eyes. She could see his need to come to her. Except the thought of hands on her right now made her want to throw up. She couldn’t take it, even from the man she loved.

Was this it, then? Was she truly broken now?

“We’re not sure how bad the injury is yet,” Rachel said. “We’ll move you to the hospital when we know it’s safe, and get some X-rays to see how bad it is, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be okay.”

“Did Daryl hit me?” She didn’t remember hitting her head.

“No,” Brad said, voice roughening slightly. A glassy sheen coated his eyes. “I did. I caught you with my foot when I tackled him.”

And he felt guilty about it; she could see the shame, hear it in his words. How much more would she heap on his head before this was finally, truly over? “It is not your fault.”

Brad choked. He closed his eyes, his face tormented. “Yes, it is. Everything’s my fault. If not for me, he never would’ve found you in the first place.”

Angel shook her head in denial, the movement abbreviated when pain shot through her skull.

“Yes,” he forced out, the word bitter. “If I hadn’t thrown him out of Thrice, he wouldn’t have been near that alley. He wouldn’t have targeted you, that night or any other night.”

Angel stayed silent. She knew she should say something, reassure him, anything, but it was just beyond her at the moment. She felt like she was drowning, sinking down into a pit she was all too familiar with, and the despair that rose kept her mute. She truly was broken—Daryl might not have finished what he’d started physically, but emotionally? Thinking back over the last few weeks, she had to wonder, could she face that fight again, the climb out? Would it take another rock bottom to scare her into waking up? Would it take seeing the fear and anger and hopelessness on Brad’s face again?

No. She couldn’t do that again. Couldn’t put him through that. She wouldn’t. As Rachel retrieved some supplies, Angel turned her face into the cushions, blocking out the room, blocking out Brad. Her heart was cracking in two, so hard she didn’t think she’d ever get it back together, but it was for his own good. He deserved better than her broken, beat-up heart, so much better.

And she’d give it to him, even if it meant forcing him to find it with someone else.

ANGEL WASN’T LOOKING at him.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“Just a little cut,” Rachel murmured, dabbing more antiseptic onto the gash on Angel’s temple. “Not too bad, no stitches.”

The glance Angel shot her could’ve shriveled plants. Rachel shrugged. “Trust me; in a situation like this, a bump on the head is a best-case scenario. At least nobody got shot. That’s a lot harder to fix.”

A gunshot wound was harder to fix, but somehow, looking at Angel’s tense body and the way she avoided his eyes, he didn’t think it was the physical they would have a hard time healing. Her body might not need stitches, but her soul? The tight knot in his gut said that would be a whole different story altogether.

He needed the reassurance of her touch, needed to watch her breathing for the next ten or so hours—or maybe days, years; he didn’t know. He also didn’t think it was gonna happen anytime soon. Daryl was in custody, but their nightmare wasn’t coming to an end. Far from it.

“Sir,” someone said behind him, “if you could come with me, we have a few questions.”

It sounded like a request, but Brad figured optional wasn’t a factor. He turned, looking up into the stern face of an Atlanta PD officer. The man’s jaded eyes took in the three of them before centering on the fists Brad hadn’t even realized he’d clenched.

He didn’t care. He had no intention of leaving Angel, period.

“You can ask them here,” he said. “I’m otherwise occupied.”

“Sir—”

Making a concerted effort to keep a sudden rise of anger out of his voice, Brad interrupted the guy. “Look, I’m sure you’re just doing your job, Officer”—he made a production of eyeing the badge pinned to the cop’s jacket—“Richards, but my girlfriend was just attacked for the second time in two months. The man who attacked her isn’t dead, and that’s making me a tad bit punchy.”
Not to mention she doesn’t want me touching her and I’m worried sick she’ll fall right back into the suicidal well she’s lived in for weeks
. But the officer didn’t need to know that. “Now, I understand you have to investigate, but I am not leaving this goddamn room. Is that clear?”

The detective took a step back, his hand falling to the Taser strapped to his gear belt.

So much for controlling his anger. At this point Brad couldn’t care less. He let all that he was thinking settle on his face, in his eyes. Let the officer read exactly how firm he was in his decision. Combative or not, he was getting his way or leaving here on a stretcher just like Daryl had.

“Brad.” Angel’s voice was tense, hesitant. He hated that, but he wouldn’t let it stop him.

“If that’s what you’ve gotta do,” he told the officer, eyeing the man’s twitching hand, “it’s what you’ve gotta do. I don’t give a sh—” He glanced at Angel. “Care. Go ahead and try it.”

“Brad.”

He wouldn’t look at her again. Whatever she wanted to say, he didn’t think he could bear to hear it, not with that look in her eyes. He stared down the officer instead.

It was the EMT who broke the standoff.

“Come on, Joey. Lighten up. Give the guy a few minutes. He just had a gun pulled on his woman. Not that you’d know what that was like, not having a woman and all.”

The amused tilt to Rachel’s lips eased some of the tension cramping Brad’s muscles. The cop scowled at the jab, his shaggy brows lowering. Rachel chuckled.

“Show some respect,” Officer Richards said.

“I will when you will. This isn’t a pissing contest; he’s the good guy.” She dismissed the officer as if he was an annoying fly she could bat away. “We’re going to transport you here soon, get an X-ray to make sure that kick didn’t cause a concussion. Anything else that hurts right now? How about your fingers and toes? I’m not seeing any discoloration; any pain from your stint in the snow?”

Angel shrugged carefully. “I’m a little achy, mostly my ribs, though.”

Where Daryl had gripped her. The knowledge wedged in Brad’s gut, making him certain puking was next on his list of imminent activities, but he swallowed it down. Angel didn’t need anything else to deal with right now.

“I’d like a minute to speak to Brad.”

Angel’s whispered words squeezed her heart. The EMT threw a look over her shoulder, one Brad couldn’t read, but he nodded anyway, easing up to take Rachel’s place at Angel’s side.

“Hey, beautiful.” He reached up carefully, wanting to smooth her hair back, wanting a better look at those midnight-blue eyes. Angel turned her head away.

“You should go with him,” she said.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I’m going with you to the hospital.”

“No.” She shook her head, stopped, winced. Brad counted the breaths until she spoke again, every one a hard, painful draw. “You should go with him. I don’t— I don’t need you at the hospital.”

No. God, no. “Angel?”

“I can’t…deal, right now, okay? Just…go with him.”

He opened his mouth, not sure what he planned to say, not sure if he could say anything around the pain in his chest, when a commotion near the door drew his attention. The cavalry had arrived. “Ryan.”

The officer at the door refused to let his friend in, so Brad stood. Joey the Cop put his hand on Brad’s arm to detain him. Brad gave him a serious look. “You see that man over there?”

The officer’s gaze flicked to the door and back.

“Either he goes with Angel, or I do. We can do this the easy way or the hard way; it’s up to you.” Wasn’t that the cop’s line? Brad didn’t care. Something had to be under his control with his world spinning off its axis. Angel being alone was it, even if the idea of not being with her himself made him want to hit something.

The officer squinted his disapproval, but when he glanced down at Angel, something in his face softened. He finally gave a short nod. “Make it quick.”

Brad barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He’d called his friend right after he’d called the cops, knowing he’d need the backup. Damien and Harley lived too far from downtown to get here safely in the snow. Besides, they had a baby at home. Ryan lived a couple of blocks over; he could walk if he had to, which, by the look of his wet pants legs, he had. But as Brad approached the door, his boss stepped into view behind Ryan.

Brad shook his head. “You’re supposed to be at home with Harley and Klio by now.”

“Too much snow,” Damien said, a somber smile quirking his mouth. “Harley threatened to remove pertinent parts of my anatomy if I tried to drive all the way home.”

Brad raised an eyebrow.

“Not those parts—she enjoys them too much.”

Now that he believed. Still it choked him up to see both his boss and one of his closest friends coming out in the storm to help him and Angel.

“Besides,” Damien continued, “we were already up. Got a call from the alarm company. Seems there was a break-in at the club.”

Ryan spoke up. “Nothing taken but some liquor; busted up the filing cabinet in the office.”

Looking for an address, maybe? “Let me guess. The missing booze was Jack Daniels.”

Ryan’s nod had him cursing.

“You’ll need to talk to the officer here, then. They want to ask me some questions too.” Emotion threatened to overrun him. “I don’t want Angel at the hospital alone.”

“I’ll go,” Ryan told him. “She knows me, and—”

“I can help with the legal side,” Damien finished, already pulling out his cell phone. Brad had no doubt Damien’s lawyer would be more than willing to conference call with them even if he couldn’t make the drive due to weather. Damien was a wealthy man with three successful nightclubs that catered to the hottest bands in the hottest markets. His generous outlook meant his staff shared in the success, including top-ranking lawyers who didn’t mind being constantly available. By the time Brad and Ryan reached Angel, Damien was already making demands over the line.

Brad knelt next to Angel, who still lay, quiet, eyes now closed. Rachel met his questioning glance, her pale eyes full of concern. She nodded toward the other side of the room and stood, obviously expecting him to follow, waiting to speak until they were out of Angel’s hearing. “I don’t want her moving around too much till we get her to the hospital. They’ll confirm if she has a concussion, which I’m pretty sure she does, a mild one. We’re just waiting for the all clear on the roads before taking her down.”

Brad nodded, grateful the EMT was so free with information.

“I’m concerned…” She looked over at Angel, then back. “I want her under observation. She’s not…”

Brad knew exactly what she was getting at. He’d already shared with her about their stint in the snow earlier.

“She’s gone unresponsive. I’m going to recommend a psych eval just to be safe.”

His eyes closed. He’d expected it, but the reality… Ryan’s rough grip on his shoulder steadied him. “Okay.”

“I’ll be with her all the way, you know that,” Ryan assured him.

“I know.” But he wanted it to be him. He wanted to walk her through this—but she wouldn’t have him. “Keep her safe.”

“Like she was my own,” Ryan said, and Brad believed him.

They rejoined Angel at the couch. “Angel, Ryan’s here.”

Angel opened her eyes but didn’t respond.

“Hey, you,” Ryan teased. “I didn’t get the heads-up about this party. You should’ve warned me, and I’d have gone all out.”

Angel blinked.

“Ryan’s going to the hospital with you, beautiful,” Brad told her. “I need to stay here. He’ll keep me updated.”

That finally got a response, but not the one he wanted. “He shouldn’t bother. I’ll be fine.”

The bland tone, her refusal to give him any hope at all, finally sparked a bit of anger in his gut. “He’s going—and you’re going to let him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No, I told you—”

“I don’t give a shit”—Angel flinched, and he moderated his tone slightly—“what you told me. I’m coming. That’s final. I’ll be there when I can.” He leaned in, hesitating hardly at all when Angel turned her head farther away. Cheek or lips, he didn’t care as long as he could kiss her good-bye. “I love you.”

Her lack of response felt like a knife to the heart. Brad stood, his eyes meeting Ryan’s, heavy with understanding. “I’ll hurry.”

He caught a single glimpse of Angel as they wheeled her out to the waiting ambulance on a gurney. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. The hopelessness in them would’ve filled a lesser man with despair, but not Brad. He took a deep breath as he turned back to Damien and Officer Richards, determination filling him. They’d made it through once; he sure as hell wouldn’t give up now, even if Angel did. He had enough strength for both of them. He’d prove it, whether she wanted him to or not.

Chapter Eight

It felt like the pushing and prodding and probing would never end. Hours after they’d arrived at the hospital, Angel was finally ensconced in a room—for observation, they said. She could’ve told them there was nothing wrong with her that oblivion wouldn’t fix. Her head, her heart, it would all heal if she could just go to sleep. Of course, she’d been telling herself she’d feel better for weeks if she could just sleep, but it was all there waiting for her when she woke.