Shame on Him

Dallas presses his hands to my shoulder and I yelp in pain.

“Ouch! Not so hard,” I complain, closing my eyes.

“No, no, no. Lorelei, open your eyes, baby. Stay with me.”

This feels like déjà vu. Hasn’t he said this to me before? It suddenly strikes me as funny and I start to laugh. I feel drunk again. But I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk.

“I’m right here; I’m not going anywhere,” I laugh. “I’m so tired. And my shoulder really hurts.”

I close my eyes again and hear a flurry of activity all around me. People shouting, footsteps pounding on the floor by my head, and Dallas whispering close to my ear.

“Come on, open your eyes and tell me I’m a pompous asshole. Tell me I’m a pigheaded jerk. I don’t care what you say, just talk to me. The ambulance is on its way.”

I don’t know what the ambulance is for, but Dallas makes me laugh.

“You’re so silly. I love you. You’re not that much of a pompous asshole,” I tell him.

I struggle to open my eyes and look up at him. The smile he gives me is tinged with sadness.

Shame on him for being sad when I just told him I love him.





CHAPTER 21




Wake up, sleepyhead.”

The voice breaks into my dream and I groan in frustration. I was having the most amazing dream. I solved the murder case and Dallas told me he loved me.

“Don’t wake her up. She’s going to be pissed when she finds out the hospital threw away her Jimmy Choo boots because they had blood on them.”

I groan again and try to roll over to go back to the dream but I can’t move. There’s something on my face that’s tickling my nose, and my arms feel like they’re tangled with rope.

“I’m pretty sure the hospital has already borne enough of your wrath for that oversight. I can’t believe you told that orderly he was a waste of space that wouldn’t know good shoes if they were shoved up his ass.”

I want to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation happening around me, but I feel like it would hurt to laugh, for some reason.

“He said those boots were ugly and the blood enhanced them. He’s lucky I didn’t shove my own foot up his ass. Jimmy Choos are never ugly.”

Figuring I may as well get it over with, I slowly blink open my eyes and wince at the bright light. Turning my head to the side, I see Kennedy and Paige sitting on chairs next to my bed. What are they doing in my room? And why is my room so bright?

“Where am I?”

The raspy groan of my own voice shocks me and I cough to try and clear it.

Paige immediately jumps up from her chair and rushes to the side of my bed. “I knew shoe talk would perk you right up. How do you feel?”

I swallow and clear my throat, pressing my palms down on the bed to push myself up. I yelp in pain as soon as I put weight on my left arm.

Kennedy gets up and hurries to my side, gently putting her hands on my chest and pushing me back down to the bed. “Nope, no getting up for you. Doctor’s orders. Are you in pain?”

Closing my eyes and trying to get comfortable, I take stock of my body. Every muscle is achy and my left shoulder feels like it was run through a meat grinder.

“My shoulder. What’s wrong with my shoulder?”

I look down and see a thick bandage wrapped around my shoulder and chest. Upon further inspection, I see an IV sticking out of my arm.

“Dude, you were shot. Do you remember anything from yesterday?” Kennedy asks, grabbing a cup of water with a straw in it and holding it to my lips.

Shot? She must be kidding.

I take a few long pulls on the straw and the cold water instantly soothes my scratchy throat.

Glancing around the room, I realize Dallas isn’t here. I remember hearing him and Ted talking about me at the police station. I remember my heart breaking into a million pieces.

“I remember watching two women kiss,” I mumble, letting my head flop back to the pillow.

“Kinky,” Kennedy replies with a laugh. “I’m guessing that would be Stephanie Covington and Melinda Banks, unless you’ve been watching some girl-on-girl porn lately.”

Paige smacks her in the arm. “Do you remember going to Stephanie’s house to confront her about killing Richard?”

Racking my brain, I try to make the memory surface. I have a vague recollection of standing in Stephanie’s living room, arguing with Dallas. And a gun pointed in his direction.

Like someone is flipping quickly through the pages of a book, everything rushes back in flashes of scenes.

“Did I really shove Dallas out of the way from being shot?” I ask.

“You did. You totally saved my ass.”

Glancing over to the door, I see Dallas standing there with two cups of coffee in his hands, looking haggard and exhausted.

Kennedy and Paige walk up to him and grab the cups from his hands.