He curls in on himself and a groan-like roar of agony billows through the hall, practically shaking the walls. Panic seizes my thoughts, and I’m overcome with a singular mission to help.
“I’ll drive.” I hold out my hand to help him up. “Just tell me where.”
He tilts his head back, and his eyes are rimmed red. “Desert Springs Memorial.”
“Got it.” I pull him to his feet, and we charge out to my car.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but memories from the past are knocking to get in. I need to stay focused and get Jonah to his wife and unborn baby. Before it’s too late.
Thirty-Two
Cameron
The car is still moving when Jonah jumps from the Maserati in the hospital’s emergency driveway. I leave the car there and run after him. The sterile scent of the room ignites a flood of memories that mix with current events and have me struggling to stay in the moment.
This isn’t Rosie. Not Rosie.
“My wife, where is she?” Jonah looms over the young girl at the admissions desk. “She’s seven months pregnant.”
The girl’s eyes are wide on him, most likely scared shitless by the 250-pound fighter who looks as if he’s about to rip someone’s arms clean off their body. “Oh, um . . . I need a . . . name, sir?”
“Fuck, just tell me she’s okay.” Jonah shoves his hands through his hair. “Jesus, God, please, they need to be okay.”
He looks seconds away from completely losing his shit and tearing the walls down to find his woman.
I push him aside and go to the desk. “Hi, um”—I read her nametag—“Carol, her name is Raven Slade. She’s seven months pregnant and was brought in about twenty minutes ago.”
She nods and types a few things on her computer. “Yes, she’s um . . .” More typing.
“Where the fuck is my wife?” Jonah’s question thunders off the walls and slick floors, attracting the attention of security guards nearby. They start to close in.
I hold out my hand to them and turn toward Jonah. “Slade, cut that shit out.”
His eyes dart around the room, unfocused, tears brimming. Fuck.
I stand up tall so we’re roughly the same height. “Look at me. Hey.” I slap him lightly in the face to get his attention, and he turns a hateful glare at me. “Pull your shit together now. You’ll do your wife no good by getting arrested. You want to help Raven and the baby; you need to fucking man the fuck up and be strong; you hear me?”
He blinks a few times, and some of the rage behind his eyes dissolves.
“That’s right. There you go. This is title-fight time; bring your fucking A-game. Do you understand?”
He nods.
“Good, now stop scaring the piss out of this poor girl, and let’s get a lockdown on your woman.”
“Yeah.” He nods a few more times. “Right.”
Still a mess, but at least he’s not looking murderous.
I turn back to Carol, who hands us a few pieces of paper. “If you could fill these out—”
“No, first you tell me where the fuck my wife is.” Jonah’s growled words make Carol’s hand shake.
“Sir, your wife, Raven?” She shifts on her feet and eyes me nervously.
Oh fuck, this can’t be good.
Carol clears her throat. “All I know is she was involved in a hit and run. T-boned pretty bad.”
“No.” He shakes his head and stumbles back a step.
“Jonah, man. Dig deep for it,” I say loud enough for only his ears.
“She was unconscious when they brought her in, and they rushed her right into surgery, but that’s all I know.”
Jonah’s jaw is tight, his mouth in a thin line, and a single tear escapes his eye.
Hands on my hips, I drop my head with the weight of what Jonah’s feeling. I know it, have lived it, and fucking live it every day of my life. Pain, regret, anger.
She puts the papers down and shoves them toward him. “If you could—”
He turns his back on her and storms outside.
I pick up the papers and grab a pen. “Thank you. I’ll get these taken care of.”
She nods and flashes a sad smile that makes me hurt even worse for the heavyweight fighter.
“Do you know if the woman Mrs. Slade came in with has any relatives? We can’t seem to—”
“Woman?” My head goes light, and my spine tingles. I brace my weight on the desk. “She wasn’t alone?”
“No, she had a passenger in the car with her.” She looks at her computer screen. “A woman by the name of Yvette—”
White noise. Total static. I don’t need to hear the rest of what she has to say. Eve’s hurt. The room tilts on its side, and my knees buckle. I wobble but hold tight to the desktop, refusing to fall.
“What happened to her? Is she okay?”
She checks out her computer screen and makes a few clicks. “Are you family?”
“No, but”—I point over my shoulder to the doors Jonah stormed out of minutes ago—“we’re the closest thing she has to family.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t give any information out unless you’re related.”
I lean forward, desperate for something. Anything. “Please, just . . . can you give me something? Is she . . .?” I swallow hard. “Is it bad?”