“I knew it.” Her voice is hard.
I whirl around, glaring. “You don’t know shit because you won’t shut the fuck up long enough to listen. It’s not her, it’s—”
“Get out.”
“Fuck that. I had to sit here and listen to you blab about shit you know nothing about. It’s my turn to talk, and you’re gonna listen even if that means I need to gag you to get you to do that.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would, and I’d enjoy the shit out of it.” I pace the small room. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”
“I know what I saw.”
“What you saw was me listening to a very sick and sad woman.”
“Shirtless.”
I whirl on her, and in one long stride, I’m at her bedside. I lean over and brace my weight on the bed just above her shoulders so that our noses are mere inches away. “Final warning, Yvette. Shut. Up.”
She rolls her lips between her teeth but glares in defiance.
I push back up to standing and gaze down at her. “I took my shirt off because it was soaked in her tears. She pulled some fucked-up shit on me that I was not having. I was upset, told her to get the hell home, turned to go to bed, and she followed—”
Her mouth gapes.
“Don’t fucking do that. Do not go there in your head.”
Her swollen eyelids flutter.
“You want to know what I was thinking last night, what you saw on my face? I was thinking about you. How I should’ve never left you at that restaurant.” I watch and wait for what I’ve told her to sink in. “If I wanted her, why would I be here? Don’t you get it? I’m here. With you.”
“But you’re here because I’m her. You want to fix her, and I remind you of her, so you want to fix me too.”
I shake my head and step to the edge of her bed. “No, doll. I told you before you’re not her. Not even close. I’m here because you’re you.”
She chews on her lip for a moment. “I went home thinking you were done with me, and when someone showed up at my door in the middle of the night, I thought . . .”
She thought the loan shark was me? Makes sense; it’s exactly what I would’ve done had I been able to drop ’Li off. She opened the door, expecting me. If I’d called her, explained what was going on, she never would’ve answered the door and let that piece of shit in.
Dammit, this is exactly the kind of crap I worried she’d be signing herself up for by being with me. No matter how hard I try, my head will always be a few steps behind. She’s lucky she was able to get away from that guy last night. If she hadn’t, who knows what he would’ve done in order to get his money?
Holy fuck! If I’d called her last night or maybe never left the restaurant to chase after D’lilah, Eve would’ve been home safe with me all night and never would’ve gotten in a car accident.
Jonah’s wife would still be pregnant, their baby growing in the safety of her mother’s belly rather than a plastic box hooked up to a dozen tubes. My pulse pounds in my ears. My knees go MIA, and I hold the guardrail of the hospital bed to stay standing.
This is my fault. Not outwardly, but I made decisions last night that set a series of shit in motion. Just like with Rosie. Holy fuck!
“I’m sorry.” The apology is weak, puny in comparison to what I’ve done. “I never should’ve left you at the restaurant. If I hadn’t . . .” None of this would’ve happened.
“I was so sure it was you banging on my door, but when I realized it wasn’t . . .” A visible shiver wracks her body. “Thank God Jonah came when he did.”
Now I know why she called Jonah instead of me. She thought I was hooking up with D’lilah. Dammit! I can understand why Jonah was giving me a look that he wanted to kill me during the meeting before he got the call about Raven.
“Anyway, I’m moving in with Jonah and Raven for a little while.”
They’ll keep her safe. She deserves that, and yet disappointment tightens my chest. “That’s a”—I clear the words I really want to say from my throat—“good idea.”
“Raven and I were talking about it”—her eyes go unfocused over my shoulder and then narrow—“this morning when we were . . .” She stares thoughtfully at nothing. “We talked about our song.”
“Eve?”
“Barstow and then . . .” She blinks rapidly. Her chest rises and falls faster. “Oh God. No.” Her face goes pale.
“What is it?” I cup her good cheek, the skin clammy against my palm. “Are you in pain?”
“I think I . . .” Tears slide over her lower lids and mark trails down her cheeks. “No!”
I cup her face with both hands to force her eyes to mine. “Talk to me. What?”
“I . . . The accident.” Her breath comes faster and faster. She’s going to hyperventilate.
“What about it?”
Her expression goes from slack to twisted in agony. “It was me.” She chokes on a sob. “The Nova was my idea.”
Thirty-Four