“Look who’s talking,” I shot back, feeling too raw to take any criticism.
“I got hit with a baseball bat. What’s your excuse?”
I arranged the pillow and scratchy blanket on my cot, then told him about my day from beginning to end.
“And I haven’t heard from Gideon since,” I finished wearily. “Even Brett got in touch with me after lunch. He left an envelope at the security desk with his phone number in it.”
He’d also included the cash I left at the restaurant.
“Are you going to call him?” Cary asked.
“I don’t want to think about Brett!” I sprawled on my back on the cot and shoved my hands through my hair. “I want to know what’s wrong with Gideon. He’s had a total personality transplant in the last thirty-six hours!”
“Maybe it’s this.”
I lifted my head off the pillow and saw him pointing at something on his bedside table. Rolling to my feet, I checked it out—a local gay periodical.
“Trey brought that over today,” he said.
Cary’s picture capped a front-page piece covering his attack—including speculation that the assault might have been a hate crime. His living situation with me and my romantic entanglement with Gideon Cross were mentioned, for no other reason, it seemed, than for a salacious punch.
“It’s on their website, too,” he added quietly. “I figure someone at the agency gossiped, and it spread and turned into someone’s political crap. Honestly, I’m having a hard time imagining Cross giving a shit—”
“About your sexual orientation? He doesn’t. He’s not like that.”
“But his PR people might feel differently. Could be why he wants to keep you under the radar. And if he’s worried that someone might go after you to get to me, that explains why he wants to keep you tucked away and off the streets.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell me that?” I set the paper down. “Why is he being such a prick? Everything was so wonderful while we were gone. He was wonderful. I thought we’d turned a corner. I kept thinking he wasn’t anything like the man I’d first met, and now he’s worse. There’s this . . . I don’t know. He’s a million miles away from me now. I don’t understand it.”
“I’m not the guy to ask, Eva.” Cary grabbed my hand and squeezed. “He’s the one with the answers.”
“You’re right.” I went to my purse and pulled out my phone. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
I went to the little enclosed balcony off the visitors’ waiting area and called Gideon. The phone rang and rang, eventually going to voice mail. I tried his home number instead. After the third ring, Gideon answered.
“Cross,” he said curtly.
“Hi.”
There was silence for the length of a heartbeat, then, “Hang on.”
I heard a door open. The sound on the phone changed—he’d stepped away from wherever he’d been.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“No.” I rubbed at my tired eyes. “I miss you.”
He sighed. “I . . . I can’t talk now, Eva.”
“Why not? I don’t understand why you’re acting so cold to me. Did I do something wrong?” I heard murmuring and realized he’d muffled the receiver to talk to someone else. A horrible feeling of betrayal tightened my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Gideon. Who’s at your place with you?”
“I have to go.”
“Tell me who’s there with you!”
“Angus will be at the hospital at seven. Get some sleep, angel.”
The line went dead.
I lowered my hand and stared at my phone, as if it could somehow reveal to me what the fuck had just happened.
I made it back to Cary’s room, felt weighted down and miserable as I pushed open the door.
Cary took one look at me and sighed. “You look like your puppy just died, baby girl.”
The dam broke. I started sobbing.
Chapter 14