Lainie nodded tightly. She was going to need to see that for herself, within touching range.
However, when she marched up to a nurses’ station and asked to see her boyfriend, she somehow ended up in Will’s ward. The gossip magazines in the staffroom must be out-of-date.
She stayed anyway, for a few minutes. In hindsight, not caring if her former boyfriend was flattened like a pancake as long as her new boyfriend emerged intact was pretty bad.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” Will’s voice was raspy, and his leg was elevated and bandaged, but overall he looked quite pleased with himself. He’d been out of the ER for ten minutes and a smitten fan had already sent a shiny Get Well Soon balloon to his room.
The animation drained out of his face when he admitted, “Thanks to Troy.” Slowly, he said, “He came back for me. He could have got out straightaway.”
God. Richard.
“He is okay?” Lainie was desperate for reassurance.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s a heroic dick, but he’s fine.” He grimaced. “You’d better warn him I’m going to thank him in person, properly.”
“You might want to wait a while.” Her halfhearted smile was wobbly. “His body has probably had enough shocks for one day.”
“You haven’t seen him yet?”
“No, I—No.”
Will watched her. “You should go. He’ll be wondering where you are.”
“I know.” Lainie looked back at him. “Will, I...” She sighed. “Do you need anything?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “But I don’t really know what to do with it when I get it. Do I?”
She was silent, and he shrugged and lifted his phone. “I’ll be fine. You know me. Never short of company.”
“Oh, I know.” She poured him a glass of water before she left the ward and went—finally—in search of Richard.
She found him in a single room—naturally, Richard Troy would never be expected to bunk up in a mixed ward with the hoi polloi. Lynette Stern, Alexander Bennett and Bob Carson all stood around his bed, in deep discussion about the extent of the damage backstage and whether it would require a complete relocation of the play. Richard, naked to at least the waist and covered with smudges of dust and dirt, looked exhausted and cross.
Their eyes met. With a muffled sound—and completely ignoring the audience by the window—Lainie launched herself straight onto the bed and into his arms. They closed around her, his hold brutally tight. Her face shoved into his neck, and she breathed in the strong musty smell that completely eliminated his usual comforting scent.
Richard’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head. “Shut the door behind you,” he said to the others. Through her tears, Lainie choked on a relieved snort and elbowed him. Sounding as if he was rolling his eyes, he added, “Please.”
Lynette hid a smile and ushered out the still-arguing Bennett and Bob. Lainie increased the strength of her hug, and Richard smoothed his palm over her tangled hair. “About time you made an appearance.” His deep, velvety actor’s voice was temporarily a dust-shredded ruin. “I was going to give you three more minutes and then come looking for you.”
“You probably shouldn’t be walking around,” she said to his rough cheek, her eyes closed.
“My limbs are intact and functioning. No thanks to Farmer’s bruised knee and all fifteen stone of the rest of him.” A tearing cough contracted Richard’s chest, and she touched his bare ribs.
“It’s not going to help if you come down with pneumonia. Don’t tell me the nurses were so desperate for a look at your pecs they didn’t give you a gown.”
It was Richard’s turn to snort. “I’m not sharing a backless nightie with five hundred previous occupants.”
Typical. Lainie couldn’t help smiling at that, but she still had to stop herself from clutching him again, just to feel him there, reassuringly solid.
Her fingers curled in his chest hair. “Are you naked under there?” She took a sneaky peek under the sheet. He was wearing boxer briefs. He also had nice thighs. She rubbed one affectionately, and he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the side of her neck.
“Will’s fine.” Lainie’s own voice was still husky with tears. “Thanks to you.” She swallowed. “But if the theatre ever explodes again, don’t let the roof drop on your head. I swear to God, Richard, if you do this to me again, I’ll throw a fit that will make Sadie Foster look like frigging Pollyanna.”
Richard’s eyes were fixed on her face. He slowly played with a strand of hair under her ear, tickling her throat with it.
“I thought you were going to die.”
He pressed her palm flat against his chest, where his heart beat in a strong, regular rhythm. His thumb caught the moisture under her lashes before it had a chance to fall. “Don’t cry, Tig,” he said quietly, which only made her more hopelessly teary. “You might finish me off completely.”
“Don’t even joke about it, you insensitive bastard,” she said, pushing at him. “Richard.”