Cut (4 page)

She kept her thoughts on Melanie, though her body veered into Brent. With each step he reinforced her walk. He put his hand on her back and guided her to the elevator. They stepped on and Brent pressed the button. The elevator jolted her feet from under her. She flew into Brent's chest.

“Christ,” he muttered. “This was a bad idea.”

“I can do this,” she said and moved off him. “Except…”

“Except what?”

He seemed impatient with her. She raised her chin. “Nothing.”

“Fine.”

She caved and said, “I don't want to see Luke.”

He laughed. “I wouldn't either if I were you.”

“Could you try to be nice to me?”

“This
is
me being nice.”

“You're not very good at it.”

A grin crossed his lips. “I'm much better at other things.”

Flutters erupted in her stomach. Inebriated? Yes. Dumb? No. She grabbed the wide metal rail and put space between them. Her fingers bore down and she wished she could take this rail with her to hold onto. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

The spooky quiet greeted them. Faint beeps played out from other areas of the floor. The space leading up to the Intensive Care Unit smelled like caffeine and cleaning products. Never had she stepped through such intimidating doors. Whatever lay on the other side wasn't good. People didn't land in the ICU to recover from minor surgery. They came here to fight. To hold on. To survive. Could she herself survive something like this? She didn't know.

A nurse sat behind a gray counter and greeted them with a tired smile. She gave Jessie a double-take, but said nothing, except for asking them to sign-in. Jessie took the pen and wrote her name. Brent shook his head at the large scrawl and took the pen out of her hand. Jessie looked up.

Forget the issue of
my signature
, Jessie's heart pounded beneath her chest—Luke stalked towards them.

Jessie's courage fled.

Her brother-in-law looked pissed. Then again, that's how she remembered he always seemed to look. She glanced back at Brent. He too, wore a similar perpetual look of annoyance. They looked eerily alike and Jessie didn't know why, but she wanted to laugh.

Brent put a firm hand on her arm. “Try to act normal,” he said.

She shrugged off his hand.

Luke stopped in front of her. “Brent,” he said, taking his time to let his gaze drop to hers. He studied her for a moment with undiluted coolness and said, “Jessie.”

“Luke,” she responded in an equal tone.

Brent shook his brother's hand. “How's Melanie?”

The mention of his wife redirected Luke's anger. “She's in surgery. There's swelling on her brain…”

Swelling. Surgery. Luke Harrison standing within a foot from me. This is too much
.
Someone get me back to my bachelorette party.

Jessie's knees felt weak.

Brent's hand landed on her lower back.

Luke kept his stare on Jessie. “Have you been drinking?”

“Bachelorette party,” she said defensively. “I'm getting married, but you and Melanie know already—”

“Tell us what happened,” Brent cut her off.

“Let's go over here.” Luke began to walk away without waiting for them.

“Let me get some coffee first.” Brent seemed to stare at his brother longer than necessary, before walking away.

She followed Luke. They reached a room with couches and two coffee tables with brochures and magazines. Jessie sat down and crossed her legs. She needed a coat or a sweater or a nice big bed to crawl into and sleep.

Brent returned in what seemed like seconds later with a Styrofoam cup. “Drink this,” he said, and handed her the cup and sat down next to her.

Luke sat on a chair next to the couch. He balanced his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his face. “Tonight, around ten o'clock, a park officer checking the grounds at the Palace of Fine Arts found Melanie unconscious. She had her purse on her. Nothing was taken from it, not even her wallet or her phone. I don't have any other information. I can't begin to understand why Melanie was there at that hour. My wife wouldn't leave our home or our daughters for any reason in the middle of the night. None of this makes sense.”

“What about security cameras?” Brent asked.

“The detective hasn't said much, though I'm told there are cameras at the Palace.”

“What happened to her?” Jessie said.

Luke acknowledged her for the first time since sitting down. “Someone beat her up. Her face…” he choked on his words. “Someone slammed her head down on the concrete. Hard enough to knock her out.”

“Did you notice anything different about Melanie over the last few days?” Brent probed.

“No,” Luke said.

“Why weren't you with her?”

“I was meeting a client for drinks.”

Jessie thought she saw Brent's face turn tense. Luke's explanation didn't sit well with Brent. She tried to focus, but the coffee caused her stomach to turn. She dropped her head and used her big toe as a focal point.

“She shouldn't be here,” she heard one of the Harrison brothers say.

“I'll take her to my place,” the other brother said.

Jessie rolled up her head and started to protest. “I'm fine.”

“You're not.” Two hands came down on her waist. She soared to her feet. The coffee spilled everywhere. She gasped; Brent and Luke cursed. A nurse ran over to them with paper towels and helped Jessie.

Luke looked at her. “Just get her out of here.”

Everything after that comment happened fast. She was led back down the hallway towards the entrance. They passed the nurses' station and left the ICU. The elevator brought them back to the main level. Brent didn't talk to her. He just held her arm and moved her along.

A moment of sobriety flickered in Jessie with the cold fall air surrounding her. The clarity passed and she leaned into Brent's strong, hard body. A car door opened. It closed. The smell of a cigarette and a driver with intense eyes met her gaze. Brent lowered his body over hers and he buckled her seat belt over her lap. Jessie molded her hands to his face and held him there. “I love you,” she said incoherently.

“You do not love me,” he answered coldly.

She was confused.

“I'm not your doctor fiancé,” he explained. “You have the wrong guy.”

“Carl doesn't kiss me like you do.”

He grinned. “And no one ever will.”

Heat bolted through her stomach. She didn't like the way her body responded to his. She looked up with all the neutrality she could muster. “Just so you know, I hate diamonds because of you. I hate your family too.”

Brent looked at Daniel. “I changed my mind. I'll take the front seat.”

Whatever.

The car moved and the motion unsettled her stomach. The heaviness of her eyes and the need to just pass out overcame her. All went black.

Someone pushed on her shoulder.

“Go away,” she mumbled.

“Jessica, wake up,” someone said with a voice warm as a dream.

She swatted a hand away.

“Let me try,” came another voice.

“Don't touch her.”

Jessie's eyes fluttered open. That guy—Brent and his sidekick whose name she forgot peered over her. “You're still here,” she said.

“You're at my house,” Brent said, “and it's time to get you to bed.”

She didn't protest. He unbuckled her and his arm slipped around her waist. One look at the set of steps to his house and she rolled her eyes. “You have a lot of stairs.”

“I'm sure you can manage.”

The yard spun out of control. She stumbled up the stairs with him. He grasped her waist and helped her.

They reached the front door and he let them inside. She sighed loudly.

“What?” he said.

“There's so many stairs.” She might crash on this bottom step if he presented a pillow.

He helped her up the steps, and around the corner to yet another set. The evening felt long and unending; the good buzz of the alcohol faded. She yawned as she followed him into a bedroom where she saw the big bed. “I hope you're not planning on sleeping with me.”

He laughed. “No.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I'll be sleeping in my own room. Call me crazy, but back in the car you confessed that you love me. That kind of emotion so soon tends to scare a guy away.”

She folded her hands over her chest. “I did not say that.”

“Never mind then, let's get this over with. This is my guest bedroom.” Brent slung the suitcase on the bed. “There's your stuff.”

“My stuff.”

“Your friend Clara packed a bag for you.”

“I forgot to call her. I should call her. Where's my phone?” Jessie started for the suitcase and lost footing. She flung her hand at the zipper and tugged with clumsy fingers, but it wouldn't budge.

Brent's hand closed around hers. “You can call her in the morning.”

Jessie yanked her hand free and stepped on her own foot. She tripped and fell onto the bed. Her face planted into the pillow. She wanted the spinning to stop. She wanted this night to end. Brent pushed her legs completely onto the bed. A cover folded over her back and locked in some much needed heat.

“Jessica, do you need anything else?” he said, turning off the lights.

“No one calls me Jessica,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Then I'll be the only one.”

Invisible weight bore down on her eyelids. She couldn't keep them open and she entered that sweet spot where dreams were found.

* * * *

Sunlight woke her. Early morning sunshine to be exact. Bright, yellow, cheery, and the polar opposite of Jessie's mood. Piece-by-piece, the room came into focus. The enormous bed she lay in took up most of the space with two dressers squeezed on either side. The pale gray comforter matched the color on the walls. She noticed the room didn't give her any clues as to the owner.

Where
am I?

No ideas came to her mind. This wasn't the Ritz, and Clara and Louise were definitely not nearby. A bad feeling worked its way from the center of her stomach to the rest of her body.

Jessie sat up too fast. Last night crashed down on her head like a hammer. Her hand flew to her forehead. The headache felt strong enough to crack her skull. The bachelorette party…her friends…the kiss…
oh shit
, kissing another man. The mental replay moved forward with unrelenting clarity. There was more though. The hospital. Melanie!

She ripped off the covers. The wrinkled black dress covered her body to mid-thigh. She needed to change and get to the hospital. She saw her suitcase sitting on a chair in the corner and went to open it.

This is Brent Harrison's house,
she thought with a sickening roll through her stomach. She stopped moving. She'd kissed him last night. What else had she done?

There wasn't time to analyze. She covered her hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom. She hovered over the toilet bowl, but nothing happened. She moved slowly over to the counter and splashed her face with water. She took off her engagement ring and pumped soap in her hand and scrubbed her face harder. Then she used her finger to brush her teeth. A tall glass of water is what she required to erase the bad taste from her mouth. Jessie braced both hands on either side of the sink and breathed in a few times. She could do this. She could go back in the bedroom and pull herself together and face him. She walked out of the bathroom and went to her suitcase.

Changed from her girls' night out attire, Jessie made her way down the stairs wearing jeans and a navy sweater with a bulky collar. She dragged her suitcase behind her. The first thing that struck her about the house is how much better it looked in the dark. Mismatched hardwood and wood paneled the walls with cracks and dents. The paint appeared faded and old. Each step she took creaked, and the house gave away her position.

“I'm in the kitchen,” he said.

She left the suitcase at the base of the stairs and found her way to Brent.

“I'm awake,” she said upon entering the room.

“About time,” he responded without looking up from his computer.

She leaned against the wall. The kitchen didn't rank much better than the rest of the house. Split tile on the countertops and floors. Dated appliances. A section of the doors on the cupboards above the oven had been removed and showed off stacks of plates and bowls.

Brent's gaze flickered up to her and back to his screen. “There's coffee, nothing else. You'll have to drink it black.”

She grimaced at the thought of drinking straight-up coffee with no goodies like sugar and flavored creamer. “I'll have water.”

“Cups are above the sink.”

“I can see.”

“There's ibuprofen on the counter.”

She grabbed for the bottle of pills without hesitation. She opened the bottle and chased some down with water. Her gaze sharpened at the sight of his computer screen. On it was an image of a tiara. A beautiful piece laced with pink gems, a green one, and what appeared to be small diamonds. It looked old. Feminine. And expensive. “What's that?” she said, peering over his shoulder.

“None of your business.” He closed the laptop and plucked the mug off the table.

She backed away and leaned against the counter. Brent walked up right next to her. For a moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he reached around her for the pot of coffee. “Do you remember that your sister is in a coma?”

“I hoped I'd only imagined that part of the night.”

“Afraid not.”

“Tell me how she's doing.”

“I know as much as you. Very little. She hasn't regained consciousness.”

Not good.

Jessie knew that any trauma to the brain could be complicated, uncertain, and ultimately, could fail her body. She wished she knew more details, like if the blow to Melanie's head occurred on the front or the back; her vital signs, and if she breathed on her own or with the help of a machine. “We should get going,” she said.