Page 9 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

“Wait, before you continue, I have a little present. This might sweeten the air between us, and I promise no more mention of the franchise.” He reached back into the coat hanging on the chair and pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart fell straight down to my stomach. Was Layla right? Was Kellan going to propose? And why did that prospect not sound as exciting as it should? Maybe it was just timing. The lunch had started badly, and we still hadn’t swum out of the vortex. A proposal was not the way to do that.

He was beaming when he slid the box across. “Just a little gift for our six-month anniversary. It’s been six months today when we met at the farmer’s market, and we both reached for the box of strawberries.”

“Blueberries,” I corrected, though I had no right to do so because I certainly didn’t know that it was our six-month anniversary.

“Really? No, I remember strawberries.”

“We started talking about antioxidants, so it was clearly blue—” I shook my head. “Not important.”

“I think you’re just feeling out of sorts because you fell off the dock. Tell me again, how on earth does a person fall off the dock?”

“Not in the mood to talk about it.” I stared down at the box.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked. It was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Not sure if this is the time and?—”

He reached over and flipped the top open to reveal a pair of sapphire earrings. Relief pressed the nervous tension out of my body. I smiled and couldn’t believe how glad I was to see a pair of earrings in the box. It helped lighten my mood after what I considered to be our worst date yet. It was rare for us to be so contentious with each other. I guess his brother really was a troublemaker.

“They’re beautiful, Kellan. Thank you.” I pulled out the silver hoops I was wearing and pushed in the sapphire studs. “I think I’ll just dash into the ladies’ room to have a look.”

I was glad for the excuse. I got to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The earrings sparkled sky blue in my ears. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. I needed a few minutes alone. It had been one of those days. I blamed those darn fairies.

ChapterSeven

Dex

Dusk had brought an extraordinary palette of colors, orange and pink and something that was between blue and gray. Living out on the water had its perks, like amazing sunsets and the feeling that you belonged to this earth and to all it had to offer, including the weather. The impending sunset brought a chill with it that seemed to permeate every inch of the cabin. Gus finished his can of sardines and tucked himself between a pile of rope and a folded canvas near the engine hatch. He knew that occasionally that hatch would provide some nice heat, but not tonight. I pulled on my coat and a black beanie. I’d need to buy some gloves, and if I was smart—which was occasionally doubtful—I would buy a helmet.

I glanced over at the next boat. The elderly man, Oscar, was sitting in the dim light of his cabin eating a sandwich. That’s right—even after the bird attack this morning, Aria had braved another walk down the dock just to make sure Oscar had dinner.

I reached the parking lot and threw my leg over the motorcycle. It was easy to see why Quinn loved riding a bike. It was hard not to love the rush, the freedom and the general feeling that you’d thrown off all those boring life guardrails when you were cruising down a long stretch of road with the wind in your face and the power of the bike beneath you. If only there was something exciting at the end of my journey … instead of something devastating.

The county hospital was located in a stretch of town where many of the businesses were boarded up, and the houses were surrounded by chain-link fences and weed-choked front yards. The building itself looked like some sad, left-behind-from-last-century industrial building. An ambulance was parked in the bay, and a gurney was being rolled out of the back. A woman with a tissue pressed to her face sobbed as she followed the gurney inside.

I parked in the visitor’s lot. There were rarely cars there, but tonight, a black SUV sat in one of the spots. Inside, a massive pit bull barked ferociously as I walked past. His teeth clacked against the tinted windows and drool dripped from his chin. There it was again—that rush of adrenaline. Who did the car belong to, and who were they here to see?

I raced to the entrance and smacked the slow-moving glass doors as I waited for them to part. I knew the elevator system was even slower than the glass doors, so I headed for the stairwell. I yanked myself up the three flights in record speed and pushed through the door. A few nurses looked up from their work at the station. The tension in my muscles eased when I saw that they’d been chatting calmly and sipping hot soup from Styrofoam cups.

I recognized one—Nurse Jessop. She was always kind and caring when she took care of Quinn. She smiled. “Only a half hour more for visiting hours. I’ll walk you down. I need to check his IV bag.”

The officer stationed outside Quinn’s room was scrolling through his phone. He lowered it and looked slightly ashamed as he spotted us coming up the hallway. It was hard to blame him. It wasn’t exactly an exciting job, standing watch over a man in a coma. It had taken me three days and a great deal of negotiation to get the prison to release Quinn from their joke of a medical ward, and in those three crucial days, he’d declined in every way. His face and head had taken most of the beating. If not for the tattoo with Angie’s name on his forearm, I wouldn’t have believed my best friend was under all the swelling and bruises. I’d managed only a short conversation with him, mostly one-sided, before he slipped into a coma. Now I was on a mission to make sure he not only survived but that they released him for good. He’d have a long recovery ahead and being returned to a cell would be no different than sending him to the grave. I needed to make things right for him. Just wasn’t sure how to do that yet.

Nurse Jessop strolled right in, but I stopped in the doorway to catch my breath and gather my courage. No one had ever accused me of lacking it, but when it came to seeing Quinn, the tough, tenacious friend I grew up with, in a bed, surrounded by equipment that was keeping him alive and still looking unrecognizable in every possible way, I felt like shrinking into a hole.

I stepped into the room. Most of the light came from the monitors, the ones telling us he was still alive, still holding on, tenuous as his grip was. It seemed every update was from a different doctor, and none of them wanted to give a prognosis. Most of the time it was “Let’s wait and see,” and “It’s up to Quinn now.” Not exactly reassuring words, considering how helpless and weak he looked hooked up to the machines.

Quinn had always been a blast of energy whenever he walked into a room. His striking good looks and charm always attracted attention, and he was never short of admirers and friends. He was also far too cocky, and he could get himself into trouble with hardly taking a breath.

“How’s Angie holding up?” Nurse Jessop’s gentle tone cut through my thoughts and my apprehension about stepping into the room. Angie was right—the noises from the machines and the persistent odor of medicine, machinery and all the unpleasant smells that came with a hospital visit instantly pervaded my senses and burrowed themselves right into my soul.

“Angie’s a strong woman. She’s by far the best thing that ever happened to Quinn.” My steps were heavy, but I finally reached the bedside. I pulled the chair closer and sat down. Somehow, it was easier to look at him from that angle than from above, where you could see all of him, limp and pale and needing a machine just to breathe.

I sat silently watching as Nurse Jessop carefully adjusted Quinn’s pillow, moved his limbs slightly and checked his vitals. The small bit of movement caused the beep on the heart monitor to pick up speed before slowing again. “He’s resting well this evening. Last night, his vitals were up and down like a seesaw. Dr. Reeves changed some of the dosages. It seems we’ve finally found the right balance.” She adjusted the respirator on his face, which again caused a little disruption on the monitor before everything mellowed.

The last time I’d been in a hospital room with monitors, Quinn had been sitting right next to me, alive and well. In the middle of trying to set ourselves on a reasonable life path, he’d gotten a message from an aunt, a woman he knew only as his dad’s younger sister, Blythe. She told him his dad was in the hospital dying from lung cancer and if he wanted to say goodbye, he needed to hurry. He asked me to go with him. Told me he couldn’t bear to stand in a room alone with the man, even if he had one foot in the grave. We both went. Not to say goodbye, but to make sure the monster was finally gone for good.

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