Page 3 of Make You Love Me
More like she’s too good for him.
“He never loved me. Just loved how I looked on his arm and felt in his bed.”
Okay. I’ve heard enough. “Jo Jo?”
“Oh, my god.” Her phone rattles on the floor as the vinyl couch cushions squeak. She’s next to me in seconds and flips on a light above us. “Jordan, I’m here.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?” The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her skin splotchy. Josie will cry at anything that moves her, upsets her, frustrates her, or scares her. I know her signs and see them all in her now.
“What’s wrong?”
“Jordan, sweetie.” She sniffs and sits next to me. “You’re in the hospital. Don’t you remember?”
My eyes cut to the right to see more stark white walls, a TV, a sink, and several life-monitoring machines. No. I don’t fucking remember. My heart rate spikes as I try to think back, and the beeping monitor next to me picks up speed.
“What happened to me?”
“Let me get the doctor.” She moves off the bed, and I grab her wrist to stop her.
“No. Tell me what happened.”
“I will. I promise,” she says to pacify me. It doesn’t work. “Let me tell them you’re awake first.”
“Why?”
“Jordan, you’ve been in and out of a coma for two weeks. Your doctors need to know you’re awake and communicating.” She leans close to press a kiss to my damp forehead, and I hear a click.
Damn her.
She sits back on the mattress, the alert button in her hand. “I’m so happy to see those beautiful eyes of yours again. You had us so worried.”
“Jo, I—”
Two nurses rush into the room and start checking my vitals. I want to scream for them to get out, but their kind, empathetic smiles shut me up. After all, I feel fine. Well, other than my bones aching like they were pushed through a shredder and my head pounding at a nauseating pace, I…feel…fine.
The heart monitor’s pace switches from rhythmic to erratic as my vision blurs. I hear echoes of tools being dropped onto a metal tray, footsteps running in all directions, and frantic voices. Someone yells my name before it all goes silent.
???
“Good news,” Josie says, but with the siren going off in my ears, I can’t tell if she’s talking to me. I open my eyes and roll my head until I find her on the couch again, talking to someone on the phone—her best friend Grant, most likely.
It’s daytime, and she’s wearing her usual patterned leggings that don’t match her oversized sweater, which, of course, is hanging off her slender shoulder. Her feet are bare. I swear the woman hates shoes. And her wavy blonde hair is wild, tied into a loose bun on the top of her head. She reminds me of Mom when Josie and I were in elementary school, my most vivid memory of her.
“He’s still hanging on,” she continues. “Guess it really is impossible to kill a Marine.” She chuckles at her joke, but it’s not her authentic laugh. The real one could short circuit light bulbs.
Wait. Did she say kill? Did someone try to murder me? I dreamed recently of a car crash. Of metal crushing my body until I passed out. It felt too real, too vivid, for a dream. But that could be from all the medication flowing through my veins.
“Not until he can stay conscious for more than a few minutes. All day, preferably. He’s got a long road of rehab ahead of him.” She twirls a curl of hair around her finger as she listens. “Not sure. I bought a few paint supplies last week and have some commissions lined up. Everything I own is in New York.” Another pause. “That would be great, but I can’t ask you to do that…Are you sure? Looks like we’ll be here a while, so anytime that works for you. I don’t have a lot. Just clothes and art supplies. Ryder furnished the flat…I hate dumping this on you…But it will be nice to see you and show you around Richmond…You should reserve a hotel room, though. The apartment I rented is a one bedroom and not exactly the Fifth Avenue standards you’re accustomed to…Thank you, Grant. Try not to go all RuPaul on Ryder. He can’t help who he is…I know. I can’tand won’t stop you. Just watch your back…You’re the best. You know that, right?”
I don’t make eavesdropping on my sister’s conversations a habit, but since I have no idea what’s going on, I need every clue I can get. The main thing I want to know, besides the name of my would-be murderer, is where the hell is my girlfriend? Does Nora not know what happened to me? Wouldn’t she be worried that I’ve gone missing for weeks? Getting back to normal would be easier if I could hear her voice, look into her beautiful brown eyes, and feel her body against mine.
“Where’s my phone?” I mutter, probably not as loud as it sounds in my foggy head since Josie doesn’t budge. Determined, I push up onto the elbow not restricted by a sling, ripping the oxygen tube off my face. Flashes of light blind me, as does the pain in my abdomen and shoulder. Acid in my empty stomach rises into my throat.
“Jordan! What are you doing?”
Reading my face, she grabs a trash can along the way to me and holds it under my chin. I hurl my insides into it, but there isn’t much since I can’t remember the last time I ate.
