Healed heart, p.8
Healed Heart, page 8
After hanging up, I spend a moment looking at Tillie. Her eyes are almost human in their understanding, her soft fur comforting under my fingers. She gives me a quick lick on the hand before trotting off toward her bed in the corner of the room.
Alone again, I sit in the silence of my house, wrestling with my thoughts. Is it possible that Henry hurt Ralph?
I shake my head at the thought. Henry is kind-hearted and gentle—usually. But then again, we all have our breaking points.
And Henry, when he reaches his, can be lethal.
Chapter Sixteen
Jason
The fluorescent lights buzz above me, casting everything in a harsh, artificial glow. The hospital. I both love and hate this place.
Ralph’s room is located near the end of a corridor, away from the noises of the nurses’ station. I grasp the cool metal handle and push the door open.
Ralph looks small and pitiful in the large hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his arms and covering some of his face. His eyes are closed as if he’s sleeping. Or maybe he’s intentionally ignoring my presence.
“Ralph,” I say, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.
No response.
The thought of him taunting Angie stirs a raw anger in me. I quickly push it down. A man in my profession should never find joy in another’s suffering.
“Ralph,” I repeat, louder this time. “I know you’re awake.”
His eyes flutter open. There’s a flicker of recognition, and then something darker, something like dread.
“Dr. Lansing,” he rasps out, wincing slightly as if the effort to speak is too much for him. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I respond coolly, crossing my arms.
“What can I say? I love the food here.”
I roll my eyes.
He glares at me. “Take a look. Why the fuck do you think I’m here?”
I pull up a chair and sit beside his bed. “Why’d you do it?” My voice is steady and controlled, as cold as the stainless-steel fixtures in the room.
“Do what?” he asks.
His feigned innocence makes me want to finish the job someone started.
“Threaten Angie?” I grit out. “We both know you’re the one who emailed HR.”
Ralph swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He tries to speak but only coughs, the sound echoing harshly in the room.
“I didn’t,” he croaks after a moment.
“Save your lies for someone who gives a damn,” I snap, leaning forward so my face is inches from his. “You hurt Angie, and you’re going to pay for it.”
Ralph’s eyes widen, a flicker of raw terror flashing across them. He starts to shake his head, attempting denial yet again. But I’m not here for lies or excuses.
I stand, my chair scraping against the cold linoleum floor. The sound reverberates through the room.
“You know what’s funny, Ralph? I’ve never been a violent man. But for you, I find myself considering becoming one.”
His lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. The fear in his eyes is palpable now, and I can’t help but feel a small measure of satisfaction.
“But,” I continue, “for Angie’s sake, I won’t stoop to your level.”
My fists are clenched at my sides, knuckles white with the effort of control. But Angie wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want me to become a monster like him. She already doubts me, and I won’t give her further reason to.
Someone kicked the shit out of Ralph, but it wasn’t me.
I’d like to find out who it was, though, and take him out to dinner.
Ralph finally looks at me. Opens his mouth.
“What?” I say.
“You never fucking deserved her.”
Never deserved Angie? He may be right about that. But I sure as hell deserve her more than he does.
“Fuck you,” I reply, and I leave the room.
I’m staring at Lindsay’s yearbook, at the picture of Rebecca Tate.
Is she R. Lyon? Or is this a false lead?
Only one way to find out.
I walk over to my computer, open up Facebook. Search her name.
Lots of people come up. Rebecca Tate is a pretty common name, turns out.
I click on a few profiles, seeing if any of them grew up in Jersey, went to the same high school as Lindsay.
No dice.
I check Instagram. X. Fucking Pinterest.
Rebecca Tate appears to not have any accounts on any social media sites.
Good for her. But not good for me.
I go to Google, type in her name along with the words New Jersey.
Again, several names come up on those people-finding websites. I click and scan the first few pages of results. A lot of Rebecca Tates around Lindsay’s age live in New Jersey, and it’s not like I can get on a plane and go knocking on doors asking if they’re the one I’m looking for.
But then I remember something Lindsay’s dad mentioned at dinner at his house.
I pull out my cell and call him.
“Jason. Everything okay? Lis and I were just about to go to bed.”
I look at my watch. Shit. It’s nearly ten p.m.
“Sorry, I realize it’s late. I just… You mentioned hiring a PI after Lindsay passed away.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. “Can you give me his number?”
Chapter Seventeen
Angie
I beat my brother to the restaurant.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks.
“Uh…I don’t actually know. Maybe. Henry Simpson? He’s my brother.”
She taps on her computer. “Yes, here it is. For two. I take it Mr. Simpson isn’t here yet?”
I look around the entryway. “Apparently not.”
“Let me show you to your table.”
I follow the hostess through the Italian restaurant. I feel like I’m back in 1960, with the checkered tablecloths, Chianti bottles doubling as candle holders, and the soft crooning of Sinatra’s classics. I inhale the robust scent of roasted tomatoes and garlic.
I’m seated near the window. The view outside is mostly blocked by flamboyant flowerpots, but I don’t mind. My focus is inward tonight anyway.
The hostess flutters away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My mind keeps circling back to that question.
Who hurt Ralph? He’s a dick, and I don’t really care that he’s had the shit kicked out of him, but it could all come back to bite me in the ass. Well…not me so much as Jason.
Jason. His name sends a jolt down my spine. Worry gnaws at me. Could he have been the one who hurt Ralph? It’s hard to believe, given his gratitude toward the cadavers in anatomy lab, how he insisted that we treat them with respect for the gift they’ve given us. He’s a physician. A healer.
A healer who can’t heal…
What has that done to him?
I don’t really know the man.
How can I love him so much when I know so little about him?
A server approaches me. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait for your companion?”
“Yes, please. A glass of Chianti would be lovely. And some ice water.”
“Coming right up.” She whisks away.
I glance around at the other patrons, couples mostly, leaning in close over candlelight and shared plates of pasta.
A few minutes later, my brother bursts through the front door like a tornado in a suit. He heads straight to our table, launching himself into the chair opposite me.
Henry is classically handsome with blond hair and blue eyes—like a young Robert Redford. He looks so much like our father, only better-looking, if that’s possible. He’s actually my half-brother. His birth mother was a Las Vegas showgirl. She gave up her parental rights when Henry was a baby, and my mom adopted him when she married my dad.
He’s normally well put together, but tonight there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is mussed.
“Angie!” He grabs a breadstick and munches into it.
“Henry,” I return, taking in his weary appearance. “You look like hell.”
He chuckles at that, the sound devoid of any real humor. “You always did know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”
I reach over the table to squeeze his hand. “How’s work?” I ask.
He collapses his shoulders in mock exhaustion. “Awful. I’m buried in paperwork, and my boss is a control freak.”
I laugh at that, since Henry is the boss.
He is kind of a control freak, though, so he’s not wrong.
Our server arrives with my drinks and takes Henry’s order.
After she leaves, Henry leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting out the window. “How’s life in medical school?”
I shrug, swirling the wine in my glass. “The usual.”
What a freaking lie.
Henry chuckles again, this time with a bit more humor. “You should have followed in my footsteps, Angie,” he teases. “Work for the family. Stay on the Western Slope, where the air is fresh and the mountains are gorgeous.”
I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my Chianti. “And deal with people like you all day? No thanks. Besides, I’m right in the foothills here. I love Boulder.”
He shrugs. “It’s not bad.”
The server brings him his drink—a dirty martini—takes our orders, and leaves.
“How long have you been in town?” I ask.
“Since yesterday. I would have called, but like I said, this was a last-minute trip. Brad wanted to be home because Uncle Joe is having some tests, and he wants to be at the hospital when the results come in.”
That thought sobers me up quickly. Not that I was in a particularly good mood, but Uncle Joe’s cancer has us all freaked.
“I saw Aunt Mel over the weekend,” I say. “She seems in good spirits.”
“That’s her way.”
“True,” I say, tracing the rim of my wine glass. Aunt Mel has always been the picture of resilience ever since I can remember. Even now, with her husband battling a terminal illness, she somehow exudes an aura of unyielding strength.
“Uncle Joe’s lucky to have her.” Henry takes a sip of his drink.
I nod. “She’s been his rock throughout all this.”
The server returns with plates of steaming pasta and gives us a cheerful smile that seems oddly misplaced amidst the somber mood at our table.
As we dig into our meals, I regard my brother. His golden-boy exterior has always masked the depths of his complexity. Beneath his charismatic charm and confident demeanor lies a man who would move a mountain to protect me, but no way could he know about Jason and Ralph. I’m not even going to bother asking if he had anything to do with Ralph’s incident.
“So what were you doing yesterday?” I ask.
“Same.” He twirls his fork in his pasta. “In the conference all day.”
“And last night?”
He keeps his eyes focused on his plate. “Went out with a few guys I met. Had a couple of beers.”
Did Ralph get attacked last night? Or was it this morning?
I have no idea. All I know is that it happened sometime between the time I saw him, when I was going to Jason’s office, and today.
But again, Henry had nothing to do with this.
If he had, he’d have some kind of tell. He can take Ralph in a minute, but he’d have some kind of bruise or scrape. He’s not bulletproof.
“Why the interrogation?” he asks.
“Just making conversation,” I reply, keeping my gaze steady. The last thing I want is for Henry to get suspicious. He’s protective and fiercely loyal, two qualities that have landed him in hot water more than once.
Henry gives me a measured look. “All right, but you’re usually not this interested in my social life.”
“Can’t a sister be concerned about her brother?”
Henry chuckles at that, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure, as long as it doesn’t come with any veiled insults.”
I laugh genuinely this time. “No veiled insults. Promise.”
We share stories about work, school, reminisce about our childhood and keep the conversation light, given the circumstances with Uncle Joe.
By the time we finish our meals and pay the bill, it’s already late. Henry rises and stretches. “I should head back to the hotel. Early morning meeting tomorrow.”
I nod, pushing back my chair as well. “I’ll walk you out.”
We make our way through the restaurant. The crisp night air hits us as we step outside, causing me to pull my jacket a bit closer as we walk to my car.
“Take care of yourself, sis,” Henry says, pulling me into a brief hug.
“You too,” I reply, stepping back and looking up at him. “And try not to work yourself to death.”
He smiles at that. “I’ll do my best.”
With a final wave, he heads down the street to where he parked his car. I watch him go, left alone with my thoughts once again. As I get into my car, my mind drifts back to Jason and Ralph.
Despite my attempts to dismiss them, nagging doubts continue to gnaw at me. If Jason isn’t responsible for what happened to Ralph…then who is?
Chapter Eighteen
Jason
After pounding on Angie’s door earlier in the evening—no answer—I keep watch for her car to drive up.
Fuck Ralph, anyway.
He was after Angie.
Of course he was. She’s beautiful, kind, smart. Who wouldn’t want her?
And when she rebuffed him, he retaliated.
None of that explains who kicked his ass, but I don’t rightfully care, to be honest. He had it coming. Trying to screw me over with HR, coming on to Angie. He’s a freak.
Besides, he’s older. Who the hell does he think he is? Angie’s just a—
I stop my thought.
Ralph is probably close to my age. Maybe a little older. Hard to tell. And I fell for Angie.
Who wouldn’t?
I continue to watch the cars drive by until—
Angie’s car.
It’s close to eleven o’clock on a weeknight. Where the hell has she been?
Probably studying at the library. No need to be concerned. Besides, Ralph can’t hurt her. He’s bandaged up in a hospital bed.
Once her car disappears into her garage, I put on my jacket and scarf and walk the three doors to her place.
I pound on the door and wait, shifting from foot to foot, hands jammed into my pockets for warmth. Tillie’s shrill bark echoes through the door.
Angie opens the door, Tillie wriggling in her arms.
“Jason?” She sets Tillie down. “What is it? I was just about to put her out. She’s been alone for several hours.”
“I know.” I cross my arms. “You weren’t here.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I thin my lips. “I mean, I came over earlier.”
“Oh. Sorry. Come on in.”
I enter while she ushers Tillie out the back door.
“So where were you?” I demand, my voice more commanding than I mean it to be.
She crinkles her eyes. “I had a dinner date.”
Jealousy spears into me. “With a man?”
She smiles. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
My heart plummets. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she’d be seeing anyone else. “Oh.”
“But don’t get too worked up,” she adds, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Why shouldn’t I? Do you like him?”
“Well, yeah. I love him, actually.”
My stomach drops.
She holds up a hand. “Easy, Jason. You look like a truck just hit you. I had dinner in Westminster. With my brother.”
Relief washes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me weak at the knees. I slump onto one of her kitchen chairs, massaging my forehead. “Oh.”
She chuckles softly at that, crossing her arms as she leans against the kitchen counter. “You look like you just dodged a bullet.”
“Feels like it,” I admit, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
God, all that’s going on. I’m in love with my student, I’m dealing with this experimental surgery and its fallout, the HR nightmare…and Lindsay’s suicide note. Plus, Angie thought—if only for a fleeting moment—that I’m the one who attacked Ralph.
My life is a fucking trainwreck.
“Anyway,” Angie continues, pushing herself off the counter and moving toward the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink? You look like you could use one.”
“Water is fine,” I reply, watching her as she moves with ease around her kitchen.
She fills a glass from the tap on the refrigerator and hands it to me, her fingers brushing against mine as I take it. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, a reminder of the chemistry that seems to spark whenever we’re together.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
She simply nods and leans back against the counter, studying me with an unreadable expression. “You didn’t just come here for the water, did you?”
“No,” I admit. “I wanted to talk about Ralph.”
Immediately, her relaxed demeanor stiffens. Her eyes narrow slightly as she crosses her arms protectively over her chest. “What about him?”
I clear my throat. “Do you still think I did it?”
She sighs. “I don’t want to think it.”
“Then don’t.”
Another sigh. “My head has cleared. I know you didn’t do it, Jason.”
More relief. “You do?”
“Yeah, and I’m sorry.” She looks down, runs her hands over her forehead. “My mind has been a mess lately.”
“I hear that one.” I take a sip of water. “It seems he has a thing for you. Ralph.”
She drops her mouth open.
“I mean, he came on to you, right?”
“Yeah. But Jason, he’s a dickhead. I have no interest in him at all.” She grabs my hands. “I love you, remember?”
