Conflict swirls in her eyes. She inhales slowly, her countenance guarded. “We can talk about this after we figure out what’s going on with your hand.”
The backs of my eyes sting dangerously at the mercy in her words. There has to be a way to figure this out … to fix things between us. A sickening realization hits me. While I could obviously live without this woman and have up to this point, it would fucking suck.I need her like I need air, water.I may hate Mack, but his words are spot-on.
After dressing and locking up the cabin, Calliope drives, though I insist I should. But she won’t hear any of it, somehow knowing my hand hurts far worse than I’ll ever admit.
We take her black Honda Civic, driving in silence, apart from the muted tones of the radio. Fuel’s “Hemorrhage” rages, sounding distant. The Goo Goo Doll’s “Iris” comes next, and I’m starting to think it’s an alternative rock radio station until Prince’s “Purple Rain” comes on. No song better fits my current mood.
I side-eye Calliope, wondering if she’ll ever forgive me. The throb in my hand feels like a fitting punishment for what I unknowingly did to her.
But my head still spins, unable to understand why she thinks I’m Mack, even after my confession. And why didn’t she tell me she was a virgin before I wrecked her pussy? Shit, I feel awful. Like I should grovel. I’m pretty sure I’m going to before this is over.
We wait in the hospital’s emergency room for about half an hour before we get ushered back and into a room. The silence continues between us, long and heavy, though I can’t help myself, grabbing a strand of the glossy black hair she’s unpinned again, playing with it. I need her to forgive me, understand what happened, and let down her guard. The coldness of hercurrent demeanor feels like death after her previous affectionate warmth.
I’ve never been good with words, which makes the situation even worse. Maybe that’s what scares me the most—knowing I could never write a love letter like Mack, even though my words would come straight from the heart.
A nurse walks into the room, her face freezing as she stares at me. “Mack,” she says, her voice ferocious.
For God’s sake!It takes me a moment to realize what’s going on, the incessant throb in my hand making me feel dull and foggy. But then, I remember where I’ve seen her before: Mountain Mates.
“Cindy.” I frown. Another one of Mack’s female correspondents. Great.
The brunette’s eyes narrow jealously as she regards Calliope. “Well, you work quickly. Don’t you?”
Calliope’s head bobs from me to Cindy.
“Can we please keep things professional?” I ask, certain this will be the final straw that makes Callie walk out of my life for good.
“Sure,” she hisses. “I’m here to get your IV going. I’ll try to be gentle.” Her voice sounds ominous. I’m ready to sprint for the hospital main entrance. The last thing I need is one of Mack’s jilted lovers “caring” for me.
She digs the IV needle into my arm, moving it around. I grimace, my good hand forming a fist.
“Hey, be careful. You’re hurting him,” Calliope scolds. God, I love this woman, thinking about my comfort even when I look like the biggest douchebag on the planet.
“He deserves it,” Cindy declares.
Calliope bites her lip, her face hardening. “Maybe. But you deserve a strongly worded complaint to the hospital administration. Or maybe an investigation by law enforcement.”
Cindy laughs. “Please.”
“My dad is a detective in San Francisco County, and he’s got plenty of connections across Northern California.”
The nurse frowns. “They make them dumber and more loyal every day, don’t they?” she barks. Unceremoniously, she leaves the room as I string together a thread of four-letter words, unable to do any better as the pain meds start kicking in.
Calliope’s mouth hangs open. “What was that all about?” she asks, voice raw.
“It has to do with Mack?—”
“The guy you’re not.”
“Exactly.”
She shoots me a skeptical look.
Before I can explain, a middle-aged man with short, graying brown hair enters, wearing a lab coat with a label that reads “Dr. Alan Fitzsimmons.”
“Good evening, Mr. McGregor.”
“Good evening,” I reply.
