She lifts her eyebrows and waits for me to elaborate.
I sigh. “Look. It’s just what decent people do when they hear that someone else has been hurt. Not that I’d expect you to understand these sorts of human concepts.”
“I’m decent.” She mutters something unintelligible about the Rockettes, making me wonder if her head injury is more severe than I realized.
But I force myself not to ask what the hell she’s talking about. The less detail I know about her current life, the harder it will be to get sucked into it. I know from experience once I do, it’s nearly impossible to get untangled from this woman once I’ve engaged.
“If it helps,” I add. “I completely regret coming.”
Katherine touches the bandage on her forehead gingerly and gives a tiny smile. “That does help, actually. Thank you.”
I roll my eyes, then steady my gaze back on her. For a moment I’m reminded of back then. Back when I cared about her. And her me.
Back before it all went to hell.
Time has dulled that pain. Hell, up until this moment, I thought that time had banished it from existence entirely.
Seeing her again, though . . . I realize the ache is still there. Duller, but definitely present. A bit like a TV at a sports bar that’s tuned to a channel you wouldn’t have chosen. It’s not showing your team. It’s not even showing your preferred sport. But for some reason, it demands a little bit of your attention anyway.
That’s Katherine right now. Not my team. Not my sport. And yet I can’t seem to look away.
If there was a gun to my head? Sure. I could admit that I think about Katherine in a dim, muted kind of way. But since, odds are, the person holding said gun would be Katherine herself, I’ll never admit any of these complicated emotions to her.
Katherine thinks other people’s feelings are a weapon, and it’s one she’s not afraid to use when she’s feeling wounded. Which, given how banged up she looks, is now.
And yet, the way she’s looking at me, I don’t think she wants to hurt me. It’s almost as though—
Our almost-not-quite-a-moment is interrupted by a new face and the confident stride of a doctor. “Hi there, how are we? I’m Dr. Palmer.”
The doctor looks my way. “Ah, he made it! You must be the husband.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Only in my nightmares.”
“Oh. I apologize.” The doctor looks down at her screen with a frown.
“There was a paperwork mix-up,” Katherine explains. “Tom was just leaving.”
Whatever human feelings she might have been having are apparently gone because she tries to shoo me away, tugging the IV in the process. She winces at the pain but recovers quickly to glare at me. My presence here clearly is aggravating the hell out of her. It’s all the invitation I need.
I give a taunting grin and wheel my suitcase up against the wall out of the way with a flourish. To really sell the “I’m here to stay awhile” effect, I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over the handle of my suitcase.
Katherine’s glare intensifies, and when I meet her eyes, she mouths, I will kill you.
Then she draws a line across her neck.
I can’t help but laugh. She’s so . . .
Katherine.
“So, what are we dealing with here?” I ask, turning all my attention to the doctor and crossing my arms with a worried frown, giving my best “concerned spouse” performance.
If there’s a touch of truth to the performance, I’ll never tell.
“Let me guess,” I continue. “Aneurysm caused by excessive cell phone use?”
“Speaking of my cell phone, I can’t find it,” Katherine interjects. “And the nurse. Blue Jell-O wouldn’t bring it to me, even though I asked very nicely.”
I give her a look, which she ignores.
“Being without your cell phone? Your worst nightmare,” I say under my breath.
“You’re my worst nightmare,” she shoots back. Not under her breath.
“By all means, Katie,” I say, spreading my hands to the side. “Feel free to call your other emergency contact. Oh, wait . . .”
Katherine looks away quickly, and I feel a knot of guilt in my chest at the realization that my barb landed a little more sharply than I intended.
Obviously, her reasons for not updating her emergency contact information have less to do about oversight or some sort of weird revenge agenda, and more to do with the fact that . . .
Katherine doesn’t have anyone else.
I can’t seem to make up my mind how I feel about this.
Katherine’s attention returns to the doctor. “So, what’s the story? When can I go home?”
“Well, we got the results of your CT scan.” The doctor glances my way, clearly reluctant to discuss Katherine’s medical details in front of a nonfamily member.
Katherine picks up on this too because she waves her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Tom and I used to be . . . lovers.”
“Gross,” I mutter. “Don’t phrase it like that.”
“We were married, actually,” Katherine clarifies. “I know. It’s hard for me to believe too. But I was the love of his life who broke his heart.”
Now it’s my turn to look away, but not before I see her frown. Perhaps I’m not the only one shooting unintended barbs with unexpected landings.
The doctor wisely declines to acknowledge any of our romantic history and instead studies her tablet once more. “As we expected when you were brought in, that nasty headache you’re feeling goes hand in hand with a concussion.”
“Impossible,” I say. “Her head’s much too hard for that.”
It’s not one of my best quips, and both the doctor and Katherine ignore me.
“How bad a concussion?” Katherine asks, frowning.
“Well, you lost consciousness for a good while, so we’re definitely talking more than a little bump on the head. But I see no reason why you won’t make a full recovery.”
“Excellent.” Katherine is already shoving aside the hospital blankets. “Let’s get me some magic pills for this headache, locate my phone, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Not so fast,” the doctor says, stepping forward and setting a hand on Katherine’s shoulder before she can stand. “Concussions are a minor traumatic brain injury, but they’re still a brain injury. You’ll need follow-up observation to ensure we’re not dealing with any serious side effects.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” Katherine says. “As Tom pointed out, I’ve got a hard head.”
“Actually, it’s not just the head that I’m concerned about.”
Katherine goes still with just enough worry on her face that I have to resist the urge to move closer, to offer comfort that I know she won’t want. Not from me.
The doctor is reaching behind Katherine, gently pulling aside the side of the gown. “You got a pretty nasty gash back here just between your shoulder blades. It’s a good eight inches long and was deep enough to require stitches.”
“Jesus.” I drag a hand over my face, more bothered than I want to be by the news. “What the hell happened, Katie?”