“Okay . . . thanks.” Tristan slumps into a seat beside the bed.
“I’ll be back in an hour with some pain medication.” She smiles.
“I don’t need it,” I reply.
“I’ll be back anyway.”
I roll my eyes, and she leaves us alone. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“Fucking hell, Jay, we’ve been out of our head with worry. Searching for you all night.”
I puff air into my cheeks.
“The police came to Emily’s, and then she called me, and then we found your phone in Bryant Park.”
“Emily?” I frown. “Why did you involve her?”
“She’s frantic, Jameson. She wanted to help find you.”
I roll my eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”
“You know, I don’t think she is on with that fuckwit Jake. This was a misunderstanding.”
“Shut up,” I dismiss him.
“No. You shut up. Why won’t you even talk to her?”
“Because she lied to me. Straight to my face about seeing another man.”
He watches me.
“And I don’t need that fucking shit in my life. I have enough going on, if you didn’t notice.”
“She wants to see you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to see her,” I snap.
“Then you need to end it with her; she’s frantic.”
I screw up my face in annoyance. “Just fucking go home. I’ll get Alan to pick me up tomorrow.”
“Why won’t you even talk about this?”
“Because this is none of your business. Emily and I are over. It was over the moment she started lying to me.”
The nurse reappears. “I’m tired,” I announce.
She smiles. “Yes, okay.” She turns her attention to Tristan. “We will call you in the morning when he’s ready for release.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tristan replies. His eyes hold mine, and I know that he knows I’m not tired at all.
The nurse goes into the bathroom.
“And what am I supposed to tell Emily? She’s waiting for my call,” he whispers angrily.
“I don’t give a fuck what you tell her—she’s not my problem.”
He drags his hand down his face. “You’re a selfish son of a bitch sometimes.”
“And your point is?”
He stares at me for an extended time. “See you tomorrow.”
Emily
My phone dances across the coffee table, and I pick it up in a rush.
“He’s okay.” Tristan sighs.
“Thank God.” I close my eyes in relief. “Can I see him?”
“He has a bad concussion and is going to be in the hospital for a few days.”
“What?”
“He said it’s best that you don’t come down; he doesn’t want the media circus.”
My eyes fill with tears. Damn it. It feels like all I do is cry at the moment.
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Did he say anything? About me?” I pause as I try to articulate my thoughts. “How do I get through to him, Tristan?”
He exhales heavily. “I don’t know. He’s got a lot of shit going on, Em. I don’t think he’s thinking straight at the moment. I’ll try and talk to him tomorrow.”
I screw up my face in tears. “Okay,” I whisper. “Can you call me . . . please?” God, I sound like the world’s biggest loser, but I don’t know what else to do. “I’m so worried about him, Tristan.”
“We all are, Em. I’ll call you tomorrow. Just try and get some sleep.”
“Okay, good night.” I hang up and get into the shower, and tears of relief begin to fall.
At least he’s okay, and tomorrow is another day. He will come back to me. I know he will.
I slide down in my chair as I peer across the street. I’m on Operation Spies Like Us.
Hayden is my stalking subject. I don’t know why, but I can’t let this go with him.
I called in sick to work. I figure this story may be the most important story of my entire career to crack.
I still haven’t spoken to Jameson, and with every day that passes, I lose a little more hope.
It’s seven o’clock in the evening. I’m wearing a blonde wig and dark glasses, and I have even rented a car. I’ve been sitting here for eight hours, with no sign of stupid Hayden.
He lives in a busy part of town in a nice apartment block; the street is bustling, and people are everywhere. I have to concentrate on not missing anything.