Broken Promises (7 page)

Trystan watches me, looking up at me from the cold bed. His breath lifts his body making his beautiful chest rise and fall. There's a cut on his lip that's covered in dried blood. I don't know why I do it, but I change directions, leaning toward his mouth, carefully dabbing at the cut until it's clean. I’m so close that his scent fills my head. I wish I could stay in this place, I wish I could lie against his chest and feel his arms wrap around me once more. I'm frozen in time, staring at his mouth when the door to the room bangs open and someone barges through it yelling and cursing at Trystan.

I stand up straight and whirl around to meet the sound. Standing in front of me is a man in a black suit and shoes so shiny they look like glass. He's tall, thin, and twice my age. His face is red, contorted with anger, and he rushes at Trystan. Security is close behind.

"What the fuck are you thinking? Do you know what this means for the project? You dumb little shit! Do you have any idea?"

I stand there for a second, stunned, before I remember myself. "Sir, you need to leave!"

I step between them and put my hands on my hips, glaring at the man. He laughs. "Bedded her already, Trystan? Can't you keep it in your pants for five goddamn seconds to take care of work? This project," he says waving a folder of papers through the air, "starts next week!" I see something printed on the tab on the top of the folder, but the guy is waving it around so much I can't read what it says. "Tell me you're not the asshole I think you are. Tell me you know your fucking lines." The man is looking over my shoulder, glaring at Trystan.

I'm too short to block his view, and he ignores me like I'm the nobody he thinks I am. Fuck that. I snap my fingers in his face. When he looks down at me, I let him have it. I shove my finger into his chest and push hard. "No one talks to my patients like that in this ER. Get your ass out the door before I have security throw you out!"

He laughs. The dumbass laughs in my face. "Women always get this way around him. I hate to break it to you, honey, but Trystan Scott doesn't give a shit about you. He's talking about someone else. He always talks about her when he's like this, so don't think he's into you. That little shit isn't into anyone except himself." He screams over my shoulder again, yelling at Trystan, "You cost us millions, you little prick! You should have—hey!"

I lose it. I've never done anything like this in my life, but suddenly my clipboard is in my hands, and I swing right at the guy’s head. I clock him with the backside of the clipboard above his ear. "I SAID GET OUT! LEAVE! NOW!"

He retreats one step with each word I say. He cowers as he backs away from me, covering his ear, which leaves the other ear wide open.

WHACK

I hit the other side and rise on my toes to scream in his face. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ER AND NEVER COME BACK!" My eyes narrow to thin slits and I'm ready to claw his face off.

Security arrives as the man crosses the threshold of the room. "You crazy bitch! You hit me! I'll tell your supervisor and have you fired before you can blink. Get a doctor in here now!"

Tipping my head to the side, I smile. "I am a doctor. Get the fuck out."

The man works his jaw and looks back at the security guards who are reaching for his arms. He shakes them off, angrily glaring at Trystan over my shoulder. "Here's the fucking script. You better show up, and if makeup can't cover that mess on your face you're in deep shit, kid!" He throws the folder over my shoulder into the room, papers flying everywhere.

"Enough of that," the guard says, pulling the guy by the elbow and turning him around. He's swearing, but I'm no longer listening. I slam the door shut and turn around, pressing my back to it, breathing hard.

Trystan is sitting up and looks like he's about to fall over. He must have tried to stand. His head sways in a circle as his eyes flutter closed. His hand touches his head, and he falls to the side. I rush at him, managing to get there before he falls to the floor. "Trystan, you can't get up. You've got a lot of medicine in your system. Don't sit up. Don't stand, okay?"

My arm is under his shoulder as I lay him back down on the table. When I pull away, he holds onto my hand for a second. "Thanks, for that."

I try not to smile, but I can't help it. "Dad is going to kill me. I hit that man with a clipboard."

The corners of Trystan's lips twitch as he adds, "Twice."

We both laugh for a moment, and when the room goes silent, I look down at the papers on the floor. Bending down, I pick one up. It's a script. Holding up the sheet, I ask, "What was this all about, anyway?"

Trystan sighs and closes his eyes. He presses a hand over his eyes and tells me. "That asshole was a representative of the studio filming a movie I’m supposedly doing. We start shooting next week. There was shit I was supposed to be at last week, but I blew it off."

"Why?"

His eyelids lower, and those long dark lashes obscure his gaze. He glances to the side for a beat and then back up at me, grinning. "I can't learn my lines." He shrugs, and then winces. "I haven't acted since high school. That was almost a decade ago, and I had help—Tucker and you. Agreeing to do this film was a mistake. I can't focus on the words, and nothing is sticking—not a single phrase. That's why he was pissed. Plus I ruined my face."

"Your face will be fine. You had the best doctor around stitch you up. They can cover that with your hair and the makeup department can hide any bruising still visible when filming starts." I'm quiet for a moment, thinking.

"That part doesn’t matter as much. They needed me, and this isn't going to happen. My agent is going to be pissed." Trystan sucks in air and releases it swiftly.

Before I have too much time to think, I say it. "I'll help you. I'll run lines with you."

Trystan drops his arm and looks at me, stunned. His dark brows bunch together and his lips part slightly. He pushes up on his elbow a little, lifting his head off the bed. "Why would you do that for me?"

My stomach is in my throat. I don't want to think about why I said that. The answer is somewhere inside of me, but I'd rather not face it this second. So I smirk and shrug. "Because you need a friend, and so do I."

"You do?"

I nod. "Yeah, besides—if you don't listen, I’ll get to slap you with my clipboard."

He smiles at me, lying back and closing his eyes. After placing his hands on his abs and lacing his fingers together, he opens one eye, and says, "You're such a badass, Mari. I like this side of you."

CHAPTER 11

MARI

T
ired doesn't begin to describe how I feel as I get ready to leave the ER. My limbs feel as if they are made of lead—I can barely move. I’m stiff all over, and my feet are dragging as I hand Rose the rest of my paperwork, ready to head out.

“So,” she says without glancing up at me from behind the desk or accepting my paperwork. Her fingers move swiftly across the keyboard for a few seconds before she lifts her gaze.

I know what she’s getting at, and I’m too tired to get into it right now. “So.”

“Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to dust off my sleuthing hat?”

I lift a brow at her. “You have a sleuthing hat?”

“It’s metaphorical, and don’t you dodge the question.”

“I’m sorry. I missed the question, and I’m tired. I’m leaving, Rose.” I force my folders into her hands and swipe my card through the time clock.

Rose stays in her chair and makes one of those old lady noises that makes me want to spill my guts. “Mmm-um. Well, you know where to find me when you’re ready to come clean about your past with that boy.”

I laugh lightly. “No one has called Trystan Scott a boy in nearly a decade.”

“I’m old enough to be his mother, so he’s still a boy to me. And you’re a girl, and it’s plain enough to see you two have a history. What happened after high school?”

My jaw drops and I slap my hands down on the counter. Another nurse looks up at me, startled. I lean in toward Rose and whisper-yell. “Did you Google me? Why would you do that?” My voice is way too high. I might as well confess. Whatever she's thinking will be way worse than what actually happened with Trystan.

“I did not Google you! I Googled him. Then I read his Wiki page and happened to see that he also attended your high school, which I recall because I already know everything about you. So, is there a juicy story there, Mari? A sordid love affair with the rock star before he became someone?” She’s trying not to smile and folds her hands under her chin.

“Oh, God! Rose, you’re off base here. And don’t smile, your face will crack.” I start looking for my keys. They should be on the counter, but they aren’t. Damn it, Mitchell!

Rose laughs. “Come on, you know something about him, or you wouldn’t be acting all squirrelly. Lay it on me. I’m an old lady and need to live vicariously through you young people.” She tips her head to the side and grins. I know if I don’t offer something she’ll hound me until I crack, so I throw her a bone.

I make a sound in the back of my throat and flop my head on her desk. “Yes, we were in high school together. We got locked in a closet once. Fun times.” I lift my head and grin. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

Her lips form a big O and her dark eyes nearly fall out of her face. “You did not do that to an old woman!”

“You’re not old, Rose!” I turn and start to walk away.

She calls out behind me. “And don’t I know it. I’m your younger, tanner sister from back in the day. We’re twins separated at birth.”

The corner of my mouth pulls up. I turn, walking backward as I say, “That means Dr. Hardass is your dad, too. I’ll be sure to get you a seat at the dinner table, right next to him.” No one likes sitting next to Dad when he eats. Everything has to be perfectly displayed—all outlines squared off to his napkin, plate, and placemat. When he eats in the cafeteria, he does the same thing—and yes, he brings a placemat, because he’s him.

Rose frowns and wags a finger at me. “I meant to say step-sister. Yeah. That makes more sense, especially considering you don’t like crawfish. Who doesn't like crawfish?” She shakes her head like it’s weird.

“Good night, Rose! I need to find Mitchell before he leaves. The guy has my keys.”

“Oh, he’s already gone, honey.”

I stop and look back at her. “And my keys?”

She shrugs. “He didn’t give them to me.”

“Crap.” Annoyed, I rush outside into the early morning air. The sun isn’t quite rising yet, so the sky is still that dark blue.

The cop that told me not to park at the entrance earlier is still there. He smiles and walks over to me, stepping lightly as if he were dancing. “Good evening, DOCTOR Jennings.”

I stare at him for a second and then blurt out. “You towed my car, didn’t you?”

He smacks his lips and makes a popping sound, before leaning in close to me. “I sure did. The Suffolk County police force is not your personal valet, Doc. I couldn’t leave my station, and you were in a red zone.”

“So I know whether or not to kick Mitchell's ass—did he come out here?”

He shoots me a wide grin, no teeth showing. The cop tucks his arms under his elbows and nods once. “I might remember someone trying to find the keys, but they weren’t in the ignition. Damnedest thing happened after that, a tow truck just happened to show up.”

I groan and stare at him. “Why do you hate me?”

“Why do doctors act like they’re better than everyone else?”

“I didn’t do that.”

“You tossed me your keys like I was a servant. Word to the wise—if you’re not careful, you’ll turn into your old man.”

I cringe. “Fine, you’re right. I was an ass before. Let me make it up to you. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts down the street.”

He laughs. “Wiseass.”

“Maybe. Okay, I’m headed home, right after I call a cab. And, I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to come off like that. It’s been a really weird night.” As I finish the sentence, a limo pulls up behind me. The headlights shoot two narrow beams of light through the dark parking lot.

A tinted window slides down, and Trystan peers out at me. “Need a ride, Doc?”

The cop tenses, as if he were trying not to go totally fangirl in front of Trystan Scott.

I’m too tired to say no, and I don’t want to call a cab to pick me up. Last time I rode home at this hour, the guy talked about pickles the whole time. I think he was trying to make innuendos, or maybe he'd actually pickled his thingy. Either way, I’d rather not live through another weird late-night cab ride.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” I head over to the limo, open the door, and poke my head inside.

“Do you have water or food or something?”

Trystan nods and hands me a brown paper bag. “The driver grabbed me breakfast, but I’m too queasy to eat it. Egg and cheese on a roll with a side of bacon.” I don’t mean to, but I smile. It's a meal he frequently ate in high school.

“Thanks. One second.” I accept the bag and cup of coffee Trystan hands me, then walk it over to the cop. “Will you accept an apology breakfast? I hope you like bacon.”

The man’s face lights up as he peers into the bag. “Who doesn’t?” He pulls out a crispy piece of greasy goodness and shoves it into his mouth as I head back to the car. “Dr. Jennings,” he calls. I glance back at him. “Thanks.”

When I slip into the car next to Trystan, I’m too tired to realize this should be awkward. I slump back in the seat and put my arm over my face. “I didn’t turn into my father today. Wooh-eee.” I twirl a finger in the air.

Trystan snorts. “Is that something you worry about?”

“Not until recently. When people start saying, ‘you’re like your father’ and that’s the last thing you want to hear, there’s no way to ignore it, you know?”

His voice is soft. “I do.”

I drop my arm and sigh in my seat, staring at this man, wondering about which ways he’s changed and which ways he’s the same. I know one answer to that question. The Trystan I knew wouldn’t touch liquor—not even if his life depended on it. Alcohol was the antithesis of what he wanted from his life—he thought he might as well be chugging down poison. So, how did he get to this point?