Play It Again (14 page)

And I’m certain that’s exactly what they’re
doing now.

But the thing is, I’m not really sure what
I’m doing with her.

I don’t know where this is going, or even
exactly where I want it to go, but I do know that I sure as fuck
want to find out.

I’m done holding back with her.

Done watching from the sidelines, waiting for
… something to happen.

Hesitating, I straighten up, grimacing at the
stab of pain that shoots through my ribs as I shove off the wall
and fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing
here,” I say again, shrugging my shoulders. “But whatever this is,
I’m all in.”

Wes laughs again, this time with a sharp edge
to it, and Jase’s eyes narrow as he tilts his head, shaking it
slowly, his jaw clenching and twitching.

Shit.

I guess they don’t like my response.

“You better figure this shit out quick,” Jase
says quietly, a clear warning in his tone. “She’s a nice girl and
she sure as fuck doesn’t need you screwing things up in her life
more than they already are.”

I nod.
Message received.

“Good,” Wes says, his easy smile pulling his
lips up. “It’s about damn time you got your shit together.”

I can’t help but laugh, because he’s right,
it is about damn time, but I don’t humor him with any further
response. “You guys should get out of here,” I say. “Nothing more
we can do tonight.”

Wes nods, pushing off the wall. “You need
anything from your place?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”

Jase digs a set of keys out of his pocket,
tossing them to me. “Your truck’s in the visitor’s lot.”

I catch the keys. “Thanks.”

They both nod, and turn to leave, but after a
step, Jase stalls, looking back over his shoulder. His jaw is firm
and his eyes lock with mine for a few seconds, another warning
hardening his expression, before he sighs and looks away. I shake
my head, smirking, as I turn and walk back into Piper’s room.

Piper

The faint scent of disinfectant hits me,
making my nose twitch and itch, and sluggishly, I open my eyes.

I’m on my back in a hospital bed, my head
tilted to the side with one arm wrapped around my center, and the
other, tucked under my cheek. The room is quiet and dark, it’s
still nighttime, I think, and there’s cool air blowing down on me
from somewhere above my head. I shiver, burrowing under the flimsy
blanket that isn’t much more than a sheet, but it does little to
ward off the chill.

My head is foggy and my throat dry, after
effects from all the painkillers and sleeping aids the nurses have
been pumping through my veins, no doubt. I blink a few times,
trying to clear the drug induced haze as I slowly roll to my side,
my blurry gaze searching the room for a glass of water.

When I reach my side, my gaze lands on an
unexpected sight, and I stall, my breath catching in my throat.

Vance.

He sits beside me, his dark eyes regarding me
quietly. His chair is angled and pulled up close, his head beside
mine, tilted toward me, and his feet are propped up on the end of
my bed.

Something inside me flutters at the sight of
him. There’s something so … wonderful about waking up with this man
watching over me. Something so … perfect.

I offer him a small smile, trying to get
myself under control as I sit up. “You’re still here.”

My voice sounds hoarse and scratchy, and my
throat feels raw. I swallow thickly, but it does little to help
with the dryness.

He frowns, hesitating, as his eyes sweep over
me. “Of course I’m still here. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I, uh … I just thought that, well …” I stall
and clear my throat. I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure
why it surprises me that he’s still here. Vance isn’t one to break
a promise. Sighing, I drop my eyes from his, fiddling with the
sheet. “I guess I just thought you’d have to leave for work or
something.”

Vance raises his eyebrows, a look of surprise
passing across his face, as though he’s shocked that I thought he’d
leave, perhaps even a little hurt by it. “Told you I’d be here when
you woke up, didn’t I?”

My stomach begins to flutter again, so does
my heart, and my cheeks heat with a flush. Ugh, I really need to
get myself under control—fast.

“Well, uh, yeah, but …” I let my words trail
off, because I really don’t know what to say.

He’s quiet for a moment, letting his feet
drop to the ground, and he turns his chair to face me. He gazes at
me, his lips twitching with amusement as he takes my hand within
his. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” A lot better than the last time he
asked me that. “Really good, actually.”

Strangely enough, I slept really well. I
can’t chalk it up to peace of mind, because nothing has really
changed in my situation aside from the fact that I don’t feel as
though I’m going to throw-up anymore, but the drugs were enough to
knock me out, which is a really good thing.

“Really fuckin’ glad to hear that, Piper,” he
says, releasing a breath and smiling softly. He lets go of my hand
and reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my cheek, before
standing up. “I’m gonna go find a nurse,” he says. “Let them know
you’re up.”

“Wait a second,” I say quickly as he turns
away. “What time is it?”

He pauses, glancing down at his watch. “Ten
thirty-five.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “I feel like I’ve been
sleeping for days.”

He stares at me for a moment, the corner of
his mouth kicking up into a grin, and he chuckles. “Not quite. It’s
Sunday.”

The moment he says it, I feel like I can’t
breathe, my throat closing up, my chest tightening.

It’s Sunday?

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I need to get out of this bed. I need to get
out of this place. Panicked, I sit up straighter and throw the
blanket off, completely forgetting about the IV attached to my arm,
grimacing as I nearly yank the thing out, snagging it up in the
blanket.

I suck in a sharp breath. Jesus, that
burns.

“Whoa,” Vance says, coming right over to me
and quickly untangling the blanket. “What are you doing?”

“Do you know where my clothes are?” I ask,
swinging my legs off the bed. “I’d like to go home.”

“Is there a particular reason why you’re in
such a rush to get out of here?” he asks, a touch of humor in his
voice as he clutches my hands, stilling my movement.

I stall, nodding my head slowly. “I have work
to do—deadlines this week, my truck needs to be dealt with, and I’d
really like to go home and make sure my house is still
standing.”

His brow furrows, regarding me peculiarly, as
though he thinks I might be insane. “Pretty sure your clients will
understand, freckles,” he says calmly. “Jase had your truck moved
to a body shop yesterday, and I’ve been watching your house. The
only person who’s gone in or out since you got here is Jimmy.”

My eyes widen. Oh God, he’s right. Blood
rushes straight to my face and I feel my cheeks flame with
embarrassment. I quickly look away from him, wanting to bury my
face in my hands, but can’t with him still holding them
tightly.

Of course my clients will understand, and I
already knew that Vance is watching my house. I was also there
during the little meeting when Jase took my spare keys agreeing to
handle my truck.

Maybe he’s right to think I’m insane.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I groan, closing my
eyes. “You must think I’ve completely lost it.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says,
letting go of my hands and leaning forward, kissing my forehead.
“Let me go find the doctor. We’ll get you checked out, and then
I’ll take you home, or if you’re hungry, we can grab a bite,
yeah?”

I nod. “Okay.”

He pulls away then, standing there for a
moment, staring at me as though he’s not quite sure if he should
believe me or not, before he eventually turns away and leaves to
find the doctor.

It takes a little over an hour for the doctor
to make it to my room and finish checking me over. By the time he
finishes poking and prodding at me, I’m hungry and grouchy,
completely ready to get out of here. My stomach grumbles, begging
for food, as he rattles off a long list of warnings and things to
watch for, and then I’m discharged from the hospital for the second
time in as many days.

We end up at a McDonalds and it surprises me,
because Vance is more of a pub and draft kind of guy, but it’s
perfect. I don’t eat fast food often, but when I do, this is the
place I do it at.

Vance holds the door for me when we arrive,
letting me go in first. At nearly midnight on a Sunday, the
restaurant is almost empty, with only a handful of people waiting
in line. As we move toward the register, lining up, he steps in
close behind me, so close I can feel his breath on my skin as he
places a hand on my hip, and I try really hard not to think about
how awesome it feels to have this man so close.

I look over the menu needlessly. I don’t come
here often, but when I do, I always order the same thing: chicken
nuggets with honey dipping sauce.

It doesn’t take long before we’re at the
front of the line, placing our order, and a chicken nugget and
burger meal later, we’re sitting across from each other at the far
end of the restaurant with our food spread out before us.

Starving, I open up the honey, soaking a
nugget and taking a bite, not able to stop the sudden moan from
slipping out at the taste. “So good.”

Vance laughs loudly at my reaction, the sound
causing me to grin. He reaches over, stealing one of my nuggets and
drowning it in honey, before popping the whole thing in his
mouth.

“Shit,” he mumbles around the mouthful.
“You’re right, that is good.”

I look at him incredulously. “Don’t tell me
you’ve never had the chicken nuggets here before.”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s just … sad,” I say, dipping my nugget
again and popping the rest into my mouth.

Vance shrugs and lets out another laugh,
picking up his burger. “I don’t typically eat this garbage.”

Shaking my head, I grin across the table at
him as I dig into my food. I already know he doesn’t eat this stuff
often, but still, everyone needs to try the chicken nugget meal at
least once.

Dinner is fantastic, the food exactly what I
needed to clear the remaining drug fog from my brain. I’m stuffed
by the time I finish my nuggets and half my fries, and I push the
rest aside, not able to eat another bite.

“Was it good?” Vance asks, watching me
intently and perhaps a little uncertainly, as though he might be
worried that I’m not enjoying it.

“Amazing,” I say. “Best chicken nugget meal
I’ve ever had.”

He smirks, jerking his chin toward the fries.
“Full?”

“Stuffed,” I respond, pushing them across the
table. “You can have them if you want.”

He shrugs a shoulder as he nabs a fry,
popping it into his mouth, eyeing me peculiarly as he chews. “So …”
he hesitates. “I’ve got some news for you.”

My brow furrows and my stomach drops at his
tone. “Good news?”

He smirks, shrugging noncommittally. “Depends
how you look at it.”

Ugh. That doesn’t sound good.

My gaze drifts momentarily, contemplating
whether or not I want to hear it, before I sigh, glancing back at
him. “Okay, lay it on me.”

He cocks an eyebrow as I take a sip of my
cola. “You sure you wanna hear it now, because you sound pretty …
unsure
.”

I sigh. “That’s because I am unsure.”

My response makes him laugh.

“I’ve had a really shitty couple of weeks,” I
explain, “and I’m having a good time. I’m just not sure I want to
ruin it with
news
.”

He blinks a few times, taken aback. “Well, I
wouldn’t want that,” he says, hesitating again before shaking his
head, backtracking. “The news can wait until tomorrow.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope, I’m curious
now. Just tell me. Let’s get it over with.”

He takes a sip of his drink before pushing it
aside. “Okay, then … I wanna talk about your truck and what the
guys found.”

I say nothing, only nodding for him to go on,
trying to hide the sudden unease curling within my belly.

“Jase and Wes managed to pull a partial still
shot from the security video of the guy that loosened your tire at
Constant Pub.”

I blink. Holy crap. It really wasn’t just an
accident? I know Vance never thought it was, and deep down I had a
feeling he was right, but still, I wanted to believe the guys were
just being paranoid. “Someone really messed with my truck.”

It’s not a question, but Vance responds
anyway. “Yeah, freckles,” he says quietly. “Someone really messed
with your truck.”

“Who was it?” I ask, gazing at him.

“That’s where the news isn’t so good,” he
replies. “It’s only a partial image of a tattooed arm holding a
tire iron near your tailgate. We don’t know who it is yet, but
we’ll figure it out. Cruz has a copy and he’s running the tat
through their system. If the guy has a record, we’ll get an ID
through that.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I ask, raising a
questioning eyebrow.

Vance shrugs a shoulder. “Then we find him
another way.”

I don’t even know what to say. I reach for my
cola, clutching the cup in my hands, determined not to freak out.
He sounds so confident, as though finding this tiny piece of
evidence is actually good news, that it will lead him to finding
the jerk that’s been messing with me.

And maybe it will.

Maybe this is good news.

I guess it could be if the guy has a record,
and if he had the ink before he was arrested.