Leaning his head against the wall, Zane stares up at the ceiling. “You’re going to be a kick-ass father, and you know it. This insta-family isn’t exactly conventional…but, hell, you and Phoebe have never been conventional.”
For the first time all night, I smile. “I guess that makes you Uncle Zane, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m deciding if I should take him to get sleeves on his fifth or sixth birthday.”
The easy banter calms me. “No tattoos on my kid until he’s at least ten.” I laugh. “Besides, what if it’s a girl?”
He smirks again. “Nipple ring?”
Scowling, I pick up my phone and throw it at his head. “That shit’s not funny. You’re not getting near my daughter, you freak.”
Silence invades the room as we stare at each other in an unspoken alliance. For a few moments, he managed to divert my paranoia.
Suddenly dizzy, I shake my head as shapes distort my vision in a blurred haze. “What the…?”
A soft chuckle to my right causes my head to swivel in its direction.
“Good night, Jagger.”
“I’m not sleepy,” I slur.
“You’ll be out in less than five minutes.”
The room spins. I try to stand up, but the floor tilts below my feet. “What the hell were those things anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I attempt, without success, to cock an eyebrow. “Are they legal?”
“In a couple of countries.” Everything moves in slow motion as Zane maneuvers me to the bed and pushes me down with a friendly shove. “Sleep it off, man. In the morning, you’ll talk to Phoebe and realize you’re a paranoid douche.” Chuckling to himself, he closes the door behind him.
It takes me four tries to remove my boots. Each time, my hand slips from the heel, catapulting me onto the floor. Finally, throwing the right one across the room, I crawl back up the bed and fall against the pillows. As my eyes close, whiskey swims in my stomach until the darkness takes it all away, depositing me into blissful nothingness.
I tear through the halls of the hospital, cursing every word I can pull from my vast, offensive vocabulary. A few nurses pop their heads up to complain when Zane shoots them a dark enough look that they back off.
He’s on my shit list too.
Those fucking pills knocked me out cold last night. Otherwise, I would’ve been awake to hear Faith’s message.
“Hey, Julian, it’s Faith Addison. Don’t be mad, but Phoebe’s in the hospital. She didn’t want me to tell you because she says everything’s okay. She had some sort of anxiety attack and some contractions. She’s going home in the morning, so no need to worry. I’ll have her call you from the house. Again, don’t be mad at her, okay? I just thought you deserved to know.”
No need to worry.
Right.
Mid-stride, I slide Zane a venomous glare. “You knew?”
At least he has the decency to act halfway apologetic. “Yeah, but I didn’t know they’d go all Thelma and Louise.”
“You’re fucking her.”
It’s not a question.
I grunt as he punches my arm. “Shut up, asshole. We’re just friends.”
I want to argue, but we’ve reached her room. “Wait outside,” I growl as he leans against the wall.
“Don’t be a dick, Jag.”
As I push the door open, anger trumps concern, and a dick is exactly what I am.
“Did you forget my number?”
Immediately, her eyes widen, and her fingers clench around her phone. “Julian. I was just about to call you.”
“I have one question.”
She looks down at her shaking hand, but I’m too worked up to coddle her.
“Phoebe, look at me.”
“Julian…”
“I said, look at me,” I repeat as I lean against the doorframe, my body vibrating with a mix of fury and lust.
The dichotomy of our whole relationship.
Phoebe and I piss each other off more than anyone else in the world, yet we also elicit a violent, physical need in each other.
In short—a mindfuck.
“This is the second time, Phoebe.”
“Excuse me?” She comes alive with the spitfire hostility that drew me to her the moment we met.
“This is the second time you’ve ended up in the hospital and not told me. Anything else you’d like to share? You’ve got my full and undivided attention, princess.”
Three
Phoebe
The man before me is at his breaking point.
The light beard that always dusts his cheeks and chin has grown in his short absence. It’s noticeably heavier, as if he hasn’t bothered shaving in days. His labored breathing and glassy eyes reveal a severe lack of sleep. Chaotic hair sweeps to the side as he rests his forehead in the palm of his hand.