Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,52

up on a comfortable chair, letting her leg dangle over one side. Where was Sloan? Mac had been here earlier to check on her, and Evelyn had called. But Sloan was notably missing, and she was oddly hurt by his absence.

Whereas she knew what she wanted from David, she had no such understanding about Sloan. She knew she loved him. She had always loved him. But did he want to be with her?

She wasn’t the same person she’d been then. She was a grown woman with a family and responsibilities he might not want to share, especially with David tucked awkwardly in the picture.

Baggage. She came with a lot of baggage, and she needed to learn to stand on her own two feet. She bit her nail, staring into space as time stretched indefinitely.

“Jo.”

She turned at her name, finding Sloan standing in front of her, showered and clean with his good arm in a sling. “What happened?” she asked.

“No big deal. Just a little scrape.”

“You needed a sling for a scrape?”

“A little bullet scrape.”

She huffed. “Then why would you say it was only a scrape?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry.” He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is he doing?” His voice cracked.

“Still in surgery.”

“Is he going to make it?”

The emotions she’d been holding inside suddenly rose up to the surface. Her eyes burned. “I don’t know. He’s been in there a long time.”

He held out his prosthetic arm and she leaned into it, but the material was cold and the contact awkward. She pulled away. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure.”

“At his funeral, I was glad he was dead.” She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How awful is that? I was bitter and so full of hate. Now I’m sitting here praying he lives.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Can’t I?” She shook her head. “We were married more than a dozen years, and I couldn’t see his side enough to even care if he was alive. I’m ashamed of those feelings now. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t pull through. The kids need him. I need him.”

A tall woman in blue scrubs and a cap pushed through the double doors that led to the surgery department. “Mrs. Regan?”

She stood and stepped forward, away from Sloan. “Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Winslow. I operated on your husband. He had two bullet wounds. Each bullet passed completely through his upper torso.” She sighed heavily, then smiled. “He’s a very lucky man. He’ll be in recovery for an hour or two, but then you can see him.”

She instantly began sobbing, happy tears filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. “He’s going to be all right?”

“Yes, he is.”

She hugged the doctor with all her might. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for taking such good care of him.” She turned to Sloan. “Isn’t that gr—”

She could just see him at the far end of the hall, the strap from his sling standing out from his dark shirt as he pushed through a swinging door. “Isn’t that great?” she whispered, but Sloan was gone.

31

Trace belched. “Give me four.”

Mac clucked his tongue. “There’s a two-card limit, Langston. Just like last hand.”

“Then fuck. Give me two.”

Sloan put his cards facedown. “I fold.”

“What the hell, Dvorak?” asked Trace. “You gonna play or not?”

“Not.” He moved to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of Cheetos, opening them and throwing them into the middle of the table.

Mac raised an eyebrow at him. “What happened to the filet mignon?”

“I’m fresh out.”

“I’ll take one,” said Moto.

“Dealer takes two,” said Mac.

Poker was a terrible idea. What was he thinking inviting them over here tonight? He’d been in a foul mood for the past two weeks, and company wasn’t improving it one damn bit.

He knew what his problem was. He missed Jo. He was being the grown-up, doing the right thing, and giving her and David some space to work things out. But he hated it, every brain cell he had left screaming for him to do the wrong thing, be the bad guy, and go get the girl.

“I’m going to be taking a leave of absence from work,” said Mac, throwing two chips into the pot. “I have some personal business I need to take care of.”

Sloan sat back down. “Everything all right?”

“Yep, just looking for my Ellie is all.” Mac looked to Trace. “You in?”

“I’ll raise you twenty.” He burped again. “Jesus, this Mexican beer is killing me. Who’s going to