Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) (10 page)

“That’s great news,” he replies.

I nod, though it’s still up for debate where I’m going to go.

“Hello, darling,” greets Gigi, beaming at me as she bustles into my room.

“Oh hello, Brendan, Heathcliff.” She nods to each of them.

My Gigi ignores nicknames.

Trip stands, offering her his chair. “I should be going.”

He looks down at me, a soft smile on his face. “Would it be okay if I checked in on you from time to time in Ferncliff?”

I nod, surprised by his question.

His small smile widens. “I’ll see you soon, Sydney.”

I swear I can hear Heath rolling his eyes from the other side of my bed while Gigi sinks into the empty chair.

She reaches out to rest her hand on my right calf. “Did you like the mango?”

I’m over a mostly liquid diet but there’s no competition between what she makes versus what the hospital does, so I nod.

“Heathcliff texted me to say you did great in your PT today. I’m so happy to hear that.”

That was kind of him to do, annoying but kind. I meant to do it myself but forgot to. Texting one-handedly, I could do.

“I’m going to take off,” Heath mutters, his chair squeaking as he stands.

Then he does the thing that pisses me off, the thing that he’s done every single day since I woke up in this hospital. He leans over and kisses the top of my head.

I close my eyes and don’t open them until I hear the door to my room close.

“I take it you haven’t forgiven that boy.”

Nope, not even close.

Yes, he is probably the main reason I’m alive today. If he hadn’t of stayed with me and gotten help when he did, it’s uncertain what would have happened to me. Since I went into shock, the most likely outcome would have been death.

That doesn’t mean I have to forgive him for anything that happened before the mudslide. I have thanked him for his part in saving my life. Now I can happily go on hating him. It’d be so much easier to do that if he’d leave me alone.

What’s worse is Gigi and Pops are now his biggest fans. Pops even introduced him to one of my doctors as “my young man,” which is old people lingo for my boyfriend.

Helping to save my life and visiting me daily since is not a get out of jail free card. Nothing has changed other than him now being a constant presence in my business. The only reason that is even happening is because I physically can’t get away. I still don’t get it, though, why he’s making the drive every day.

It’s not like other people haven’t visited me. Still, it’s a haul. Despite the distance Memorial is from Ferncliff, I’ve had a ton of visitors.

It seems like everyone has come to see me, everyone except my two supposed best friends. They kept minimal contact, but apparently Memorial is just too far away for either of them to bother coming to see me.

If so many other people that I wasn’t tight with hadn’t of come, maybe their absences wouldn’t be so glaring. Hell, even Cecil drove down from San Fran.

His visit was a life send though. With my doctor’s permission, he bleached my hair back to blonde because even with my face and body all jacked, I could not handle blonde roots with black hair.

He figured blonde made the most sense since it was my natural color and would take the least amount of maintenance while I recovered. I loved him for it. By the time he got to the hospital, I had already been overwhelmed by a week of shit I could not handle.

Nightmares of mud filling my room as I lie trapped in this bed, tops of the list of things I cannot handle. Another four-to-six weeks for my leg and ankle to heal enough for me to walk, with a freaking walker is a close second. My mouth being wired shut for a month or possibly longer, coming in third. Being able to pretend that none of that was going on while Cecil played with my hair was probably the highlight of my hospital stay.

Not that I’m technically still in the hospital. Memorial has a rehab center that I was moved to one week after the mudslide. It all feels the same. Only perk over here is I haven’t had to share a room like I did in the main hospital.

Because of that, my visitors have had plenty of room to hang out. Gigi has also made herself and her blenders at home here. She even makes smoothies for a couple of her favorite nurses. I’m certain they’ll be bummed to see her go once I’m discharged.

She turns her head to look at the door before looking back at me. “Why haven’t you forgiven Heathcliff yet?”

This is not the first time she’s asked this question since my brush with death. In fact, she made it clear that in her opinion, the fact that I nearly died made it even more of a huge deal that I hadn’t forgiven him.

In my defense, he hasn’t, not once, asked for my forgiveness in the two weeks since the mudslide. Well, there’s a chance he did early on, but I was pretty drugged so I was out of it if he did. While I’m mostly over what he did, the sting of it still lingers.

For the sake of being a good person, if he asked, I would most likely say the words.

What I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do is forget how his actions made me feel. Forgiving him and forgetting are two vastly different things.

He made me feel like something was wrong with me, that I was somehow hard to love. Love is a stretch considering our short time together but still, it was a gut punch. It took time for me, including that week up in San Fran to rewire that negative vortex that was tripping in my brain.

When I fall in love, it will be with a man who builds me up, not one who tears me apart. When Gigi asks if I’m going to forgive him, what she’s really asking is will I give him a second chance.

Today, no matter how hard he tries, the answer is no. He helped save my life and he cares enough about my recovery to drive this far to see me every day. That’s nice of him to do. I no longer want to inflict bodily harm on him when I see him.

My anger has taken a hike and been replaced by annoyance. The root of that annoyance is the assumption that just because he’s mostly a nice guy and done so much for me recently, that I am now under some sort of obligation to him.

How did I end up being the bad guy for simply wanting to protect my heart? Pressing my lips together, I do not answer her question. She’s used to me doing this.

She pulls a travel DVD player from her gigantic grandma bag and plugs it in. Pushing my over-the-bed table down closer to my feet, she sets up the screen so we’ll both see it. No matter what we watch, it will put me to sleep.

“Are you ready to go home, Miss Sydney?”

Since my case is unique, my doctors had to meeting to decide if it was too soon for me to be discharged or not. My hip is healing well and I am able to sit and, using my good leg, stand.

I can, with my good arm, wheel myself to the bathroom and go on my own. Thank God for that. With strict orders to not overdo it, they agreed I was recovered enough to leave.

I’ll still need outpatient physical therapy to make sure that it continues to heal as it should, but I can do that in Ferncliff. My other broken bones just need time to heal and I don’t need to stay here for that to happen.

I’m not going home though, not that my likeable nurse needs to know that. I can’t do stairs for the time being and my place is too small and inconvenient for someone to take care of me there. Gigi is dead set on it being her and Pops. Cecil offered but she turned him down flat since his job is in San Francisco.

It’s pointless to argue with them. Am I ready to go home? Yes, home, yes. Too bad I’m not going there. I’m going to be on their pull-out sofa in their den.

At least they have a full bath on the first floor with a tub. I need help but I’ve gotten showering down as long as I have a shower chair and a detachable nozzle.

Still, it isn’t home.

I nod anyway and give her a small smile since there’s no reason to lay my troubles on a stranger I’ll never see again. Gigi walks next to us, wheeling the small carry-on bag that holds my things.

Pops is parked and waiting for us by the time we reach the sliding doors. He has the front passenger seat pushed all the way back to accommodate my cast. With him on one side and Gigi on the other, I stand, pivot on my good leg and sit. It’s been weeks since the mudslide and this is the most I can accomplish, with help.

“I was worried I’d miss you.”

My head turns at the sound of a now familiar voice.

Trip is standing behind Gigi and Pops.

My smile is not forced when I reply, “Hi, Trip.”

“Good to see you, Brendan,” Gigi says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek while Pops walks around to climb in on the driver’s side.

At her use of his actual name, I ask the question I’ve been wondering since I met him, “Why do you go by, Trip?”

While Gigi moves to get into the backseat, he replies, “I’m the third. My dad is Junior and they called me Trip, short for triple.”

I giggle, the wires keeping my jaw shut also keeps me from laughing outright. “Syd isn’t as cool of a nickname.”

He has to lean down to hear me. “What do you prefer, Syd or Sydney?”

I give a subtle lift of my good shoulder. “Either really.”

He nods. “Would it be all right if I came to visit you this weekend?”

That soon? If my jaw could drop, it would have.

Instead, I nod. “I’d like that.”

His mouth spreads in a generous smile, making his dimples appear. He has absurdly attractive teeth, which only makes me more self-conscious of mine. I don’t know how to respond to an attractive man while I’m like this. Before Heath, I could flirt with anyone. Now, it’s like I’ve forgotten how.

Also, it’s not like there weren’t mirrors in my room. Sure, my face no longer is the disaster it was right after I was hurt. I have a long way to go though.

He’s just a good guy and feels some sort of connection with me. He’s been so thoughtful though and since I don’t get the flirty vibe from him, maybe we can be friends.

“Buckle up, honey,” Pops says, glancing up to the rearview mirror.

“Such a nice young man,” Gigi calls from the backseat.

The ride back to Ferncliff is quiet. It’s midday on a weekday so we don’t run into any traffic. There are a couple of inexplicable slowdowns. The kind where once you’re back to full speed, you look around in confusion trying to figure out why traffic slowed in the first place. No accidents, no roadwork, no reason for it.

Once we hit the town limits, it starts, the comfort of familiar, the feeling only home has. I tried to fight the pull this town had on me and failed. Now, after being away for so long, I sag into my seat, grateful to be here again.

I’m so lost in being back in Ferncliff that I don’t even notice Pops passing the turnoff for their house. Why would I? We’re heading toward Lola’s.

My autopilot is set to that diner so no alarm bells ring. It’s not until we pass Lola’s that my brow furrows in confusion.

“Wher—?”

My question dies on my lips, as we turn into Heath Mackey’s apartment complex. I have to swallow a lump that rises up my throat when I see him, clearly waiting for us, standing in his open door.

“Absolutely not,” I grind out.

She looks pissed. There’s a decent chance she’s chewing out her grandparents right now. If her jaw wasn’t still wired shut, I’m certain she’d be yelling.

I push off from my doorjamb and move toward her grandfather’s car. The trunk pops open as I move past them and to it, to pull out her wheelchair. Then, I unfold it, flip down the footrests, and push it toward Sydney’s door. Her face is turned away from me, still probably arguing with her grandparents.

I open her door and swing it wide so I can reach in to unbuckle her belt. Her right hand covers mine, trying to stop me.

“Don’t, Heath.”

I ignore her. Sydney Fairlane is stubborn as hell but she’s about to learn she’s met her match.

Once her belt is off, I bend down and slide her right arm around my shoulders. Then I reach under her and lift her.

“Put me back down,” she hisses through her teeth.

She’s in my arms again, for that I’ll deal with her anger.

I breathe her in before lightly setting her into the wheelchair.