Clusterf*@k (Life Sucks Book 4) Read online

  Another ambulance would come.

  She’d be on it.

  Or he’d drive her to the hospital himself.

  But right now, she needed comfort and gentle, needed him to keep the demons at bay.

  At least for a few minutes.

  17

  Purple

  Misty

  The small penlight flashed on one eye and then the other, making her wince and blink.

  But apparently the doctor was satisfied.

  She put the penlight away, stashing it in the pocket of her lab coat, and moved to the computer, typing notes into her chart.

  Dr. Montergo.

  Misty had seen her around town.

  She’d even had a conversation with her at last year’s Holiday Tree Lighting ceremony. Raven Montergo. Unusual name, but totally fitting for the beautiful woman. Unusual brown eyes, almost like topaz, but with a hint of mahogany. Hair the color of coffee—sans milk or cream—a deep, dark russet that was almost black and completely straight. It shone like something from a shampoo commercial and paired with her body—tall and slender—she appeared as graceful as a ballerina.

  Striking. Unique.

  But her personality was all small-town.

  Warm and welcoming, totally down to gossip, and ready to join the Bake Sale Brigade, or the football team’s Booster Club, or to hang lights for that Holiday Tree Lighting ceremony (how they’d met).

  That personality had completely morphed the moment she’d laid eyes on Misty.

  Then fury had made those unusual eyes spark with fire; her face had gone hard. She’d quietly, but firmly—and Misty meant firmly—had ordered Chance from the room. Chance, who’d held her after he’d shot a man for her. Chance, who hadn’t blinked at her freak-out, her panic when he stepped away, nor at her irrational fear of him leaving. Chance, who’d carried her to the back of his SUV and held her so gently, held her until she’d stopped shaking, until the fear had subsided and the pain had risen. Who’d seemed to understand that and had told the police who’d shown up while she’d been terrified out of her mind that they could get her statement in the morning after she’d gotten checked out and some rest.

  Chance had begun to argue about leaving, but Raven Montergo, Dr. Montergo, had fixed him with a look that had him cutting off his retort, gently brushing his knuckles over Misty’s cheek, and saying he would be right outside.

  Now silence fell as Dr. Montergo typed.

  Then she moved slowly to the exam table, perching on the edge, reaching out for the splint on Misty’s right arm. “Ortho will be in shortly to cast this. The break isn’t bad, but you might be out of knitting commission for six to eight weeks.”

  Misty nodded.

  She knew it was broken, had felt the bones snap when she’d managed to get the arm over her head and between her skull and the bat. She hadn’t managed to block the bat altogether. It had still hit her head, her temple, hard enough that she’d gone out for a few seconds, and now had a half dozen staples in her scalp, along with a line of stitches at her hairline.

  When Misty had come to after the world had gone fuzzy for a few moments, it was to find the man shaking her hard enough to rattle her teeth. He’d screamed about the safe when he’d seen her eyes fly open, then he had lifted the bat again—

  She shuddered.

  Dr. Montergo didn’t miss it.

  “You’re safe,” she murmured.

  Misty sucked in a breath, released it slowly, nodded. “I know.” Another breath. “And I know why you sent Chance out. The intruder didn’t rape me, didn’t touch me aside from with the bat.” A wince. “He just wanted me to open the safe. He wanted the money. Not—not me.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them flat.

  At that point, Raven made an appearance, the doctor persona sliding away as she smiled encouragingly, her voice still gentle, but the fierce that had sent Chance into the hall had been banked. “You did good, sweetheart,” Raven murmured. “You protected your head. Because of that, you don’t have a concussion, lucky for you.”

  “Thanks,” Misty whispered. “Though not too lucky since I ended up with a broken arm,” she muttered.

  “Better a broken arm than a broken brain.”

  That was true.

  Raven patted her leg. “I’m going to write you a prescription for pain meds and sleeping pills. I want you to take them tonight.”

  “I—”

  “Just tonight.” And now Dr. Montergo was back. “Tomorrow on, you can decide what you need. But tonight, sleep with your man, let him hold you and feel safe, and allow your body to get the rest it needs to recover.”

  “I—” Her protest was on the tip of her tongue, but then she swallowed it down. Because Dr. Montergo was back. Because even if she wasn’t, what Raven was saying was right.

  She was exhausted.

  She was hurting.

  She needed rest…and she needed Chance.

  Raven or Dr. Montergo or whoever the woman in the room with her was seemed to understand that. She patted Misty’s leg again and stood. “I’ll go get Chance. We’ll get your discharge paperwork going so that as soon as ortho is done, you’ll be able to go home.”

  “Thanks,” Misty murmured.

  “I’d say anytime,” Raven said, “but I don’t want to see you in my ER again.”

  Misty smiled. Somehow, despite what had happened, her lips had curved up and she was smiling. “I can’t say I want to be back.” An awkward chuckle slipped out and she winced. “Not that you guys haven’t been nice. It’s just—”

  Dr. Montergo laughed as she stood and moved to the computer again, tugging the rolling cart toward her and typing again. “You don’t want to be back. Trust me, I get it. No hard feelings.” A beat. “Plus, I think I was the one banning you from my department in the first place.”

  That was true.

  “Right,” Misty said and processed that the pain killers must have finally started working, because she was getting a pleasant, floating feeling, like she was buzzed. “Well, I think the only reason I’ll come back of my own volition is bringing you guys double fudge cupcakes to thank you for taking care of me.”

  Raven was back, smiling sweetly. “Now, that I could get behind.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  There was a knock at the door. Dr. Montergo told them to come in, and Misty turned to see a younger blond woman in maroon scrubs roll in a cart. “Misty, this is Lavender. She’s the best ortho tech around. She’ll get you casted and comfortable, and I’ll work on those discharge papers. Lav,” she went on, pushing in the keyboard tray and heading for the exit, “this is Misty. You take care of her really well, and she’ll bring us the best double fudge chocolate cupcakes as payment.” A smile. “Trust me. You want the cupcakes.”

  The blonde nodded, her mouth turned up to reveal two dimples. “Not that I wouldn’t take care of you, but double fudge cupcakes sound awesome.”

  Dr. Montergo clapped Lav on the shoulder. “That is the correct answer.” She met Misty’s eyes. “I’ll tell Chance he can come back in?”

  Its inflection was a question because…it was a question.

  Misty nodded.

  Raven inclined her head, slipped out the door.

  Lav had barely gotten her cart pushed to the bedside before Chance had returned to the room, moving around the ortho tech, and coming to grab Misty’s uninjured hand. His hair was askew, as though he’d been constantly running his hands through it. He looked like he’d aged a hundred years, deep lines around his mouth, his eyes, stubble on his jaw. “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “I’m great!” she replied.

  And she was. That floating feeling had expanded. There was no more pain. Raven had said she’d done good. Chance was there. She was safe. She wasn’t hurting.

  “Do you want white, blue, purple, or pink?” Lavender asked.

  “Purple,” Chance murmured, when Misty’s brows dragged together. “She wants purple. It’s her favorite color.”

  Lavend
er glanced at Misty. “Purple?” she asked, apparently looking for confirmation.

  Misty, meanwhile, had helium in her veins; she was in the sky, drifting among the clouds, swimming through the blue dome, free-styling or maybe breast-stroking or perhaps butterflying. No. Back-stroking. Definitely she’d be doing a backstroke if she could swim through the clouds. That was the only stroke she’d been any good at on the swim team.

  Meaning that one time she’d gotten an eighth place ribbon.

  Her best ever finishing. Ever.

  Repeated for emphasis.

  Because while Rob had killed it on the Minnows—Stoneybrook’s youth swimming team—she’d mostly liked figuring out the different ways to braid her hair to stash it under her swim cap and the thick, fluffy parkas.

  And goggles.

  She’d liked matching them to her cap, to her suit.

  It was great fun.

  But she hadn’t exactly been skilled.

  “Misty?”

  The tone of Chance’s voice made it clear that it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name.

  “Yeah?” she asked, blinking up at him.

  “Purple for your cast, baby?”

  A nod. “Purple is my favorite color.”

  He cupped her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw. “I know, Cloudless.” His eyes drifted away. “Purple,” he said again, and Misty realized distantly he was talking to Lavender, when the other woman said, “Got it,” and gently began to shift Misty’s arm, removing the splint and positioning her wrist in a way that didn’t feel great. It hurt like hell, actually, cutting through that pleasant fog, as though the strings holding her to that helium balloon that had sent her flying had been cut and she was falling back toward Earth.

  And continued to descend as Lavender began casting her.

  First, Lav slipped a sock sort of thing over Misty’s arm, tugging it up above her elbow and cutting it with a pair of odd-looking scissors so that it barely covered her fingertips. Then Lav used the same scissors to make a hole for Misty’s thumb.

  That felt fine.

  That didn’t hurt.

  The positioning did.

  As did the casting. It wasn’t the worst type of pain, just a persistent throb and an occasional jab. But it wasn’t comfortable, even though her pain meds were trying to send her floating. They eventually wore off.

  No buzz.

  No sky.

  Just reality.

  And trying not to think about what had happened.

  The shattering glass. The baseball bat meeting the register, the case, her arm. The man’s face, gathered in a frightening mask. His voice, unhinged and loud and terrifying, ringing in her ears.

  Warm fingers covered those of her uninjured hand as Chance shifted closer, somehow seeming to understand that she’d taken a mental turn and was able to read what was spiraling through her mind. “You’re okay?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, not feeling okay in the least, but also understanding that there was nothing to be done about it.

  She wanted her bed and Chance. She wanted to sleep and pretend this hadn’t happened.

  “Cloudless,” he murmured, his lips to her ear. “Honey.”

  “Please, stop asking if I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m not, but I want to pretend I am.”

  He straightened, and Misty bit back a wince when the fiberglass material Lavender was wrapping on her wrist went tight and hot.

  Chance’s stare was on hers, holding it, staring deep into her eyes. Then he nodded.

  “Tonight, you can pretend.” A squeeze of his fingers. “I’ve got you, baby.”

  Just words.

  But they took that boulder that was sitting on her chest and hefted it away, rolled it down some hill, allowing it to land somewhere in the distance, somewhere she wouldn’t have to deal with it until tomorrow, or the next day.

  He kissed her temple.

  He held her hand.

  And when the cast was done, when she was discharged, he bundled her into his SUV and drove her home.

  It was exactly what she needed.

  18

  Sisters

  Chance

  “I need to get someone to cover up the front door,” she whispered.

  They were almost back to Misty’s place, and it was the first time she’d spoken since the hospital room, since she’d asked him to help her pretend.

  “I’ve got it covered,” he told her. “I called Rob.” He touched her cheek lightly when she whirled in her seat and frowned at him. “I know you didn’t want to bother him, but if it was my sister, I’d want to know.”

  Quiet.

  He kept talking. “Rob went by the shop to get everything secure.” And to clean up, not that Chance was going to tell her that.

  She didn’t need to be thinking about her blood staining the floor, or the fact that there was glass everywhere, or that her point-of-sale system had been reduced to thousands of pieces.

  It was bad enough that her jaw clenched and the silence descended again, this time heavier when he mentioned her brother. Reality was intruding, and she wanted to pretend, so he quickly got the rest of it over with. “He’s going to go back to his place after it’s taken care of and will call me in the morning.” Chance squeezed her hand, relieved when her fingers tightened around his in return. “I don’t think I can put him off much further past that. I’m sure he’ll be over at first light, even if I tell him you want more space.”

  Her nose wrinkled.

  Her shoulders rose and fell on a breath.

  “I don’t think I actually want space.” She bit her lip. “I know I told you not to call him, but…”

  He waited, and when she didn’t go on, Chance asked, “You want me to tell him to come to your place when he’s done?” Another squeeze of that unbroken hand. “I’m sure he’d be relieved to be able to see you.”

  She went still, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip. “N-no,” she whispered, shaking her head, giving him a glimpse of the bandage on her right temple. “He just got back from vacation, and Soph is pregnant. They must be tired.” Her shoulders slumped. “Plus, if she stays home, I don’t want him to have to stay away from Soph any longer than he is already. They have too much time apart as it is.”

  He pulled into her driveway, not about to argue with her, but after he’d parked, he thumbed off a quick text to Rob. She might not want to bother him, but Misty wanted her brother there, and Rob was desperate to come check on his sister, Soph in the same boat. Chance’s sister had wanted to come to the hospital immediately, and it was only his strong encouragement to get Tangled back into some semblance of shape for Misty that had convinced her and Rob to not come to the waiting room.

  Rob had called him after the doctor had kicked Chance out of the room, and he knew that Misty’s brother had been into the shop, had seen the glass and damaged counter and the blood in the storeroom when Rob had whispered simply, “I’m going to kill him.”

  “I tried that,” Chance muttered. “Fucker didn’t die.”

  Rob was quiet. “She’s lucky you were there.”

  It was Chance’s turn to grow quiet. “Would have been luckier if I’d gotten there earlier.”

  Chance knew that shit happened, that bad people did bad things and sometimes swept up good people along with them, but fuck, if he wasn’t kicking himself for not calling, for not texting. If he had, she might have been home waiting for him, instead of easy pickings for a robber at the store.

  His cell buzzed, Rob saying he’d be there in five minutes.

  He texted back, said he was still going to lock the door behind him and to knock when he got there.

  To which Rob replied:

  We have a key.

  Good.

  Misty had started to open her door by the time he made it around to her, what with the texting and him pausing to grab the bag of bloodied clothes the nurses had bagged for her, so he carefully tugged it a little wider, made sure her belt was unbuckled—it was—and
then carefully scooped her up into his arms. She shivered, probably chilled in the thin scrubs the hospital had given her, and he hurried to the front door, not realizing until he got there that neither of them had a way to unlock it. Her purse was in her shop, and he hadn’t been able to grab it before they headed to the hospital since the officers were processing the scene.

  Misty seemed to pick up on their predicament and process that fact much more quickly than he did. “Hide-a-key,” she said, lifting her uninjured arm and pointing to a rock by the bottom step.

  “Got it,” he murmured, setting her gently on the bench by the door and going to the rock, flipping it over, and finding the hidden compartment. A flick to get it open, another to close it. Then the rock was back in place, and he was unlocking the door.

  Misty moved like she was going to walk inside, but he beat her to it, picking her up and carrying her to the couch.

  He’d barely got her settled when there was the scrape of a key in the door he’d locked—two minutes or two hours, he wasn’t taking the smallest chance with her.

  Rob came in first, Soph behind him.

  He heard his sister gasp, her breath hitching, and a sob traversing the sound waves of the room. Catching her eye, he sharply shook his head, silently telling her to hold it together. Yeah, she was emotional because of the pregnancy, but Misty didn’t need someone crying over her. She needed calm and caring and strong shoulders to lean on.

  Luckily, Soph interpreted his look, sucked in a breath, and got it together.

  “I’ll get you some pajamas,” she said, turning for the hall, though he didn’t miss her dashing away her tears as she did so. “Do you want a bath, Mist? With your special oil?”

  His girl liked baths?

  He filed that away for later. He’d buy her a fucking vat of that special oil if it meant she repeated what she did when Soph suggested the bath—her shoulders relaxing, the deep V between her brows evening out, her voice soft when she replied, “Yes, that would be amazing. Thanks.”