No, Jackson was doing enough of that himself. He should have forbidden her to work, should have taken her in. All the times he’d seen her groped and tripped and bumped and jostled, and he’d done nothing. All the bruises he saw on her when they scened that he knew weren’t from him. And now she was in a neck brace on a backboard, bleeding like hellfire. All because of his selfish fear of getting involved.
At the hospital Jackson bit his nails while Blake leafed through magazines in the waiting room. After twenty minutes or so, Blake turned to him.
“I was right all along.”
“Right about what?”
“You like her. You’re going out with her. You’re fucking, yeah?”
Jackson turned away. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve just about bitten every fingernail off. And because you were at the bar.”
“You were at the bar too.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Pointlessly, I guess.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “You go there to see her? You have a thing for her?”
“Do you have a thing for her?” Blake shot back.
“She’s dancing the lead in my ballet. I have a vested interest in her.”
Blake snorted and sat back. “Vested interest. Is that what they’re calling it now? It would look pretty bad if it got out.”
“It’s nobody’s business.”
“The secrecy is part of the fun, right? I mean, I suspected, but there was really no way to tell. I figured if you were going out, she wouldn’t be working at that bar three nights a week and living in that roach-infested hole down from the theater.”
Jackson tensed but pretended indifference. “I don’t know. I’m not real involved in her personal life.”
Blake rolled his eyes. “Nice. Sport fuck your ballerina. Vested interest, my ass.”
“Look, you don’t understand.” Jackson shut his mouth and turned away. It was none of Blake’s business, and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate the finer points of their relationship. We have a Dom/sub arrangement, no strings attached. We meet two nights a week.
The nurse came out, picked through the crowded waiting room to where Jackson and Blake sat.
“Excuse me. Are you the gentlemen who brought in Prosper Ware?”
Jackson was already on his feet.
“Yes—”
“Is she all right?” The men spoke at the same time.
“Yes, she’ll be fine. The doctor will be happy to speak to anyone who’s family. Are you family? Husband? Partner?”
“We’re work acquaintances,” Jackson said. He ignored Blake’s snicker.
“I’m actually her partner,” Blake said, but Jackson was already following the nurse toward the wide double doors.
“Her family isn’t local, but she works for me. I’ll be helping her home when she’s discharged, so I’d love to speak to the doctor about what’s going on.”
Blake tagged along, undeterred by Jackson’s irate glance. “So will she be able to leave tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” said the nurse. “We’ll probably keep her overnight just to be safe, but as far as serious damage—”
“Her neck? Her spine?” Jackson asked.
“All perfectly fine,” the nurse reassured him as they neared Prosper’s room. “She told me she was a dancer. I’m quite sure she’ll dance again. She’ll just need a few days of rest.” She smiled at Jackson, but his gaze had already moved past her to the pale figure sleeping on the bed. His heart clenched to see how small and vulnerable she looked. She had a large white bandage wrapped around her head. He moved closer and was relieved to find her face relaxed. No tiny tension lines. Her chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. He wanted nothing more on earth than to gather her close. She had to sleep though. He didn’t want to wake her.
The doctor came by soon after, and Jackson caught most of the important details. CT scan results, aftercare for the stitches, seven good days of rest. He listened, but his mind was only half there.
“Can I stay?” he asked as soon as the doctor was finished. He didn’t know why he posed it as a question, because he had no intention of leaving her side. Fortunately the doctor nodded.
Blake let out a long sigh. “I have class in—” He peered at his watch. “Ugh. Four hours. I’ve got to go. But I’m glad she’s going to be okay.”
Jackson extended his hand to Blake. “Thanks for your help. And about me and Prosper—”
“I won’t tell anyone. For her sake. Not yours.”
“I appreciate it.”
With Blake gone, it was quiet. Jackson stared at Prosper in sleep. Her eyes were ringed by dark circles, and her face looked peaked. No, it wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t have her living this way. He settled beside her in a chair and waited for her to wake. It was time to say the things he needed to say.
Chapter Eleven
Prosper woke with a start in the darkened room. Weak light came from the gaps around the blinds and fell across the shaggy blond head next to her hand. Jackson.
He stirred, and she noticed then that her hand was in his, that he was gripping it tightly even in sleep. She stayed still, tried to remember the night before. She remembered the main details. The sudden fight, the painful fall. The faces all around her as she tried to stay awake but found the edge of her vision growing dim.
She remembered waking up in the hospital as they stitched her up. While they cleaned off the blood, a doctor showed her pictures of her brain and neck and told her everything was okay. But was she really okay? She did a quick inventory. Her legs moved with no soreness or stiffness. Her head was a little groggy, but she thought it was only from waking up. She looked at the clock: 7:46 a.m.
Jackson was fast asleep. She tried to remember if his face had been there among the others the night before. She could have sworn it was, but why? How? How could he have been at her side unless he’d already been at the bar?
She shifted, lifted her hand to the bandage on the side of her scalp. Oh, God, she thought. Please don’t let me look too messed up. She had class at ten.
Class. She had to call Lawrence. Her hand clenched involuntarily, and Jackson lifted his head, focused two weary eyes on her.
“What is it? You okay?”
She nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed the ambulance last night. Do you remember last night?”
“Yes. Vaguely. You were there?”
“I was. So was Blake, or you might have been injured further.” He scowled.
“Are you angry?”
“With you? No.” He cupped her face and kissed her. He pulled away at the sharp knock on the door. A nurse came into the room to bring her breakfast and check her vitals.
While she ate, Jackson sat in the chair next to the bed and talked on his cell phone to Lawrence. “Seven days,” he said to Lawrence, glancing over at her with a look she couldn’t place. Scorn, disappointment? Irritation? “Seven days before she’ll be able to take class.”
After that she could only pick at her food. Her life was falling apart. Injured at her second job, when she wasn’t even really supposed to have a second job. If it got her fired from her first job, she was truly and thoroughly fucked.
“Is he mad?”
“You’re so concerned about whether everyone is mad. How do you feel, Prosper?”
Her throat got tight. “Not very good. Kind of miserable, actually.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.
His irritated expression softened. He sat on the bed beside her and drew her into his arms. “Go on, get it over with.”
The kindness in his voice alone made her weep. He held her as she sobbed out her stress. His fingertips ran slowly up and down her arm, and the beat of his heart against her ear soothed her. When she finally calmed down, he turned her so she faced him and took her hand.