13. Thirteen

Thirteen

"I don't need to go to the emergency room," Nell gritted out—for the third time, since no one had paid any attention to her first two protests.

No one being Whit, his father, the on-site medic, two EMTs, Allie, Freddie, and a small congregation of players who were apparently feeling guilty for their role in knocking her face-first into two hundred pounds of solid muscle. None of them appeared to be suffering any ill-effects from the brawl, she thought sourly. Somehow, all the pushing and punching had resulted in nothing more than a handful of scrapes and bruises and one swollen lip—if you didn't count her and Whit.

She still didn't get a response, so she tried raising her voice a little. "I don't need to—"

"That knot on your head says otherwise," Whit finally replied, turning to face her. He'd gotten over his irritation with her and now looked entirely too cheerful for a man she knew had a strip of gauze bonded to his ass with medical tape, but the go-ahead home run Ames had hit as soon as the game resumed had apparently improved his mood. He'd even given her back her sweater. Like she wanted it now.

"You're the one bleeding," she huffed.

"What do you call this?" His thumb grazed her forehead just below the hairline, where a thin trickle of blood was already drying.

She batted his hand away .

They were gathered near one of the first-aid stations Skip had set up on the grounds, which was sheltered from view of the stands by a large canopy—though she doubted many people had missed the ambulance driving across the field. After the skirmish had been broken up and tempers had been soothed, the teams had done a quick appraisal of injuries before finishing out the top of the inning. During the break, they'd decided to delay play in order to reassess.

Unfortunately for Nell, general assessment of her was that she might have a concussion. A bump on the forehead, a pounding headache, and, okay, a slight bit of nausea that she was desperately wishing she'd kept to herself, and suddenly they were carting her off to be poked, prodded, scanned, and scrutinized. The only justice was that Whit was in need of a tetanus shot.

She knew she was putting up more of a fuss than was strictly rational, but the months she'd spent in hospital waiting rooms while her mother went through treatment after treatment and test after test had given her an aversion to everything from urgent care to MinuteClinics. She never went to the doctor if she could avoid it. This instance, in her opinion, was one hundred percent avoidable. But she didn't want to admit the reason for her reluctance to Whit—who would probably just tell her she needed therapy again—so instead she gave him a smile and said, "I'm fine. Really."

"Nice try, but Dad doesn't take chances when it comes to head wounds or insurance liability."

"Right. Insurance. You know, that thing I lost when I lost my job?"

"We have it covered," he said, with the sort of easy assurance that just made her want to grind her teeth harder.

"This is revenge, isn't it?"

"Yes. This is revenge. I'm getting back at you for stabbing me in the ass by making sure you don't have a concussion." He shook his head slowly. "Jesus, is there anything you aren't difficult about? I tell you what—if we see a stray dog on the way to the ER, I'll make them pull over so you can rescue it."

"You weren't worried about concussions before."

"Sorry if I was a little distracted by being stabbed. "

"Put her in the damn ambulance, Whitney!" his dad growled.

Whit's eyebrow raised. "You heard the man."

He made a move toward her like he was going to scoop her right off the ground and deposit her in the ambulance if she didn't follow orders, so she quickly complied—but not before aiming a dark look in his direction. "I hope you get gangrene."

The emergency room turned out to be an urgent care facility rather than a hospital, which was a small relief, but Nell still wasn't happy about being bullied into going there in the first place. The waiting room with its over-bright fluorescent lighting was like every other waiting room she'd been to, neutral, sterile, with carefully selected art prints framed on the walls—wildflower studies, in this case—and stacks of magazines piled on short, square tables. A couple of potted plants added a touch of green, and there was a play area in one corner to entertain little kids, but the sounds were the same, the smells were the same, and her hands felt clammy as Whit ushered her into one of the upholstered chairs that had been arranged near the front desk.

She was too restless to sit. The refreshments area set up along the back counters proved to have run out of coffee, so while Whit spoke with the receptionist, she walked over to the empty play area and skimmed through their selection of children's books.

"Good choices," she murmured when Whit joined her. He was holding a pair of clipboards with what she assumed were medical forms. Great. "Someone here has excellent taste."

He cocked his head, squinting at the picture book she held. "Aren't they a little below your age group?"

"And right about at your reading level," she retorted before she could stop herself.

"Still pissed I made you get on that ambulance, huh?"

"It's more the three hours we'll be stuck waiting here just to be sent home with an ice pack and a bottle of Tylenol."

"Sucks to be you, McLean. You're on concussion protocol."

It only ended up being fifteen minutes before Whit was called back to have his puncture wound seen to, but another twenty had passed by the time Nell was summoned to an exam room. Not much of a change in scenery, she thought. Another sterile room, painted beige, with a couple of counters holding glass canisters and a computer monitor displaying its psychedelic screensaver. She busied herself on her phone, checking texts and catching up on correspondence. She was in the middle of composing a message to Gabi (conveniently leaving out any mention of her location) when the door clicked open and a slim blonde figure in a dark green sweater slipped in.

Nell didn't even bother asking how Whit's sister had managed to locate her, much less sneak her way into an exam room. Allie was an O'Rourke, and Nell had already learned they had a knack for getting their way.

"So," Allie said, trailing her fingers along the metal shelf that sat near the door. "You're not dating my brother."

Impressive how she managed to make it sound like an accusation.

Nell watched her warily. At dinner the other night, Allie had been polite but aloof, dividing most of her remarks between her boyfriend and Whit, and since Nell wasn't certain how much Whit had revealed to his sister, she decided to tread carefully. "Is that a problem?"

"But you were with him in the bar on Thursday."

"What did Whit tell you?"

"First he said the whole thing was a setup. Then he said it was an accident." Allie shifted, turning her back to the door as she tapped an impatient foot against the tile. "So which is it?"

"I wasn't trying to set him up."

"It seems to have worked out well for you."

"Yeah. Ambulance rides and urgent care centers are every girl's idea of a dream date."

"Maybe not, but I'm guessing the date part is what counts."

"Did your brother happen to mention he basically kidnapped me to get me here?" When Allie just favored her with a perfect imitation of Whit's eyebrow raise, Nell sighed. "I'm not a crazy stalker or an undercover reporter for Meltdown , so if you're planning to interrogate me, can it at least wait until they give me some drugs?"

"Really milking that head injury, I see. "

Since losing her temper was dangerously close to becoming a habit, Nell changed the subject. "What is Whit's deal, anyway?" she asked, retreating to the other side of the room and mimicking Allie's stance. She figured two could interrogate. "Why does he think everyone in town hates him?"

Allie blew a puff of air out from the side of her mouth. "Because he's an idiot." A thin frown flickered across her face and vanished. "He told you everyone hates him?"

Nell thought of James's icy looks and Petey's open hostility. "More or less."

Allie's suspicious expression turned faintly curious. "Who exactly are you? Whit never bothered to explain."

"According to him, I'm cannon fodder."

"Interesting."

Nell didn't have a chance to ask just what was interesting about that. A soft knock sounded at the door, and she chirped out a quick, grateful, "Come in!" She might not be looking forward to having a total stranger poke at her, but at least the O'Rourke Inquisition would be put on hold.

Except that when the handle turned and the door inched open, it wasn't a doctor who appeared. It was Whit, a cup of fresh waiting-room coffee in one hand and an orange and black Halloween-themed Band-Aid plastered to his left arm. Ridiculously, her pulse kicked up a notch at the sight of him. To cover it, she shot him the exact same death glare she'd used when she'd caught one of her students trying to finger-paint the class hamster.

"Peace offering," he said, holding up the cup of coffee. He took another step into the room, noted her irritable expression and crossed-arms, then stopped and stared at Allie. "What are you doing here?"

Precisely what Nell wanted to know. Didn't anyone actually work at this stupid clinic?

Allie shrugged. "You left your car at the school. I figured you'd need a ride, so I took Dad's. Your team won, by the way."

"You mean you wanted to ambush Nell."

"I'm just making sure she's not up to anything nefarious."

"Nefarious isn't Nell's style. Leave her alone."

"You're no fun."

"Too bad. You'll have to find someone else to harass." He passed the cup of coffee to Nell, then turned back toward his sister. "And speaking of nefarious… have you heard from Rory?"

Instantly, Allie scowled. "She said she knows what she's doing, she's sorry she didn't talk to me sooner, and she'll tell me all about it when she gets back from her honeymoon."

"Damn. She's really trying to sell this thing."

"She's in Cancún!"

"Well, there you go. Rory always said she wanted to honeymoon in Italy."

"Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Because there is no way she married someone just to piss off Dad," he retorted.

"Then why wouldn't she tell me the truth?"

"You're staying with Dad. If you weren't flipping out, it would spoil her game. Sorry, sis, but you're just a pawn on the Grandmaster's chess board."

"Maybe she wanted to marry him," Nell offered. The matching looks of disgust the O'Rourke siblings shot her made her quickly put up her free hand. "Or not."

She was spared any further commentary when the doctor finally arrived and shooed Allie and Whit back to the reception area—but the diagnosis of a mild concussion did nothing to improve her mood.

"Well?" Whit asked when she found him in the waiting room. As she hesitated, he gave her that smirking eyebrow arch that told her he had an I-told-you-so ready and waiting if she so much as mentioned the word concussion.

"Don't worry, the baby's fine," she said, loud enough that a couple of older women seated nearby turned to stare.

"Hilarious," said Whit.

Allie had defrosted enough to crack a grin .

Nell set a hand on her hip. "What did I tell you? Tylenol and an ice pack, and one giant waste of everyone's time and money." And a follow-up exam in a few days she had absolutely no intention of keeping.

"Your time, our money," Whit replied.

"How's your ass?"

"I'd let you see for yourself, but I'd probably get arrested."

"Or wind up on Meltdown ," said Allie. "Again."

Whit's injury apparently no longer hurt—or he was too macho to admit it—because he didn't utter a word of complaint on the drive back to the high school. Nell sat in the backseat and watched the town slide by through the window of Skip's sleek silver Bentley, trying not to breathe on the glass. Being in such an expensive vehicle after so many years of the run-down used cars she'd driven ever since she'd cut herself off from Grandmother's money made her feel itchy. It didn't help that Allie seemed to think speed limits were simply suggestions, and Nell's nausea made an unwelcome return as the car took a sharp right that sent a small cascade of fallen leaves spinning through the air.

A quick check of her phone told her it was closing in on eight o'clock. Dark had long since fallen, transforming the curving roads and long boulevards into dusky landscapes of twisting oaks and bare branches. Downtown blurred by and gave way to residential areas where leftover Halloween decorations and harvest-themed lawn ornaments mingled with strings of early Christmas lights. Allie was forced to slow as they drew nearer to the high school, since traffic was still slightly congested from the remnants of crowds exiting the baseball game. Most of the clean-up crew had finished up for the night, though lights could be seen twinkling in the direction of the field and a few cars remained in the lot. An after party for the players who were staying in town was being held at one of the local hotels, but since Whit didn't like the idea of leaving his car at the school late into the evening, he'd asked Allie to drop them at the edge of the parking lot so he could drive to the party himself.

Allie pulled up near the lot's entrance and brought the Bentley to an abrupt and noisy halt, earning her a sarcastic remark from her brother. Nell was just glad it was over. After fumbling a moment with her seat belt, she slipped gratefully into the cool evening air and stood with her hands on her hips, tipping her face up to the breeze as the Bentley roared away again. A sliver of moon hung overhead, the stars dizzily bright in the deepening darkness.

Whit's hand in the small of her back made her start.

"You all right?"

She assumed from the note of concern in his voice that he was worried about her supposed concussion and not his sister's NASCAR aspirations, so she waved him away and headed for his car.

Looking across the lot, she could just see the back of Whit's Audi poking out from behind a minivan that had been parked in one of the neighboring spaces. Otherwise the area was nearly empty. There was an SUV with its parking lights on a short distance from the field, and an older model pickup truck had been left diagonal across a couple of spaces next to what she assumed was a maintenance shed, but the rest of the lot had been cleared.

She let her gaze wander along the property as they walked, taking in the tiny grove of pines that flanked the lot and the tall wooden sign rising starkly from the center of the parking rows. To her right, she could make out the high school, a single-story building of cement pillars and faded red brick, dark now except for the dim glow of security lights. She glanced at Whit. "This is where you went to high school?"

He'd been keeping pace with her, a leisurely stroll for those ridiculously long legs of his, but now he paused to kick at a clump of leaves the wind had blown in from the street. "Part of the time. I finished out my senior year in Dower Hill."

"When you lived with your grandfather."

His shoulders lifted. "They changed the town boundaries a couple of decades ago. Poor Grandpa ended up with a different address in a different city without ever changing houses. Pissed him the hell off. It worked out for me, though."

"That was why you moved in with him? "

"That was one reason." He raked a hand through his hair. In the moonlight, his eyes were almost black. For the briefest of instants, she thought she saw something there—a flicker, a glimpse of something a little lonely, a little sad. Then it was gone. The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Feeling homesick?" he asked, tipping his head toward the building.

She felt a surge of disappointment and told herself she had no right to it. Whit didn't share his private life with his real girlfriends, never mind a pretend one. And that was his business, not hers. A fact she was going to have to accept, or she'd be in for a lot more than disappointment.

"Maybe a little," she said.

He started to move again, and because he had set the pace this time, she had to hurry to keep up. The breeze tickled at her face and sent a chill along her arms. She tugged her sweater tighter.

"What made you go into teaching?" he asked when she reached him, a switch in conversation that told her the subject of his high school days was well and firmly closed.

"The obvious answer. I love kids."

"Yeah, I know, you wrote that on your list. A lot of people love kids. But why choose teaching?"

It was on her lips to remind him he preferred not to know much about the women he was dating. Then it occurred to her that was precisely why he was asking. They weren't dating and never would be. They were…

God, were they becoming friends ?

He stopped walking to peer at her. "What?"

"Nothing!" she squeaked out, hoping the horror she felt didn't show on her face. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her palms, fidgeting with the cuffs as she took another couple of steps forward. The wind was stirring again, and she breathed in the faint, lingering scents of cut grass and fried food. She could sense Whit watching her and quickly curved a smile. "I suppose I just knew I wanted to be a teacher. I always enjoyed school."

"What a nerd. "

A nervous laugh fluttered out of her. "Guilty. I used to play school at home every chance I got. I had a magnet board with the alphabet and I would set up all my stuffed animals for story time."

"Still nerdy, but cute."

"Plus, I got to send Paige to detention. I'd make her go sit in the closet whenever she forgot to raise her hand."

"Strict disciplinarian, huh?"

"I've mellowed out since then."

Whit's snort told her he didn't believe her.

"Really, though, it was probably because of my mom," she said.

"She was a teacher too?"

"Kindergarten. I'd say it runs in the family, but I think for her it was more of an accident. She was rebelling from Grandmother and found out she liked it."

"Teaching kindergarten was a rebellion?"

"Grandmother expected her to get her MBA," Nell explained. "And what Grandmother expects, she usually gets."

"Still… most kids would opt for piercings and tattoos."

"Well, Mom did get knocked up by two different men. That has to count for something."

"Absolutely. A true revolutionary." It was too dark to see his expression, but she could hear the smile in his tone. "Is your mom the reason you feel the need to rescue everyone?"

Nell opened her mouth to respond that she did not have some kind of weird hero compulsion, but realized she'd just be wasting her breath. "You tell me, Dr. O'Rourke, since you seem to have me all figured out."

They were only a few yards from his car now, nearly at the minivan that had been parked a few spaces before it, but Whit stopped, cocking his head to the side as he gazed at Nell. "Not completely. I still can't figure why you thought Paige needed rescuing. Maggie, I get. I think it was stupid, but I get it. Taking up for your students is justified—though you clearly need to work on your methods. Standing up to my dad even makes a twisted sort of sense. But what the hell did you think you were protecting Paige from? "

"When?"

"When you revealed sensitive information to the public, as you put it. And then said I was bad in bed."

"Oh." Instant heat shot up her cheeks. "Maybe I just didn't like you."

Except that she had liked him. Way too much.

And still did.

"Now you're trying to hurt my feelings."

Nell hurried forward again. Her chest knotted. She didn't want to talk about that awful moment when she'd stepped in front of the camera and exposed his secret. Had she thought he deserved it then? Possibly. More likely she hadn't been thinking of the consequences at all. He was right that she'd wanted to protect Paige. It was that instinct that had thrust her forward to face down the so-called reporter, ignoring her sister's startled protests. But had it been more than that? Had some bitter, twisted part of herself wanted to punish him for her own sake?

She didn't want to think that—but she did know that she wasn't about to have that conversation here and now. With a quick glance behind her, she jogged the last few feet to the minivan, stepping around it.

Then stopped short. Her breath came out in a gasp. "Whit."