Chapter 37

Ouch.

"Okay, careful with her head. She hit the concrete pretty hard."

I could feel myself being lifted.

"What happened?" I whispered through a desert-dry throat, my whole shoulder a flaming inferno.

"Ah, she's back with us. Good evening there. Can you tell us who you are?" A woman in a lab coat shone a light into my eyes. The harshness of it made me wince. "Doesn't look like she has a concussion, but we'll take a scan to be sure."

Shit.

"I'll be fine," I said through clenched teeth and tried to get up. It was a bad idea. The pain rushed from my shoulder through the rest of my body, nearly making me black out.

"Whoa there," the doctor said and pressed me gently back onto the stretcher. I was holding my left shoulder, hissing shallow breaths through my teeth. The woman gave me an admonishing look. "I'm Dr Avery, and I'll make sure you won't stay here any longer than you absolutely have to. Now, what's your name?"

"Samantha Hale," I told the doctor. "I think I just got into a fight with a cyclist."

"It looks like you lost."

"No kidding."

The woman's lips quirked, and she turned to the nurse. "Bring Ms Hale to radiology and make sure her arm is sufficiently immobilised. I'll give you something for the pain," she directed at me.

My shoulder was broken, and so was my left arm; both ulna and radius were fractured. The radiologist congratulated me on the clean breaks, but I couldn't share his satisfaction. That they would heal without surgery was cold comfort considering I was looking at weeks of wearing a sling and physical therapy.

Just what I need right now.

Dr Avery patched me up afterward, a look at the clock revealing I'd long since missed my flight. "I'd like to keep you here overnight," she said, stepping back from the bandaged sling to give it a critical once-over.

"I'm fine," I told her, struggling to get into a sitting position.

"You hit the ground really hard, and you're hurting all over. You need rest and regular doses of painkillers, and there's no better place to get them than here."

"Where you can keep an eye on me," I accused her.

"Where I can keep an eye on you," she confirmed, and I had to sigh at the look of no give on her face.

"Fine," I finally grunted and let myself sink back against the pillow.

"Do you want us to call anyone?"

"I can do it myself."

With a rueful expression, Dr Avery picked up a plastic bag with the remaining bits and pieces of my phone inside it.

"You know, I really don't have a lot of luck with phones these days," I muttered, letting my head sink back in exhaustion. The painkillers were making me woozy, and my shoulder throbbed unhappily.

"Every run of bad luck ends at some point."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll keep that in mind."

"We have a bed for you on the second floor. I'll call Kevin with the wheelchair."

Just peachy.

I was too exhausted to protest or complain anymore. One night more or less in this place wouldn't matter, even if the thought of going home made me gulp.

Frank is going to kill me when he sees this.

When Kevin and I got into the elevator, we ran straight into Remi.

Of course. Because my luck isn't perfect already.

"Merde," Remi said, aghast. "What the hell happened?"

I didn't get out of telling him everything. He thought I had been on my way back to Providence when he couldn't reach me on the phone. I could feel his frustration at my leaving evaporating at seeing me injured. After updating me on Emmanuelle continuing to be stable, he even lent me his cell to call home. The love and support reaching me over the long distance almost made me teary.

Damned painkillers.

The night was short, leaving me cranky the next morning. If possible, I felt worse, but Dr Avery explained to me cheerfully that that was normal. She checked my vitals, pleased that I'd finished breakfast, and, because I showed no signs of complications, declared me ready for release.

Armed with painkillers and another prescription, I had a bit of trouble sorting myself out with only one arm, but I managed. The call button for the elevator was already lit up as I began waiting with two other people.

"Sam! Sam, wait!"Remi ran down the hallway and pressed his hands into his sides, breathing hard when he came to a stop. "Wait," he wheezed out. "She just woke up. And she wants to see you."

The request was innocent but painful. I didn't want to go. How on earth should I face her? I still had feelings for her, even after she'd broken my heart. I likely always would. Being in her presence again would bring it all back. I'd just started to function again, and I was afraid it would undo all my progress. But could I really refuse to see her, when she was lying critically injured in a hospital bed?

Come on, Sam. You can do this.

My heart balled itself into a fist when we got to the ICU room. Remi gave me an encouraging smile. I finally opened the door and walked over the threshold, not sure what to expect. But the moment my eyes focused on hers, and she meekly smiled at me from her bed, I felt something inside me settle.

"Hey, you," she croaked. Her face was drawn, but her eyes twinkled.

"Hey, you."

"Mom? Could you give us a moment?"

I hadn't even noticed her mother sitting on a chair by the window. First, she wanted to protest but, at her daughter's look, she only sighed. "I'll be outside."

As soon as she'd closed the door, Emmanuelle's eyes swept over me, growing softer when she saw the bandaged shoulder and the scratches on my face.

"Are you okay?"

I pursed my lips. "Am I okay? Look which one of us is horizontal right now. I'm still standing."

Her forehead wrinkled, and she shifted, wincing in pain as a result. I was at her bed in a second. "Don't move," I cautioned, fear spreading in my gut.

"I won't if you stop being a jerk."

I tried to avoid her intense gaze, but feeling it pinned on me made me clench both fists. I hissed at the sudden pain.

"Sam!"

Breathe. Just breathe.

"I'm okay," I said with my jaw clenched.

"The hell you are," Emmanuelle grumbled. "You look like a mess." But her lips started to quiver, and her left hand moved an inch in my direction. "You scared me."

"I scared you?" I wearily dropped into the chair next to her bed, cradling my left side. "Do you have any idea what I went through in the last forty-eight hours?"

And the last few weeks.

"I'm sorry." There was contrition on her face, but when she closed her eyes, a tiny smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "You came. You really came."

The relief and gratitude ringing in her words made me tear up. "I … I almost didn't," I whispered.

"I wouldn't have blamed you. The way we parted…" She stopped, blowing out a heavy breath. "I regret that. I wish it hadn't happened."

"We can talk about this when you're better, Elle."

"Elle, huh?" The tiny smile grew and dimpled her pale cheeks. "I've missed hearing you call me that."

Emmanuelle moved her hand another inch, wordlessly begging me to take it. When I just stared at it without moving, her throaty voice turned pained. "Sam, please."

"I can't…"

"Please. I just want to hold your hand. I'm so glad you're here." She barely got out the words. Her fumbling showed such desperation that I stretched out my hand without another thought. She clasped it. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand before rubbing my thumb over it carefully. I thought back to what Marguerite had said in the hallway. About her shame of never telling her granddaughter just how proud of her she was. I thought about Emmanuelle's regrets about how we ended things and that I had so many of my own. Now I had the chance to tell her what I hadn't had the courage to before. What did I really have to lose?

"Elle? I love you."

There, I said it.

She stilled, and I could see how she fought with her next breath. Her grip on my hand tightened, and one lone tear stole out of the corner of her eye.

I shakily exhaled. "I love you. I've loved you for quite some time, and when you left it was like my world fractured, only to come apart at the seams. I never trusted anyone with my heart before. The death of my mother proved there was too much heartache waiting for me if I ever loved someone else. But the depth of my feelings for you … I couldn't do anything about that."

I gave a weak, self-deprecating chuckle. "You know I don't deal well with change, so working through what I was feeling took me a while, and I was resolved to talk to you about it once the timing was right. But then I met Laurent Lambert."

The eyes hanging on my lips widened, and she stared at me with a complete lack of comprehension. "You met Laurent? When?"

I sighed deeply and eased back in the chair. "It was total coincidence. A private viewing at Casey's gallery that I stumbled into, but we got to talking. He asked me about you, you know?"

"He did? What did you say?"

"That you're great and that I was sure you'd love to work for him."

Her mouth dropped open. "I don't understand. Why? Why would you do that if you knew I would leave?"

My cheeks were wet when I met her eyes. "Because I would never stand in the way of your happiness, Emmanuelle. And painting is what makes you the happiest."

Her lower lip trembled again before first one, then two tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffled. "So, I broke up with you because I was afraid you wouldn't be able to cope with me prioritising my art over our relationship, when it was you who gave me this chance?"

My shoulders shook in a quiet, painful laugh, but I just nodded. The irony didn't escape me. She tugged on my hand to make me move closer, eyes full of emotion. I followed the tugging since I didn't want to hurt her, but when my head got closer and closer, I started to resist. She clenched her hand around mine, but I held my head there, poised above hers.

"Please don't ask this of me, Elle." Her eyes widened when a tear dropped onto her face. "I would do anything for you, anything but this. It's going to hurt too much when you leave again. I barely survived it the last time."

"Please."

There was a whole world of meaning hidden in that single word.

I swallowed, unable to hide from her. I'd always been defenceless when it came to this woman. I covered the remaining inch of distance between us despite the painful pull on my shoulder and carefully pressed my lips against hers. I was unprepared for the intensity, and my position was awkward with me still holding her hand, my other limb enclosed in its sling, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. That moment I could've no more refused than I could've stopped breathing.

Finally, I broke away. My heart was beating too fast, and my breathing was too loud, and it was all too much.

"I need to go."

"No," she said forcefully, almost scared. "Not before you listen to what I have to say."

"But—"

"I love you, too."

My gaze snapped to her face.

"It took me a bit to realise it, but I got there eventually," she said and curled one corner of her mouth up in her all-time trademark gesture. "Really, the way it hurt to leave you in the first place was a pretty good hint. I was coming back because I couldn't get you out of my head. Because not being with you was even worse than being apart from you. Granted, when you didn't want to come with me to Paris, I was hurt … but having some time to think about it made me realise how unfair it was to put you on the spot like that. Knowing what I know about your past, asking you to abandon your grandfather? I'm sorry that I was so selfish, that I blamed you for not wanting to try, when that wasn't even the truth." She sighed. "My fears got the better of me, and I'm really sorry about that."

The emotion in her eyes that I could never decipher suddenly became clear.

Love.

Emmanuelle loved me.

The panic and the fear and the pain left me in a rush, and I leaned down to kiss her again, my heart in free fall.

"I wish you would have told me sooner," she said a few moments later. "Maybe then I would have been brave enough not to run." She laid one of her hands against my face. "You look terrible, Sam."

"I wasn't doing so well. Being apart from you hurts."

Emmanuelle sucked in a breath. "It's the same for me. That night, I told Irene that I planned to go back to Providence, to try and win you back."

"Was that what pushed her over the edge?"

"Maybe it was," she said softly. "I think she was the one stalking me in Providence, too. The lost mail? The windows that I always thought I'd forgotten to close? I'm pretty sure she was responsible."

I shivered. "I guess that also explains your missing clothes."

"Yes. She must have been the one talking to the newsies, too. But I don't think this is what she intended. I just think that she was angry and hurt. Very, very hurt."

"That doesn't make it okay." I felt sick to my stomach imagining that Irene had snuck into the beach house—that she'd been right there.

"No, no, it doesn't. But feelings are powerful things." Emmanuelle regarded me for a few long moments before she smiled. "I'm not going to run again, you know? I already told Laurent he'd get me for twelve months. One year, I will give to my art. If I haven't managed to create artwork fit to be displayed in his exhibit in that time, I likely never will. After that, I'm all yours. And I mean that."

I stared at her. One year was so much better than three. It was something that I was sure we could weather, but I needed her to be sure. "Are you really certain that this is what you want?"

"I don't think I've ever been more certain about anything. You said that painting makes me the happiest, and that is true. But I need you just as much as I need my art."

A knock on the door interrupted our conversation. Carefully, I stepped back from the bed.

"You're not going anywhere, right?" she asked.

There was still a bit of uncertainty there, so I gently shook my head. "After you just told me you loved me? Good luck getting rid of me now."

That made her chuckle though she could barely hold open her eyes.

"Everything okay?" Emmanuelle's mother asked worriedly when she came in, noting the redness of our eyes.

"We're getting there," Emmanuelle murmured sleepily. "We're getting there."