Page 21 of Reckless Devotion

“For us?” Sunny peers around her older sister’s legs.

“Pepper and Sunny?” Nadine confirms, scrolling down Mr. Clay’s notes.

“What the fuck?” Pepper whispers, almost too quietly to hear.

“Come on, he can’t be that bad.” I place a hand at the small of her back and guide her gently forward, feeling the resistance in her posture before she moves.

“Easy for you to say,” Sunny snipes from behind and I offer her a sly wink over my shoulder.

“I’ll meet you both in there, give me a second.” I tilt my head toward the room we know Mr. Clay to be in and hang back. I turn my back on Pepper and Sunny as they tentatively head for the room, addressing Nadine quietly. “Can you send me a summary of everything he needs when you have a second, and recommend some people?”

“Sure.” The woman’s slim blond brows pitch forward, and she also lowers her voice amongst the beeping and whirring sounds that fill every hospital. “How is your mom really doing?”

I hitch my cheek and slide my hands into my pockets with a sigh, my gaze drifting to the map emblazoned on the wall behind her and my mind sucked back to the last time I saw my mother. Tucked up in bed with the drapes drawn and no interest in getting up.

“She’s been better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Can I help? I know a fantastic psychotherapist, she—”

“No,” I say a little firmer than I intend to. “It’s…Emily is back from Milan, so I’m sure that will cheer her up.”

Dr. Margyle opens her mouth, and then hesitates. She closes it again and then glances down at her tablet, clicking the lock button. “Well,” she says, finally meeting my gaze again. “Please give her my regards.”

“I will, thank you.”

The unguarded pause, the flash in her eyes as she casts them down, and the slight ruby tinge to her cheekbones—what emotion is that? Before I have time to consider it further, she nods and strides away down the corridor, the tails of her lab coat flapping behind her.

Shaking my head, I check my watch and stifle a yawn. I’ve been awake since 4 a.m., and we’re now close to midnight. Resigning to get this over with, I march into Mr. Clay’s room and then pause in total bemusement.

“You asked to see what was under the bowl!” Pepper fumes loudly, her fists wedged on top of hips shapely enough to try and pull my brain in a different direction entirely.

“All you do is cause trouble,” Mr. Clay barks back just as angrily, despite being hooked up to about twenty machines. “I’m going to sue you all into oblivion the moment I recover!”

I catch Pepper’s searing glare at that latest remark and dip my head, pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling the thrum of a headache looming. “Okay, enough!” I announce to the room at large, causing three sets of eyes to zoom back my way. “It’s late, and you need to get some rest, Mr. Clay.” I walk over to his bedside cabinet and pick up a scrap of paper with his intake form copied onto it, then reach into the one pocket of my suit for a pen. “You’ll be staying here for at least a couple of days, so write down what you need and Pepper will collect it from your apartment.” The stubborn woman in question’s mouth pops open in outrage, but I cut her off before she can speak, using my boardroom voice. “Yes,you will.Unless you want to handle a law suit at the end of this?” I hiss that last part pointedly to her under my breath, and she reluctantly concedes with a scowl.

“I don’t need any help,” Mr. Clay chews out, attempting to fold his arms over the network of wires stuck to him.

“Well tough, because you’re getting it, sir.” I hold out the paper and pen to him, watching as he reluctantly raises his steel-colored eyes to it beneath brambly eyebrows. “And we’re all going to play nice and no one is going to get sued.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, snatching them from me.

***

“Mr. Walker you have—”

Tessa’s crackle on the intercom built into my desk cuts off as the door crashes open.

“Uncle Chase!”

A flash of dark hair comes barreling toward me, all big goofy smiles with one front tooth missing—that’s new. I barely have time to roll my chair back before little Macey is scrabbling up into my lap.

“Woah, kid. What are you doing here?” I laugh as she plops her hands onto my face.

Yeesh, why are kids’ fingers always sticky?

“We went to the dentist and she gave me a big wollypop!” Bright, icy blue eyes bug at me like this is the best news ever. That explains the sticky fingers.

“No way! What color?” I ask enthusiastically, but I can already tell from the blue hue of her little tongue. I glance up at a slightly harassed-looking Mia pushing a two-chair stroller through the door.