Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook Read online

  Slater squeezed her hand and blew out a breath. “Rocki, I have a lot of reasons for making the trip with you, the least of which is an order from Pop. I’d have insisted I take you to see your brother either way. That’s just the way I roll.”

  She didn’t believe that for a minute. “You pick up virtual strangers and drive six hours to take them to see an injured relative?”

  “We’re not strangers.”

  “We met a week ago.”

  “Whether we explore it or not, we have a connection that makes us more than acquaintances.”

  “A connection?”

  “Damn straight. Don’t pretend it doesn’t exist. We don’t have to act on it. And hell, it might be better for both of us if we don’t, but something is there, and that something is the reason I’m here. Simple as that.”

  Slater was way too smart for her to hide anything for long. As soon as he learned who she was, any connection he thought they shared would change. It always did. It would also change every relationship she had in the life that she’d worked so hard to build in New York.

  Maybe she could ask him to leave as soon as she got to the hospital. He didn’t have to know. Maybe she could salvage this disaster after all.

  Rocki caught Slater staring. Time to ease into it. They’d be at the hospital in about ten minutes. It was either now or never.

  “You can just drop me off at the hospital and then go back to Red Hook. There’s no need for you to come in.” She didn’t look at him but she could feel his stare.

  “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “I’m not going to be alone. Grace and Teddy are there.”

  “You call your parents by their first names?”

  Her parents? “No. Grace and Teddy are . . . family friends.” Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either.

  “Are your parents on their way?”

  Shit. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Her face heated and she looked down at the rock in her hand. “Because they’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She couldn’t look at him. She hated seeing the pity in people’s eyes. No one knew—well, no one in Red Hook. Keeping parts of herself to herself had been a way of life for so long, even if she wished she could change it, it was too late. Her friends wouldn’t understand her reasons, and no matter what they said, if they knew the truth, everything would change. She wouldn’t be one of them anymore. Now she could lose Jackson and everything else in the world she loved.

  “When did they die?”

  “A long time ago.” Eleven years this month.

  “What happened?”

  “A car accident when I was thirteen. It’s just me and Jackson now.” To her embarrassment, the last word ended in what sounded like a sob but she refused to cry.

  “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If it was just you and Jackson, and you were only thirteen, who did you live with?”

  “No one. Our uncles sent us to boarding schools.”

  “That’s rough, but it beats the hell out of foster homes.”

  “Not yours.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t see all the others. Compared to most of the homes I was placed in, a boarding school would have seemed like heaven.” It looked like a bank of storm clouds shadowed his face, turning it to a sharp-edged granite slab. It was as if each muscle in his body tensed.

  His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

  Rocki didn’t know anything about Slater’s life before Pete had taken him in. Patrice must not know either since she never mentioned it. Maybe she and Slater had more in common than she’d thought.

  “Pop was definitely an unusual foster father and I mean that in a good way.” His voice sounded mechanical, emotionless, removed. “Still, Red Hook wasn’t what it is now. If things were still the same, you wouldn’t be working there—that’s for sure. I’d bet your boarding school was a damn sight safer.”

  “Maybe.” But then he didn’t know what it was like. It may have been one of the ritziest boarding schools in Europe but it felt like a jail. She’d been ripped away from everything she loved and stashed with a throng of overindulged debutantes who hated her from day one. She’d never fit in.

  “It wasn’t as if you were alone. You had your brother, didn’t you?”

  “No. We were sent to different schools.” When Jackson turned eighteen, he’d tried to get custody of her, but their uncles fought him. No judge in America would give the care of a fifteen-year-old girl to her eighteen-year-old brother who wanted nothing more than to remove her from her world-class boarding school.

  Jackson—living away from him then had been hell. She wasn’t even allowed to visit for Christmas. She’d spent her Christmases alone in her room. Sometimes Rocki would get a pity invitation to a teacher’s home to celebrate the holiday with their family. After trying it once, Rocki realized she’d rather spend holidays alone than to be reminded of everything she’d lost.

  “Rocki? Are you with me?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Worrying isn’t helping your brother, you know.”

  She’d prayed, but then she’d prayed the entire time her parents had been dying—it hadn’t helped.

  “Are you two close?”

  “Very.” Even though they weren’t geographically close, she couldn’t imagine going more than a few days without hearing his voice. She couldn’t imagine living without Jackson. He was the one person in the world who knew everything about her—even the woman she showed to no one else—and he loved her despite it. They’d promised each other that they’d always be close. They’d promised to take care of each other—no matter what. They’d promised each other they’d always be together.

  • • •

  Slater watched Rocki become more and more nervous. It was strange that no one at the Crow’s Nest had known Rocki’s brother even existed before today except maybe Pop. Pop didn’t seem shocked she had a brother—he just seemed shocked to see Rocki fall apart.

  “We’ll be there soon.” He pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

  “I know you want to help, Slater, and I really appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. Why don’t you just drop me off at the hospital? There’s a hotel a few miles down the road. You can go there and get some rest before you head back tomorrow. I’ll call you just as soon as I know anything.”

  She was trying to get rid of him. He didn’t know why; all he knew was that she needed him and didn’t want to. That’s the way he’d prefer it himself. This was an extraordinary circumstance—Rocki wasn’t a needy person, he knew that right off. She needed someone and it scared her. His only question was why? Was it the fact that she wasn’t completely independent? Was it something to do with all the other questions rolling through his mind? Was she afraid he’d get his answers? “Thanks for the easy out, but I’m here because I want to be and we’ll see this through together.”

  She looked like she was going to say something else, so he saved her the time and trouble. “Rocki, Pop is waiting for me to give him an update. I can hardly do that without knowing what we’re facing, and if I want to live, I’m not going back to Red Hook without knowing you and your brother are going to be just fine.”

  He thought knowing people cared would make her feel better; instead it just seemed to agitate her more. She was tense to the point of shaking, and the hand he still held lost whatever warmth he was able to pump into her. “What’s the problem with me staying?”

  There was a wealth of information scrolling over her face at lightning speed. If it were code, he’d be able to read it without a problem. But Rocki was a woman, and women used a mystery code he’d as yet been unable to crack, though, truth be told, he’d never really tried that hard. He’d never wanted to before. Now, for some strange reason,
he did. He just wished she spoke C++, Java, PHP, or any other computer language. Instead she looked confused, scared, hurt, and completely conflicted.

  She opened her mouth and closed it, as if she was unable or unwilling to tell him.

  He wanted to kiss the worried look off her face. He wanted to hold her until her shaking stopped. He didn’t think either would help. “I’m staying until I see that you’re okay and your brother is too. Then if you want me to leave, I will. That’s the best I can do.”

  He pulled into a parking space and she was out of the car before he turned off the engine. He grabbed their coats and hauled ass inside.

  Rocki was already pressing the elevator button like a woman driven to vengeance would push a button to shock a cheating ex.

  When the doors finally opened, he barely got his butt inside before she gave the button to the ICU floor the same treatment. Driven wasn’t quite the right word he’d use to describe her, but then he didn’t know what was.

  When the doors opened, Rocki flew through, her long legs eating up the distance to the nurses’ station. “Jackson Sullivan. Where is he?”

  Sullivan? Slater thought her last name was O’Sullivan.

  The nurse lifted her gaze to Rocki. “And you are?”

  “Racquel Sullivan. Jackson’s sister.” She looked from Slater to the nurse and back again. All the color in her face disappeared like the picture on an Etch A Sketch after a good shake.

  Her name was Racquel? He guessed Rocki was a nickname. So okay, that made sense, but Sullivan didn’t.

  “Racquel?” An older woman—a woman who looked as if she could pose for a picture in a dictionary under the word grandmother—rushed past him and grabbed Rocki in a crushing hug. A big man stopped beside the women and looked Slater up and down.

  “How is he, Grace?” Rocki asked.

  “There’s no change. They put a tube into his skull to release the pressure on the brain from swelling and put him in a drug-induced coma. We should know more tomorrow.” Grace looked from Rocki to him.

  “Grace, Teddy,” Rocki said, hugging the old man and kissing his bristled cheek, “this is my friend Slater Shaw. Slater, this is Grace and Teddy Watkins.”

  Slater shook hands with Teddy and felt very much like a boy meeting his girlfriend’s father for the first time on the way to the prom. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  The nurse cleared her throat. “You can go in two at a time, but you can only stay for five minutes.”

  Grace patted Rocki’s shoulder. “You two go ahead. We’ve been in and out of Jackson’s room all day. It will do him good to hear your voice, Racquel. I believe coma patients can hear so be sure to talk to him.”

  Rocki grabbed Slater’s hand and held on so tight; she was practically cutting off the circulation. They trailed the nurse to a glassed-in room and she held the door open for them.

  Slater followed Rocki in, looked over her shoulder, and broke into a cold sweat. He swallowed back bile, his salivary glands went into overdrive, and he prayed he wouldn’t be sick. It was as if he was reliving a nightmare. Tubes and wires, machines, the beeping of a monitor, the swoosh of a respirator, the IV hanging beside the body of a man he’d never seen before. He shouldn’t feel as if he was going to lose it. He forced himself to take a deep breath through his mouth. He didn’t want to smell the scent of antiseptic. He didn’t want to hear the squeak of rubber shoes against the linoleum. All he wanted to do was escape.

  He had the urge to drag his hand from Rocki’s and run as fast and far as his feet would take him. The glass wall seemed to cage him in. His heart pounded a dirge beneath his breastbone and he rubbed his chest—pain, or the memory of it, speared his consciousness. He grabbed the cold metal bedrail beside Rocki to anchor himself in the present. He had to be there for Rocki.

  She paled even more. The constant pressure of her hand on his increased, and her lip quivered. “Jackson, I’m here.” Her words were a whisper. Tears slid down her cheeks.

  Slater wrapped his arm around her, drawing her to his side, praying he didn’t pass out himself. It was all too familiar—the smell, the sounds, the machines. It was as if he’d been there before. He was certain of it, but he didn’t know when or why. Nothing made sense except the feel of Rocki’s shaking body holding on to him. Rocki needed him. He stuffed the half memories into his external hard drive and concentrated on her. “You need to speak louder.”

  Jackson’s head was wrapped in gauze with a tube coming right out of it draining something. He was as white as Rocki looked, as white as Slater felt, but since there were no mirrors, he couldn’t tell for sure. The bruise blooming on Jackson’s swollen face was the only color Slater could see. If not for the respirator filling Jackson’s chest with air, moving it up and down, he’d swear the man was dead. He’d never seen anyone so still, so motionless, so lifeless.

  Rocki let out a sob and turned her face into Slater’s chest.

  Comfort. He could do that for her. He turned his back on her brother, on all the machines, and concentrated on Rocki. It was easier to do that than wonder what the hell was going on with him. He kissed the top of her head and slid his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.” He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. He just hoped to hell he wasn’t wrong. “Come on, sweetheart. Just talk to him. It’ll get easier. I promise.”

  She looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes—the kind of eyes a man could get lost in.

  “You can do this. Just take a deep breath and try again. I’m right here for you. We’ll all get through this together.”

  She pulled her hands from his, scrubbed them over her face, took a deep breath, and then gave him a nod. “Jackson, it’s Rocki. I’m here. You need to wake up. God, please wake up.” She reached over and took his lifeless hand in hers. She was still shaking, but she was doing what she needed to do. Just like he was—trying to hold it together. He just didn’t know why he was falling apart.

  • • •

  Rocki was so screwed. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but then she’d pretty much been in a state of shock since she’d set eyes on Jax. By the time she and Slater had stepped out of Jax’s ICU room, visiting hours were over, and Grace had ordered them to follow her and Teddy back to the lake house using what Grace always used—logic. There was no reason for them to stay, they wouldn’t know anything until the morning, and besides, they were all upset and tired.

  Grace forced Rocki’s hand by issuing an order wrapped with a pretty bow to look like an invitation for Slater to stay at the lake house. Rocki’s family home—the only part of her parents’ estate that she and Jax hadn’t liquidated.

  It wasn’t as if they needed to liquidate any of it. They could have kept the whole package since money had never been an issue—only the root cause of many of the problems, for Rocki at least.

  They’d kept the lake house because it was where her family had spent all their summers and most of their winter vacations. It was where most of her happy family memories took place. Nothing bad ever happened at the lake house. Unfortunately, by bringing Slater there, chances were pretty darn good that the track record would end.

  The lake house was the last place she wanted to bring Slater, Mr. Perceptive, Mr. Curiosity, and her personal, though obviously tortured, hero, all rolled into a six-foot-three Michelangelo body with a da Vinci intellect. But then after she’d seen the way Slater had looked when he stepped into Jax’s room—like Superman wearing a Kryptonite cape—she could hardly send him off to a cold hotel by himself.

  She’d never seen a man so close to falling to his knees and expiring. Never seen a big—and lord he was big—strong, larger-than-life, vibrant man-in-charge go from superhero to vulnerable and back in less than a minute. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she’d swear it wasn’t possible.

  One minute he was holding her up, playing the hero—something she had a feeling he did
more often than not—and the next, he nearly shattered, turning green and looking as if he were going to pass out, hyperventilate, and be sick all at the same time.

  When she’d looked into his frantic, confused, and fear-glazed eyes, it became apparent—if only to her, one who’d been there, done that, and dealt with the flashbacks—that he was reliving a battle he’d already fought and probably lost.

  She was living proof that a person could lose the battle and still survive. She didn’t know what he’d endured, but she knew with certainty that Slater was nothing if not a survivor.

  Pain had radiated through him—a pain so monumental she’d felt it. She’d seen the way he rubbed his chest, the same way Pete rubbed his scar tissue, and wondered if it was a war injury, but then with his background as a foster kid—he might have just survived his family.

  Slater had been amazing—he hadn’t succumbed. He turned around, slammed whatever personal hell he’d experienced away with the ferocity and determination of the warrior she would always see him as, and pulled back on his superhero suit. He held on to her, calmed her, and talked her through one of the most horrifying experiences of her life.

  As they followed Grace and Teddy back to the house, her mind raced faster than the cars blowing past them on the rural highway. All she could hope was that since Slater obviously had his own secrets, maybe he wouldn’t out hers.

  • • •

  Slater drove with one eye on Rocki—or should he say Racquel?—and one eye on Grace and Teddy’s car. It was late—too late and he was done.

  Whatever happened at the hospital had drained him like a hose drained the gas tank when he and his brothers used to siphon instead of buy the stuff. Tired wasn’t a fit description of how he felt. He wasn’t sure if there was one. It was as if someone had taken his body and soul and wrung it out and then beat it against the sidewalk a few times just for good measure—not that there were sidewalks around here.