A Matter of Trust(75)

Her face had flashed with such an expression of desperation he couldn’t take it. Which was why he’d talked personally with the billing department while she’d been in surgery.

Had settled up her account in advance. It made him feel a smidgen less helpless.

Now he leaned over her, gave her a smile. “You’re going to be fine.”

But to his horror, her expression crumpled, and she looked away. Closed her eyes.

“Brette?”

“Go away, Ty—please. I can’t . . .”

Then she lifted her hand to her face, hiding her eyes as her shoulders began to shake.

What?

“Brette, what’s the matter—should I call the doctor?”

She shook her head, her breath hiccupping.

“Please don’t cry.”

She moved her hand away, looked up at him then, and the expression she gave him—fear? shame? vulnerability?—seemed miles away from the woman he’d met two nights ago. That woman seemed confident, bold. Unafraid.

Then again, he knew how injury could turn someone inside out, strip away everything they thought they were, leaving only the instinct for survival.

“What’s going on?”

She pressed her hand to her cheek, wiped away the wetness there. “I just . . . I didn’t want surgery.” She pulled the oxygen mask away from her mouth.

“I think you’re supposed to keep that on,” Ty said, but she was already removing it from behind her ears. And now, reaching to sit up.

“Settle down, Brette—you just had surgery.”

“I don’t want to rack up any more bills—”

“Calm down! It’s paid for!”

She looked at him with such a stark expression of shock he didn’t know what to say.

Definitely not the truth, so . . . “I talked to billing. They were able to get you into a . . . uh, special program. For those without insurance. It’s all covered.”

She stared at him, as if testing him, and then, suddenly, her body seemed to surrender into his words. “Really?”

So much hope in her voice, he couldn’t help it. He lied again. Sort of. Because it was covered. And that was all that really mattered. “Yes. So stay put, please.”

She sighed, closed her eyes. Turned her face away.

And then another tear raked down her cheek.

He’d heard of people being overly emotional after surgery, so maybe this was just a side effect. “Um, by the way, Gage and Ella found Bradley. He was injured, but he’s on his way to the hospital now.”

She just nodded.

And that response had him even more unsettled.

“Brette, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Silence, and her breath drew in, shaky. But he noticed she hadn’t let go of his hand. In fact, her grip tightened around his.

Finally, she looked at him, her eyes wet, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Thank you, Ty.”

“For what?”

“Taking me to the hospital. And staying here with me. Being so nice to me.”

“I told you right before you went into surgery that I’d be here waiting.” Maybe she didn’t remember.

“I know. But you didn’t have to.” She offered a small, chagrined smile.

“Of course I did. I said I would. Besides, you’re all alone here and . . . well, nobody likes to wake up alone, right?”

Oh. He hadn’t meant that in a lewd way, so he amended. “I mean, I didn’t know who to call, family or friends, so . . . you got me.”

Her gaze didn’t fall away as she took a breath. “Actually, I don’t have family.”

He frowned. And now she sighed.

“My parents have both passed away. I’m an only child.”

“I’m sorry, Brette.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to being alone. But . . . I am glad you stayed.”

And now her smile touched her eyes, and he felt the warmth of it reach out and twine through him. She looked so fragile connected to an IV, dressed in her hospital gown, her blonde hair in a nest on the pillow, that something inside him just wanted to scoop her back up into his arms.

He hadn’t minded that part in the least—carrying her out to the car, her body sinking against his, her silky hair falling down over his arm. He’d tucked her under his chin in an effort to protect her from the frigid postblizzard wind.

And that urge hadn’t died in the least.

“I’ll stay longer, if you want.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say that. But she nodded, and he hooked a chair with his foot and pulled it over.

He sat down, still holding her hand.

“That’s good, about Bradley,” she said, rolling onto her side. Wincing.

“Easy there, champ. You’re not supposed to be doing a lot of moving around. You’ll be on your feet in a day or so.”