Hearts of Jade (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 3) Page 4

  I take a deep drink of my hot chocolate and rest my head against the back of the tub as I sink into the warm water and try to rest some more. This headache is beyond ridiculous. I’ve tried everything I can think of from over-the-counter stuff to searching the Internet for popular remedies. It just seems like I’m getting more intense headaches these days. It’s no wonder though, it seems like I have responsibilities coming from every angle. I can’t catch a break. If I could just solve one area of my life, it might be a little easier. Every time I try to resolve one area of my life, something else blows up. I feel like I’m playing some twisted game of Minesweeper.

  My phone starts to ring and it’s not a ring tone for one of my friends or my parents, so I dry my hand on the towel I left on the edge of the tub and answer the phone, “Hello?”

  “Is this Jade Peters?” an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the phone asks.

  “I’m Jade Petros, is that what you mean?” I answer, confused by the odd question.

  “Oh, so it is. I can’t even read my own chicken scratch,” she replies with a self-deprecating laugh.

  “I’m sorry to be rude, but who are you and why are you calling?” I probe impatiently.

  “That’s right, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m one of the patient coordinators at Shands. We found your friend lying unconscious today. He had nothing on him except this card with your name on it. Apparently, he is urgently asking for you. We don’t have any other information on him. He doesn’t have a wallet, a cell phone or anything else. He just keeps calling out your name. Would it be possible for you to come down and see him?”

  “Who is it? Is it my father?” I inquire, my heart beating a million miles an hour. Marcus has done a great job of making sure that Ink’d Deep is as secure as it possibly can be, especially since Rogue married Tristan, a security expert. Still, the truth will always be that some of our clients have interesting pasts, so to speak.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replies. “Not unless your dad is a young man. This gentleman keeps saying his name is Pelican. At least that’s what we think he’s saying, it’s hard to say with all the swelling around his mouth. He’s in pretty rough shape, but he wants to talk to you. We don’t have any other contacts for him except you; is it possible you could come see this young man?”

  “Is it Declan?” I ask, my voice raising an alarm. “Does he look like he belongs in a rock band somewhere?”

  The woman chuckles as she responds, “Yes, I suppose he does fit in to the MTV generation.”

  “Listen to me! You have to tell the doctors not to give him any morphine. He told me once that it would kill him.”

  “Oh good Lord! Just a moment —“

  I peek around the curtain as my heart beats in my throat. The last time I was anywhere near a hospital, we were afraid that my dad was having some sort of major heart incident. It turned out that he had developed an ulcer after my brother died and he mistook the symptoms for a heart attack because Grandpa died that way after one last stroke. It was scary either way.

  When I see Declan, it’s all I can do to not cry. If it were not for his trademark long hair, I wouldn’t even know it was him. He is virtually unrecognizable. Thank goodness he’s sleeping, because I can’t even pretend to disguise my reaction to his appearance. I’m just not that good of an actress. That would be Jessica’s area of expertise, as a Theater Arts major, not mine. False fronts aren’t really my thing. As I walk around the bed so that I can sit beside his bed, I notice that his hand is encased in bandages. I can’t catch the gasp of surprise which flies out of my mouth.

  Unfortunately this causes him to open his eyes. “Hi Ja—“ he whispers weakly.

  I sit quietly in the chair beside his bed and fiddle with his sheets to straighten out any wrinkles as I say, “Hi, yourself. Apparently I can’t leave you unsupervised for any amount of time. I only left you a little over six hours ago. What did you do to yourself?”

  Declan tries to focus his eyes on me but his left eye is swollen so much he can’t even open it. It looks like a big purple eggplant. I wonder if he broke a bone in his face. His beautiful strong nose is definitely broken and there are stitches across the bridge of his nose. I wonder if it will heal with a bump like Onyx had after he hit his head on the neighbor’s diving board in the eighth grade. Declan starts to cough and wince when he tries to talk.

  I lay my hand on his forearm as I instruct, “You know what? Never mind. The details aren’t really all that important right now. We can sort all this out later. You get some sleep, I’ll be right here in case you need anything.”

  Declan gives me a thumbs-up with his good hand.

  I study him briefly before I offer, “Do you want me to clean you up a little? I promise to be gentle. I used to give my grandparents sponge baths all the time before they passed away. All that gunk on your skin can make you itch.”

  Declan gives me another thumbs-up as tears leak from the corner of his eyes.

  I’ve tattooed this man for hours on end with pretty intense line-work and shading. I have never seen him show any sign of pain. Alarmed, I ask, “Should I get a nurse? Do you need some pain medicine?”

  Declan shakes his head as a tear slides down his face. He tries to wipe it off with his bandaged hand and gives a growl of frustration.

  I grab some Kleenex from the bedside table and wipe the tears from his face.

  “Relax Dec, I got this,” I assure him. I walk over to the sink in his room and pour some warm water in a little dishpan I see sitting there. I wish I had my soothing facial wash, but all I have is the pink hospital soap. I guess it will have to do; I squirt some on a washcloth and leave one washcloth without any. I walk back over to the side of his bed and pick up his arm that’s not injured. “If this hurts, you have to let me know.”

  As I begin methodically cleaning off his body one inch at a time, the full extent of whatever happened to him becomes clear. There is very little of Declan Ailín that remains untouched by whatever calamity overtook him. The man even has bruises behind his kneecaps. Why in the world would he be injured behind his kneecaps? The other thing I can’t help but notice is how utterly beautiful this man is. I guess I knew that before, but I just haven’t been this up close and personal with him before to appreciate the perfection in his physical form.

  When I make my way up to his hair, I notice that it’s matted with blood; there isn’t a whole lot I can do about that under these circumstances. I look around the room for things to clean and tame his wild mane of hair. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot in the cramped, sterile room. Suddenly, I remember that Marcus gave me a gag gift to go with an 80s costume we wore to a fundraising dinner for Habitat for Humanity a couple of months ago and it’s probably still at the bottom of my big, oversized purse. I put the dishpan back over by the sink and start digging through my purse. It’s all I can do to not break out in a victory dance when I find that garishly colored oversized comb with widely spaced teeth and a large handle in the very bottom of my purse. Although it’s not very helpful for my half African-American/half Greek hair, it will work beautifully on Declan’s long locks.

  I go back over to the sink and run a new dishpan full of warm water and grab a clean washcloth. With painstaking care, I use the washcloth to remove large clumps of blood as I comb gently through his hair. At first, I was really worried about causing Declan more pain. However, he seems to have drifted off into somewhat peaceful sleep. I wonder if they gave him some pain medication because he doesn’t even seem to notice when I accidentally pull his hair when I encounter a stubborn tangle. Finally, after almost forty-five minutes, I have completely combed through as much of his hair as I can reach without disturbing him. I fanned it out around his head like some oddly imperfect halo.

  As I sit back to evaluate the status of things, I notice his lips look really dry. Sleep is probably more important right now than getting him something to drink. I fish out one of my many tubes of Chapstick from my purse and take the seal off. I gue
ss Declan is lucky that I can’t seem to pass a checkout stand without seeing if they have any unusual flavors of Chapstick. This particular one happens to be pineapple; I hope he likes it.

  I’m concentrating as I slide it over his lips to make sure that I don’t hit any obviously injured spots too hard, so I’m startled when his hand reaches up and grabs my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip as he harshly whispers, “Damn, Jade, I’ve always wanted you to touch me, but not this way.”

  WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO me? I haven’t hurt this bad since my cousin tried to fix his own transmission and dropped his truck on me. Come to think of it, the sounds are the same too. Crap, that’s right… I’m in the hospital again. I seem to have an unnatural attraction to this place. Dammit, this time it wasn’t even my fault.

  Do they really have to make those machines so friggin’ noisy? I can’t even hear myself think. It’s absolutely insane. Between the incessant beeping and the sound of Jade arguing on the phone— Wait… Why is Jade here? I thought she was really pissed off at me. I figured it would be a couple of months before she calmed down enough to be in my general presence. I try to lie still so that I can quiet the sound of the blood rushing in my ears. I want to hear what Jade is saying.

  Finally, I’m able to focus on her words as I watch her with her head bent to the side holding the phone in the crook of her neck as her hands are gesturing wildly. She’s clearly trying to whisper, although her voice is actually quite loud, “Look, I’m sorry your niece didn’t have someone to perform at her slumber party. I know; it sucked to be her.” She pauses for a moment before continuing as she listens to the person on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I understand. I’m not making light of your situation. You don’t understand, sir. Mr. Ailín made every effort to be there, it just was not possible.”

  This time, Jade holds the phone away from her ear and I can hear the muffled sounds of someone shouting through the phone even though I am several feet away from Jade. When the person on the other end of the phone finally runs out of breath, Jade responds, “I’d actually like to look at that written contract between you and Declan. I’d be interested to learn about the emergency provisions,” she replies. When he answers in yet another angry tirade, she turns around to look at me and catches me watching her. She just rolls her eyes in disgust as she waits for him to finish. When he does, she retorts, “So, what you’re telling me is that you and Mr. Ailín never actually had a contract for him to appear. He just told you that if he was free he would stop by and play a few songs, am I understanding that correctly?” She pauses a few seconds before adding, “Yes, I understand he is living with you. Did he pay you any money for expenses? Was he late with his payment? Oh, I see — he wasn’t late. Well, that’s good.” Jade remarks helpfully as she continues to listen to the ongoing vitriolic word vomit.

  She looks at me with wide eyes as she processes whatever this person is saying on the other end of the phone. She grabs a little notepad and pen from her purse as she suddenly asks, “What did you say your name was? Cornelius Tully?”

  When I hear her say that name, I want to get out of bed and snatch the phone right out of her hand so that she doesn’t have to talk to that creep. Actually, I try to do just that. Inexplicably, I can’t. I feel like I have zip ties strapping me into the bed. Jade sees me struggling and motions for me to stop.

  Her body language tenses as she abruptly answers in the most professional voice I’ve heard her use so far, “I just want to make sure I understand this: Declan isn’t welcome to stay at your home anymore — even though he’s paid his rent because he wasn’t able to sing at your niece’s slumber party?”

  After a few moments she just spins around on the ball of her foot and says, “All right then. I understand.” She shakes her head as she recants her statement, “No, that’s not quite right, I don’t understand. For the sake of politeness, I won’t say much more. I actually hope you decide to take this to court. It would be fun to listen to you try to explain to a judge why you broke a perfectly solid rental agreement over a nonexistent contract when the reason he was unable to fulfill it is because he’s in the hospital, but you’re welcome to go ahead and be a jerk if you’d like. Someone will be by to get his things at five o’clock. Would it be helpful if you had FBI and DEA agents to supervise the packing? No? All right. Just make sure that none of his valuables are broken in the process of packing, please.”

  Jade pulls the phone away from her ear again as another barrage of words comes flying at her. Her eyes light up with fire as she hears the words being hurled in her general direction. The tone of her voice becomes lethal as she responds, “You need to check your tone. Mr. Ailín may have only been renting space in the corner of your basement and sleeping on your couch, but he was still your tenant. Fine, if you don’t want us coming there, you can drop off his stuff at Ink’d Deep. Tell him that Jade told you that it was all right to put it in the back room.”

  I can’t hear the next thing that was said, but Jade’s expression darkens markedly as she replies, “No, if you had been paying attention at the beginning of this conversation when I introduced myself, you would know that I was not some stripper that Declan picked up at the street festival somewhere. I’m actually the co-owner of Ink’d Deep. If I wanted to, I could probably buy that house you’re kicking Declan out of several times over. If I did, I wouldn’t be a jerk and kick my tenant out because he ended up in the hospital. I happen to like being a decent human being, but whatever floats your boat. Have a good day, Mr. Tully.”

  Jade hangs up her phone and tosses it in her oversized purse. She turns back to the window and shakes herself out like a sheepdog as she lets out a growl of frustration. Finally, she turns back around toward me.

  “You might as well make me a list,” Jade announces with a frsustrated sigh.

  “A list of what?” I ask blankly.

  “I’m sure I’m going to have to replace nearly everything you own because I couldn’t bring myself to be entirely polite to the cow-cud of a man who pretends to be your landlord. Where did you find this guy?”

  “Cow-Cud?” I laugh, even though it kills my bruised ribs.

  Jade rolls her eyes so hard that I’m pretty sure she can see the inside of her brain. “Whatever. I’m trying to make my dad happy. Even though Ink’d Deep is a tattoo place, my dad thinks it’s bad for customer relations to have rough language. He instituted a swear-jar. At first it was funny, but then he upped the penalty. Don’t get me wrong, I can afford it. It’s the principle of the thing, I’m buying lunch every week. I know Rogue swears as much as I do, but she just does it in different languages and my dad doesn’t catch her because it sounds all lyrical and poetic. I’ve been trying out new creative ways to say bad things about people. It’s kind of therapeutic in a way. Anyway, I don’t think you’re going to see your stuff again. This guy had egotistical, narcissistic jerk written all over him. He probably thinks he’s entitled to your stuff as some sort of deposit for you staying there and breathing his air.”

  “Look, it’s no huge loss. It’s not like we were close or anything, he was just some relative of a guy who sometimes plays keyboard with me on some of my larger venues. I barely knew him. He was just trying to make some extra cash to play online poker.”

  Jade smirks as she answers, “Figures. Did you have anything valuable at his house?”

  I sink back against my pillows and close my eyes as the reality of last night hits me. My abrupt change in position knocks one of the sensors loose on my body and the alarm starts to go off, filling the room with shrill, incessant noise that makes my head feel like it’s going to explode at any second. A nurse comes in and reattaches the little sticker while giving Jade a serious case of stink eye. Jade glares right back. The nurse glances back and forth between the two of us and advises pointedly, “You know, the hospital is a place to recover. You need to keep your activity to a minimum.” With that, she dramatically flounces from the room.

  I look at Jade and comment, �
�It might be interesting to know what she thought we were doing in here.”

  Jade snorts as she retorts, “I have a pretty good idea what she means, but I don’t think you’re quite up to those activities. Are you going to tell me what happened to you or do I just have to guess by sorting through my nightmares?”

  “To be honest, I’m not even sure I know the whole story. When it got really bad, I blacked out. I still have no idea how I got here for sure. I suppose Everett brought me.”

  “Who is Everett?” she inquires.

  “He’s my unofficial busking partner. He drives a shuttle bus now, but back in the day he used to play saxophone in New Orleans, so he knows what I go through and he helps me out. I’ve got a round I do down by the outdoor restaurants by the campus at the University of Florida. If it’s a rainy day and people aren’t outside, I’ll sometimes catch a ride on Everett’s shuttle bus. I play a little guitar on the long stops. Everett says it makes the parents happy; a lot of times their kids are undergoing treatment at Shands. I don’t make a lot of money on that circuit, not like I do when I play downtown during a business convention or anything — but it’s pretty steady income; a few bucks here and there — over time it adds up. There are a few people that live in the neighborhood who look forward to my arrival. There’s this one college student who proofreads other people’s term papers so she can afford to tip me. It’s kinda cool to have a groupie of sorts.”

  “So you were on the bus, but that doesn’t make you like this,” Jade insists, pointing at my broken hand.