Instead, he’d hurt her.

Those fucking photos…

Shane tapped his fingers on the table as an expert studied each picture with care. He hadn’t seen anything that hinted that they were fake, but he’d probably missed something. Some people were just that damn good at Photoshop.

“If these were photoshopped, it’s a very good job,” the expert said, scratching his jaw. “I’m not saying they’re one hundred percent authentic either, but…” He pushed all the pictures back across the table. “I’d consider them authentic.”

Shane’s hand tightened into a fist. The man had to be mistaken. Even doctors screwed up now and then. “Thanks for your time,” he said tautly and paid the man. Shane slipped the pictures into his jacket pocket and got up. He’d prove that man wrong. Then come back and tell him so.

A second opinion…then a third…fourth…fifth…sixth…

Everyone said the same thing the first man did: the photos were authentic. And they all added a caveat to cover their asses in case they were wrong—“there’s a small chance…”—but it always came with a but.

But they were authentic.

Well maybe they were. And maybe there were good reasons why she was draped all over those other men. She might have been dizzy at that time. Or tired. Women did that all the time, right?

Ginger had no idea about the photos. Shane considered talking to her about them, just get the whole confrontation out of the way. But he couldn’t. Every time he tried to talk about the matter, his throat would close up. If he showed the photos to her…maybe she’d tell him the same thing all those damned experts had told him—they were real.

He had to leave for a while. Go somewhere far, far away so he could be alone and get some perspective. Staying in L.A. was torture—and he wasn’t as good an actor as his father. He couldn’t put his arms around his fiancée and fake a smile while wondering about the damned pictures.

Tears trickled down from under his hand. He was the biggest fucking failure in the world.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ginger got up at around nine, feeling incredibly well-rested. There was a scent of coffee in the air. She stretched, grinning, and went to the kitchen. “Hey, early bird. Mind if I steal some?”

“Go ahead,” Debbie said from the couch, her voice listless.

Ginger brought her coffee to the living room and sat next to her best friend. Debbie had a blanket wrapped around her, and she was staring into the middle distance. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. I know something’s up. Tell me.”

She sighed. “It’s Shane.”

Ginger almost spat out her coffee. Crap. Debbie had been threatening to confront him and beat him up for a while now. “What happened?”

“He came over.”

When she didn’t continue, Ginger said, “When?” Sometimes it required two mules and a wagon hitch to pull information out of Debbie, especially when she was in a funk.

“Last night after you went to sleep.” Debbie sighed again.

Ginger rolled her wrist. “Annnnd?”

“I spoke to him in the stairwell.”

“About what?” she said, when her friend didn’t continue.

“The photos.” Debbie blinked away tears. “Please don’t be mad, but it just infuriated me when he showed up and acted all normal. Like he didn’t destroy you with the things he did. So I set him straight. Told him everything.”

Ginger licked her dry lips. “Including my…” She couldn’t say the word. “The thing that happened in Amsterdam?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god…” Ginger put her hands on her cheeks. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Why shouldn’t he know? It was his baby too, and he should suffer—assuming he’s even capable.”

“There was no point in hurting him, Debbie,” she said. “It’s in the past. What could I accomplish by letting him know now?”

“I wanted him to suffer, too. It’s not fair that you’re the only one who had to deal with the whole thing.”

Ginger hugged her friend, touched by Debbie’s fierce protectiveness. Guilt pricked her heart—she’d burdened her friend with so much.

“Anyway.” Debbie cleared her throat. “I told him. I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know.”

“Okay, well… How did he react?”

“He, um, sort of sank to his knees and fell over.”

“What? Did he fall down or something?”

“Uh, yeah.” Debbie bit her lower lip. “All the way down the stairs. One full flight.”

“Oh my god.” At least her unit was on the second floor. Shane would be bruised, but he should be all right.

“I totally panicked.” Debbie twisted her hands in front of her.

Debbie talked big and cocky, but she’d grown up in a moneyed, privileged environment. Seeing something like that would’ve been traumatizing. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not the one who fell down the stairs.” Debbie sighed. “There was blood.”

Ginger’s heart stopped. “What?”

“He… I think he hit his head. It was matted with blood by the time I reached him.”

“No!” Ginger jumped to her feet. Her mind blanked except for the image of Shane lying in his own blood. “Do you know which hospital they took him to?”

“Yeah, but Gin—”

“He’s my fiancé.” She threw on a shirt and shorts, then pulled her hair into a ponytail. “I want to make sure he’s okay. You should’ve woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You were so tired you slept through the siren.”

Ginger shook her head. She’d been suffering from insomnia for the last few days, but that didn’t mean she was okay finding out about Shane just now. “Which hospital?”

Debbie told her. Ginger grabbed her keys and rushed out.

* * *

Shane was in a private wing. Ginger hurried along the antiseptic corridors until Vanessa abruptly stepped in front of her.

“What are you doing here?”

Being in her second trimester hadn’t seemed to slow her down. Shane’s younger sister was immaculately dressed in a sleek black and red dress and a pair of fashionable stilettos—the baby bump barely showing. “I’m here to see Shane, of course.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“Um… I’m sorry?”

“I just find it strange he was injured in your apartment building. He doesn’t have any friends there.”

“He came by to see me, but I was asleep.”

“Oh really?” Vanessa folded her arms. “So how did you find out?”

“A friend told me. She happened to be staying at my place last night.”

“She?” Vanessa arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Ginger clenched her hands. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I can’t make any sense out of what’s going on between the two of you. What I know for certain is that you hurt him, Ginger. I’ve never seen him like this before. If this is supposed to be true love, why are you causing him this pain?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ginger said. “Please. I need to talk to him.”

“No way.”

A familiar-looking man came into the corridor and put an arm around Vanessa’s stiff shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were going to get some snacks for the junior.” He put a hand on her belly.

Ginger’s eyes widened as it clicked—this was Justin, Vanessa’s husband.

“I was, until I saw her.”

Justin gave Ginger a warm smile. “Shane’s inside, but you might not want to visit for too long. He hasn’t been resting well, and he’s moody and irritable.”

“Thank you.” She dashed past as Vanessa was opening her mouth to protest. She had to see Shane.