Of course, Brody cared about her. Was it love? Only he could decide that. But she was pretty sure the cold look in his eyes wasn’t an accurate representation of how he truly felt. More than likely, he just wanted her to think he didn’t give a shit because it was the easiest way to cut her loose.

And it worked.

She’d flaked and she’d said things she wished she could take back. But if Brody was half the man she thought he was, he knew that. They weren’t kids. This wasn’t one of those pissing match break-ups where they drug out the heavy artillery and bashed the crap out of each other just because they could.

This was a real relationship. With real feelings. Complicated, real feelings.

Her cell phone rang on the end table and all three women turned to look at it. As anyone would after eleven o’clock on a Friday night.

“It’s him,” she said quietly, knowing without even having to look. “Oh, my fucking God, it’s him.”

She snatched up the phone and ran for the bedroom. Her fingers shook and her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she could hear it in her ears. She stuck the phone to her ear in a breathless rush, slamming the door behind her.

“Brody?”

“Sorry, Jenny, it’s Sam.”

Her stomach hit her toes as she dropped to the bed, a deflated sigh swooshing from her chest. “Oh. Hi, Sam. What going on?” More to point...why are you calling from Brody’s phone?

In the distance, a deep voice rumbled incoherently. The only words she understood clearly were, “Just take me back to the damn hotel.” Brody voice. The goose bumps that sprang up on her arms recognized it, too.

“Your boy decided to get his ass kicked tonight and he’s currently bleeding all over my truck.”

All the adrenaline from moments ago surged through her body once again. “What? Why?”

“I need to call Jenn,” Brody muttered in the background. “I need to tell her I’m sorry and that I—”

“What you need is a doctor, man. Hold still; we’re almost there.”

Jesus. “Where is there?” she demanded, but Sam didn’t answer. Instead, she just heard groaning. Brody’s groaning. “Dammit, Sam!”

“Hold on a sec. We’re just pulling into the hospital in OKC. He’s pretty messed up.”

But he was talking. About her. “Define messed up.”

“He’s probably got a concussion. Definitely needs a few stitches. There’s a nasty gash on the top of his head.”

“I’m fine, bro. Fiiine.”

Messed up and drunk. God. “Let me talk to him.”

“Uh...” Sam stalled again. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

Probably not, but... “Just give him the phone.”

“He’s not exactly thinking clea—dude! Hold the hell up!” In the background, the truck door opened, followed by a thud. She flinched. “Jesus, Jenn, you’ve gotta do something about this. He’s going to kill himself if this shit doesn’t stop. Last week, I had to pick him up off the bathroom floor. Earlier this week, he puked in my fucking bed at the hotel. Now this.”

Tears sprung up in her eyes. Eyes that shifted to the suitcase sitting on the floor by her closet. How quickly could she get to Oklahoma?

“Sam...give Brody the phone.”

He gave a disgruntled sigh and she heard him moving around. In the distance, sirens wailed. A semi horn honked. “Come on, man. Let’s get you up off the ground.”

“I’m good,” Brody slurred. “Totally good.”

“Fucking Christ.” Sam grunted. Then Brody grunted. A minute later, raspy, labored breath crackled the phone line.

“Superman?” Don’t cry. Do not cry.

“Baby? Is that you?” Every word sounded like an effort. Made him breathe a little harder in her ear.

“Yeah, handsome, it’s me. Heard you tried to be a hero again tonight.” She fisted the comforter and stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

“Not this time.” His wet cough had her pressing her lips together, fighting for control. “I’m a fucking idiot, babe. Thought I could do this alone. Thought I—” He broke off with a garbled, broken moan. The same moan she’d heard seconds before he’d cried in her bed.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I swear.” Even though it would kill her to listen to him fall apart knowing he was so far away, she’d do it for him. She’d do anything for him. “As soon as we hang up, I’m getting in my car. I’ll be in Oklahoma by morning.”

“Ah, babe,” he whispered. “I can’t let you see me like this.”

“Brody, you have to stop saying that. You need me. Please let me help.”

“What I need is to figure this shit out. I’ll come back to you when I’ve done that. Promise.”

“You don’t make promises, remember?”

“Not when I can’t keep them. This is one I intend to keep.”

Please, God, let that be true. She pounded a fist into the bed and sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll wait as long as you need me too, Superman. Why? Because I love your stubborn ass.”

He gave a shaky, wincing laugh. “Got something to say to you, too, sugar. Saving it for when I see you gorgeous face again.”

The dam of tears broke and her voice cracked when she spoke. “Then you better make it quick.”

“Working on it, babe.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Turns out that getting smashed in the face a half-dozen times by a couple three-hundred-pound bikers and then thrown into the side of a truck, head first, is actually not as painful as having a catheter stuck around a cock piercing.

“Can you please take it out?” Brody tried to grab for the nurse as she messed with his IV, but even moving his arm hurt. Everything hurt. His head throbbed.

“Sorry, handsome. Not until you can get up to go the bathroom on your own.” Martha, a middle-aged woman in mint-green scrubs, patted his shoulder, then leaned over to check something in his hair. He flinched when she touched his scalp, sure her fingers were hot pokers stabbing straight into his brain.

“Motherf—mmmmm.” He winced in pain, balling his fists into the white bedding.

“Tender, huh? Yeah, you had quite a gash there. Thankfully the one on your face isn’t as bad. You’ll be pretty again. Eventually.” More shoulder patting. Until she flipped up the blanket, adjusted the catheter tubing, and he damn near went through the roof.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, honey.” She gave him an amused, mildly sympathetic smile. “Maybe I should get you something more for pain. If you keep jumping like that and your ribs will never heal.”

Fucking hell. “How about a lethal injection? That might take the edge off.”

She cocked a dark eyebrow. “Now, now, Mr. Nelson. I’m sure your family would disagree.”

Shit. His family. Someone should probably call his parents...

“I’ll be back with those meds. Close your eyes. Try to get some rest.” Martha flipped off the lights on her way out the door, but the morning sun still lit the room. Thanks to the Devil Chasers, he’d slept for more than seven hours last night. Unconsciously, sure, but beggars and choosers and all that shit.

Goddamn, breaking that bottle had been stupid. Even if it had given him exactly what he wanted—physical pain powerful enough to make him forget the other kind. There was never any way getting roughed up was going to solve his problems. Starting a brawl wasn’t any different than getting wasted every chance he could, because when the buzz wore off, he was still left with the same damn guilt. A crooked nose, a cracked skull, bruised ribs, and one hell of a friggin’ hospital bill this time around, too.

The door to his room cracked open again and Sam strolled in with a cup of to-go coffee in hand. The asshole gave an exaggerated grimace and leisurely dropped into a chair at the end of the bed. “That little cat nap sure as hell didn’t make you any more beautiful, that’s for sure.”

“Fuck you.” Brody looked around the room for a mirror. Then again, if he looked anything like he felt, maybe he didn’t want to see just how messed up he was. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”