I nearly protested, but we were all tired and hungry and cranky after hours in the hospital. I didn’t want to get into an argument with Scarlett’s friends, but I would also rather chew off my hand than eat the cafeteria food.
Instead, I ducked into the loo and bought a pack of pretzels and water on my way back. I ate them next to the vending machine, grateful for the energy boost.
When I returned to the hall outside Scarlett’s room, only Brooklyn was there. She jumped up when she saw me.
“Any new developments while I was gone?” I asked.
I didn’t expect her to say yes, but a nervous expression crossed her face at my question.
“Well, Carina’s in the bathroom, and Scarlett’s awake again.”
“Already?” She’d looked so exhausted when I talked to her that I expected her to sleep through the night. Did something happen? Was she in so much pain she couldn’t sleep?
“Yes. But, um, you might not want to go in there,” Brooklyn said when I moved toward the door.
It was too late. I’d already cracked it open.
“Why…” My words died in my throat.
Because Scarlett wasn’t alone. Standing beside her bed, his back to me, was Vincent. I’d recognize that buzz cut and number four kit anywhere. He must’ve come straight from the match.
He turned, his face darkening when he saw me.
Fuck. I hadn’t seen any news about me and Scarlett yet, but considering I’d missed my most anticipated match of the season so far to be by her side, I guess he’d pieced the puzzle together faster than the paps.
I held up my hands as he stormed toward me. “Vincent, I—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence before he hauled his fist back and slammed it into my face.
CHAPTER 43SCARLETT
It turned out hospitals frowned upon fistfights breaking out on their premises, especially when one of their patients tried to hobble out of bed and stop it.
I wasn’t stupid enough to try and throw myself into the middle of Vincent and Asher’s fight, but I needed to do something. God knew I didn’t have the strength to yell like I normally would.
Unfortunately, I also didn’t have the strength to sit up straight, much less walk anywhere. My head made it about four inches above my pillow before sheer fatigue dragged it back down.
“Stop.” The word scraped up my throat. “Stop.”
Neither of them heard me over their grunts, curses, and the sound of fists striking flesh.
Once Vincent threw the first punch, all bets were off. Asher had retaliated, and now the two of them were grappling five feet from me like Neanderthals without impulse control.
A migraine blossomed at the base of my skull.
Rest and medical attention had soothed the worst of my pain, but I still hurt all over, and my head throbbed where I’d hit it against the corner of my coffee table. Thankfully, the angle at which I fell meant I’d only suffered a flesh wound and mild concussion; it could’ve been much worse, all things considered.
However, seeing two of the people I cared about most beat each other up in my hospital room was not conducive to a speedy recovery.
“You bastard!” Vincent swung at Asher again. “You lied to me!”
“We were going to tell you.” Asher ducked the hit. “This is why we didn’t!”
“You—”
The door swung open again, cutting off Vincent’s response. The doctor rushed in, followed by Carina, Brooklyn, and one of the nurses.
Screams, shouts, and swear words flew through the air with abandon.
I wanted to scream with them. I wanted to stand, yell, do anything except be an observer of my own life, but I couldn’t summon the strength.
The migraine spread to my eyes, my temples, my jaw. Everywhere.
“Enough!” My doctor finally wrestled the situation under control. Her eyes flashed with fury. “Everyone, out.”
“But—”
“You can’t—”
“She doesn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it! I have a patient resting in here”—she pointed at me—“and you are in here fist fighting? You should be glad I don’t call security. Now get out!” For such a kind-looking old lady, Dr. Ambani had one hell of a set of pipes.
It was as if a fog had cleared, and they realized I was in the room for the first time since Asher opened the door.
Vincent and Asher swung toward me with stricken expressions. Guilt etched horrified lines across their faces, but the doctor didn’t give them an opportunity to apologize.
