to say?
Give me some kind words, Lord, Alex prayed, stretching his brain for something meaningful—and only coming up with lame platitudes and more apologies.
“Alex?”
Alex looked up to see a familiar face in an excruciatingly geeky turtleneck and cargo pants standing in the lounge doorway. Great. The only thing worse than WWW’s slick executive guy was the eccentric lawyer Sam had hired last year.
“Morning.” The guy checked his phone, which was of course this year’s latest gadget must-have. He looked at JJ and introduced himself. “Barry Morgan. AG legal.”
JJ rolled her eyes and stood up. “Well, that didn’t take long.”
Barry had the nerve to look annoyed. “Sorry if I’m intruding, Miss...”
“I doubt that,” JJ snapped back, then disappeared through the ICU doors, leaving behind the coffee and the muffins Alex hadn’t even had a chance to offer without a second look.
“Nice going, Morgan.” Alex didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “That was Josephine Jones, Max Jones’s sister. Was showing up here, now, really necessary?”
“I was in town giving a first pass at some sponsorship documents, so Sam begged me to come by and make sure we’re on the same page. Sam would’ve come himself but he’s going back to Denver tomorrow morning since you don’t seem to want to leave. Chill out. I’m just here to talk to you—I’m not going to bother her.”
“You just did. What can’t possibly wait until Jones is awake and we know his prognosis?
“Hey, look, you should be glad I was nearby. WWW’s got guys all over this screaming we’re liable. Already.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they are.” He gave Morgan his most direct look. “We are, aren’t we?” He didn’t even want to be having this conversation.
“Depends on your interpretation.”
A very lawyerly answer from a guy who looked more like he belonged at a coffee bar than the American Bar Association. Where did Sam find these guys? “I’m sure.” Alex waited for Morgan to snap open his leather messenger bag and hand over a stack of releases for JJ to sign, but the man simply sat down. “And what’s your interpretation?” Alex prompted.
Morgan adjusted his artsy wire glasses. “The equipment we gave WWW was a prototype and not yet fully drop tested, right?”
“Not we. I never approved that. I only agreed to let them examine it—not use it. You should know that right now.”
“Sam brought me up to speed on your opinion.” He lowered his voice. “Look, the bottom line is that it’d be best for all concerned if we kept things as far from antagonistic with the victim and his family as possible. Sam’s ticked you’re not going to Denver, but I told him that you sticking around could be an advantage. I trust you’re on board with that strategy?”
Alex didn’t like people who used phrases like “on board” and “up to speed,” especially while dressed like coffeehouse poets. “If you’re asking me if I’m in favor of AG being in position to do the right thing here, then yes, I’m ‘on board.’”
“Good. Your role is to stay in the family’s good graces. If any suits are going to be filed, life will be far easier for us if they’re directed at WWW and not AG. Surely you can see that.”
The awful coffee in Alex’s stomach turned more sour. “Oh, I can see exactly where you’re heading with this.”
“Excellent.”
Alex stood. “And believe me, if you aren’t out of this hospital within ten minutes you’ll see just how ‘up to speed’ I can be, Morgan. If you think I’m here to cozy up to Jones’s family for leverage...” Without finishing the vile thought, Alex picked up Morgan’s bag and slapped it into the attorney’s chest. “I’m here because a man’s future is hanging in the balance, not because the profit share is in jeopardy. Leave. Now. And if you want anything, go call my brother. He speaks your language much better than I do.”
This was exactly the kind of company Alex didn’t want to run. Morgan was precisely the kind of person Alex never wanted to do business with. Was this the future of AG, or was there still time to turn things around?
That frustration, and the sleep deprivation, got the best of Alex because out of nowhere he shouted, “And for crying out loud, Morgan, does Sam know you do business looking like that?”
* * *
He was still there. Six hours had passed. JJ had walked out of ICU three times for food or phone calls about Mom’s plane arrival or just to stop hearing the awful noise of those machines, and each time Alex Cushman was still camped out on the navy couch. After the second encounter, he’d simply stopped trying to make her talk to him. It was like Alex was keeping a silent vigil of his own. She didn’t know what to do with that.
Suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the past twelve hours, JJ slumped down on the opposite couch. Alex held her gaze for a moment, looking as drawn as she felt. “I want to be furious with you, but I can’t manage to pull it off.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a weak grin. “My irresistible charm?”
“More like I’m still awake and you’re still here.”
“So you’ll begin despising me once you get a good night’s sleep underneath you?”
His remark pricked a nerve. The raw nerve that was stretched to breaking at the prospect of how long and how far it was from “here” to “okay.” And that’s if Max ever got to be “okay” ever again, which no one would tell her yet. If she heard the phrase “it’s still too early to tell” one more time, she thought she’d scream. “I don’t know when I’ll get a good night’s sleep ever again.” JJ thought she was going to cry. She could feel the tight threat of tears grab hold of her throat, but then there was nothing. Empty. Dry. She’d spent months in the Afghan desert, fought fires in temperatures over 110 degrees, and she’d never felt this dry.
She’d come home hoping for a fresh start—a chance to find her feet again, find her purpose. Instead, she’d just found another disaster she could do next to nothing to fix.
Alex shook his head. “I’m so, so sorry.”
There it was again, that awful silence where, in a less drastic situation, the other person was supposed to say, “It’s all right.” Only that didn’t apply here. It was never going to be all right, not for Max. Today felt like the antithetical negative of the greeting-card phrase, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” It was, but in all the horrible ways JJ could imagine. And she, who put out fires, who squelched disasters, couldn’t do anything about it.
A doctor—one JJ recognized from the dozens who had slipped in and out of Max’s room—pushed open the double doors that led into the lounge. He held one of those oversize manila envelopes that contained X-rays. “Miss Jones?”
She hated the look on his face. She knew that emotional mask, that “game face” for delivering news. She’d used it herself when she stood beside Captain Dewey to tell the brigade that Carlisle hadn’t
