juice. Half her weakness in the street had been hunger, she realized. Apparently, the human body needed to eat every day, and sneaking a few maraschino cherries from the bar while she scrubbed the floor behind it didn’t count. #ThingsTheyDon’tTeachYouInSchool.
The nurse removed her needle after giving her some pills to swallow, then helped her shower and dress in a pair of drawstring pajamas and a T-shirt with yellow birds on it.
After all that activity, even finger-combing her hair was too much. Imogen used a rubber band she begged off the nurse to gather her wet hair into a messy lump, then sat in the chair, trembling with exertion, pretending she was fully on the mend, fishing for the thin slippers that would no doubt cost her a hundred dollars apiece.
She signed forms that promised the hospital both her useless arms and legs and tried to be thankful Travis hadn’t thrown out her boots with her jacket. She snuck a blanket off a linen cart on her way to the door, but it was still going to be a long, hellish walk home, looking like one of New York’s finest. It would be dark soon and was still snowing, growing dusky at three in the afternoon. Her debit card would combust if she so much as tried to put a subway fare on it. She had no choice.
“Bye now,” she said as she passed the nurses’ station with a wave. “Add this to the bill,” she added with a point at the blanket. “Thank you.”
“Ms. Gantry,” the motherly nurse said in protest. “You really should rest.”
“I will,” she lied. “Soon as I’m home.” She would swing by to see one of her employers on the way, though. See if she still had a job with the biker bar’s janitorial staff after blowing her shift last night with this unplanned excursion to the right side of town.
She walked out of the blasting heat in the space between the two sets of automatic doors, and winter slapped her in the face. It immediately sapped 90 percent of her energy, making her sob under her breath as she began putting one foot in front of the other. The cold penetrated before she took ten steps, but she pushed on, doggedly following the looped driveway toward the gilded gates that suggested this place was heaven after all.
It began to look like a really long way just to get to the road. She had to stop and brush snow off a bench dedicated to a hospital benefactor, rest there a moment. She felt so pathetic her eyes began to well. At least her ear didn’t hurt like it had. It was just a dull ache.
There was always a bright side if she looked for it.
Nevertheless, panic edged in around the meditative breaths she was blowing like smoke in front of her face. She was shivering, teeth chattering. How was she going to carry on?
One day at a time, she reminded herself, closing her eyes. One footstep at a time.
Before she could rise, a black car stopped at the curb in front of her. The chauffeur came around and opened the back door. She already knew who would get out and tried to pretend she was bored, not so very close to beaten.
Even her father hadn’t crushed her as quickly and thoroughly as one irritated look from this man did. He wore a fedora and a gorgeous wool overcoat tailored to his physique. His pants creased sharply down his shins to land neatly on what had to be Italian leather shoes.
“You look like a gangster. I don’t have your money. You’ll have to break my knees.”
“Can those knees get you into this car or do I have to do that for you, too?”
The air was so cold, breathing it to talk made her lungs hurt. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t,” he assured her brutally.
She looked back toward the hospital doors. As usual, she’d come too far and had to live with where she had ended up.
“I told the doctor I would get you home if you insisted on leaving and make sure a neighbor checks on you.”
The drug dealer across the hall? She would love for him to come and go.
She clutched her purse against her chest, inside the blanket she clenched closed with her two hands. She stared at the flakes appearing and melting on her knees so he wouldn’t see how close to tears she was.
“I’ll find my own way home,” she insisted.
Travis, being a man of action, didn’t say a word. He swooped so fast she barely had time to realize he had picked her up before he shoved her into the back of his car and followed her in. Abject loss struck before she’d even had time to process the safe feeling of being cradled against his chest.
Dear God it was deliciously warm in here. She bit back a moan of relief.
“Now,” he said as he slammed his door and sat back, shooting his cuffs. “Where is home, exactly?”
“Didn’t the hospital tell you? They seemed so keen to share everything else about me. What is my blood type, anyway? I’ve never bothered to find out.”
He only nodded toward his driver, indicating the man was waiting with more patience than Travis possessed.
They were really doing this? Fine. A perverse urge to let him gloat over his pound of flesh gripped her. Maybe if he saw she was being thoroughly punished, he might quit acting so supercilious and resentful.
She stated her address.
The driver’s frown was reflected through the rearview mirror, matching Travis’s scowl.
“Would you be serious?” Travis muttered.
She shrugged. “You wanted to know what I was doing in that neighborhood. I live there.”
“What are you doing, Imogen?” he asked tiredly. “What’s the game? Because I’m not letting you screw me over again.”
“No lift home, then?” She put her hand on the door latch.
He sighed. “If I drive you all the way over there, what happens? You get into the bed of some sketchy thug your father didn’t approve of?” His lip curled with disgust. His eye twitched, almost as if the idea of it bothered him. “Does he spank you the way you’ve always needed?”
“Hardly necessary when you’re doing such a fine job of that.” She glared at him, but holding his gaze was hard. It felt too intimate. They had never played erotic games, but suddenly they were both thinking about it.
While she grew hot, she watched him shut down, locking her out, jaw hardening and a muscle ticking in his cheek.
She swallowed. “I plan to crawl into my own bed and hope I never wake up.”
“Tell me where you really live,” he said through his teeth.
“I just did.” She didn’t bother getting emotional about it. It was the doleful truth that her life was so firmly in the toilet, she was barely surviving it.
She let her head rest back and must have dozed, because suddenly he was saying, “We’re here,” snapping her back to awareness of being in his car.
“Okay. Thanks,” she said dumbly, looking behind her to see if it was safe to open her door against traffic.
“You’re
