Eliza stopped, her expression bewildered. “Sorry? For what? You and your friends saved Haley. Without them, she would be going to prison, and the men who killed Noah Carter would have walked away from their crime free and clear. I have no doubt of that.”
“For kissing you.” Even through the drugs, he knew he was bungling this. “Way back when.”
“You don’t owe me any apology.” Eliza cupped the side of his face, her touch soothing. “It was too soon. I didn’t know what I wanted. Any relationship I would have started back then would have been a mistake. You were one of my best friends. I couldn’t bear for something to happen between us and then end badly.”
“You had enough grief. You didn’t need the pressure I put on you.” Sharp hadn’t planned on kissing Ted’s widow. It had just happened. “You left right after that.”
“It’s not your fault that I left,” she said. “You didn’t drive me away. Ted’s memories did. I couldn’t get over him there, in his place, with all his things.” She leaned back, her hand falling from his face. “We were both hurting. We shared that pain. No one else really understood what we were going through. Did I ever thank you for all you did that first year? I wouldn’t have gotten through it alone.”
Sharp felt the warmth rise into his cheeks. “Still shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Eliza touched his hand. “You know I love you, but not that way.”
“I know.” Sharp nodded. The wound in his side throbbed with its own heartbeat of pain.
“It was hard to leave you. You were my rock that first year. But it was equally important that I was forced to make it on my own. In the city, there was no one else to handle Haley while I crawled back into bed. I had to get up every morning and get on with the day. With my life.”
What they’d shared hadn’t been romantic love, at least not on her part. It had been shared trauma. Sharp wasn’t sure if he’d loved her or not back then. But then, he supposed it didn’t really matter, did it? They hadn’t been good for each other.
Eliza straightened. “Haley and I are going to Seattle. There’s nothing left for us here. The house is gone. The memories in this place are, once again, horrible enough to bury us both.”
“Start fresh,” he said. Then he realized his kiss really hadn’t driven her out of town. Eliza walked away from painful situations. It was what she did.
She nodded. “Haley needs to heal. She can’t do that here.”
Sharp thought maybe Haley needed to face what had happened to her instead of running away from it, but who was he to say?
“She’s outside. She’d like to say goodbye.” Eliza released his hand.
She wasn’t wasting any time.
He nodded. “Sure.”
She leaned over and kissed his face. “I can never thank you enough for what you did. You saved her.”
“No,” Sharp corrected. “Haley saved me.”
She hadn’t given up on him. If she had, he’d be buried under a burned house.
Eliza walked to the doorway and waved. Haley hesitated at the threshold, then came inside, her eyes filled with tears.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes.” Eliza left the room.
Haley crossed the floor and took Sharp’s hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what would have happened if you and Morgan and Lance hadn’t stepped in.” Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “I don’t remember my dad, but I think he’d be grateful.”
“If your dad were still alive, he’d have handled this himself.” All Sharp could muster was a tiny squeeze of her fingers. “And don’t forget. You saved me too.”
“I guess we saved each other.” Haley nodded, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek.
She was definitely Ted’s daughter.
Emotions clogged Sharp’s throat. He cleared it. “Your dad would be proud of you.”
“I wish I remembered him.” Haley smiled, her eyes shining with tears.
With his throat tight with emotion, Sharp could only squeeze her hand again.
“I have to go and talk to the police again. I already gave them a statement, but they want more.”
Sharp frowned. “Take Morgan with you.”
“I am.” Haley released his hand and left the room without a backward glance. She was Eliza’s daughter too. That was for sure.
Eliza came back in and sat in a bedside chair.
“You’re not leaving?” Sharp shifted his legs, trying to get comfortable. But the pain was building at a steady pace. Each breath was harder to draw than the last. He should call the nurse, but he didn’t want the interruption.
“I promised Lance I’d stay until he returned,” Eliza said.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Sharp grumbled.
“I promised.” Eliza settled back in the chair.
The nurse walked in, checked his vitals, and injected a shot into his IV. Sharp wanted to talk with Eliza until she left. Who knew when or if he’d see her again. But in a few heartbeats, his eyelids felt like they weighed eight hundred pounds.
Eliza was gone when he opened his eyes again. A small shape stood in front of the window. His ICU room was Grand-friggin’-Central. His eyes focused on a khaki trench coat tossed over the bedside chair.
No. Who the hell let her in?
This time, it really bothered him that his mouth tasted like ass. He was not letting Olivia Cruz hold his fucking water cup. He was going to brush his fucking teeth and act like a man.
If only he could move his arm far enough to push the call button. His fingers scratched on the bedding.
Shit.
Not going to happen.
His humiliation was complete.
“I’m glad you’re not dead, Lincoln.” Olivia walked to the bedside. He could hear the rap of impractical skinny heels on the tile. Her mouth curved in a wicked smile. “You still owe me a favor.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Morgan was going to die, and she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.
“How far have we run?” She panted. The April morning was chilly. Her leg muscles burned, but the rest of her body was freezing. She pulled the sleeves of her jacket farther down over her hands. Under her gloves, her fingers were numb. At seven o’clock in the morning, the sun wasn’t strong enough to provide any real heat yet.
Nearly a month had passed since she’d suffered her concussion, and she was finally well enough to exercise.
“Do you want to walk for a while?” Next to her, Lance was barely jogging. Black running pants and a gray hoodie covered his big, buff body. He moved with the grace of a natural athlete.
Morgan did not.
She felt like a giraffe in running shoes. A lame giraffe.
She sucked in another lungful of damp spring air. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He winced. “About a half mile.”
“That’s it?” Morgan slowed to a walk. Her side cramped. She bent forward and pressed a hand against it, her gait limping and pathetic. She hated running with every cell in her body.
“You want to stretch out the cramp”—Lance demonstrated by raising his hands over his head—“not compress it.”
She mimicked him. The cramp eased a little.
Lance pivoted and jogged backward in front of her. “You don’t have to do this. It was your idea.”
“I know.”
“Improve your fitness if that’s what you want to do, but don’t feel like you need to do it for me. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t change one thing about you.”
“But I can’t keep up,” she gasped. “I can never keep up.”
“Physically, maybe not. But your brain runs circles around mine. And in Haley’s case, if you had run after me, we’d all probably be dead. You used your head. One of us has to remember to do that.”
The cramp seized up again. She stopped to catch her breath. She wanted to be fit. If only getting in shape didn’t involve so much effort.
“Maybe next time we should try this later in the day, after you’ve had your coffee.” He stopped next to her.
“I need to be done before the kids get up,” she wheezed.