Page 10 of Crimson Love

“I’m all over this,” Amelia states. “I’ve got your back, Blake.”

Blake lifts his chin to me. “Good luck, and for your sake, may the brother not be dead.”

Felicity crosses herself. “Amen.”

I hurry out of the room before Blake and decide that I’m never eating with my coworkers again. Never, ever again.

I head straight for the café and hope that Jett Cross isn’t picky. I have no idea what the specials are. Even with my employee discount, I can’t afford to eat at the manor restaurants. But if any situation calls for a splurge it’s this.

This is damage control. It doesn’t matter what my bank account looks like. This is a necessity.

Jett

K nock-knock. I drag my eyes open as the sound that won’t stop breaks through the haze of the last pain pill I took. Who the hell would be at my door? Even Harlow promised to leave me alone so I could sleep. I’m so sick of nurses in and out of my room at all hours of the day and night checking my vitals to tell me something I already know.

Harlow’s kidney is working just fine. I don’t need a doctor or nurse or machine to tell me that.

Sure, it was fucking terrific to hear that my body didn’t reject it when I woke up. But after a few days, I could tell the difference. I feel like a new man. Hell, I feel like the man I used to be before my body went to shit.

Knock-knock-knock.

Damn. Devon assured me he’d keep Harlow from hovering for at least a few hours. My sister gives helicopter syndrome a new meaning since she found out about my PK-fucking-D that came damn near close to ending my life.

I was a thirty-six-year-old man hanging in the balance between stages three and four when I finally got a return call from Harlow after trying for months to get hold of the family I didn’t know I had. If my sister hadn’t stepped in to save me, I would have eventually had to go on dialysis.

But I’m past that.

Now, I’m in this city that’s not a city. This is a destination. I grew up in a small town and know the difference. Don’t get me wrong, rolling cornfields, prairies, and dirt roads have a charm about them. Even a beauty if you’re into that sort of thing. But Winslet is different.

It’s no wonder Devon Donnelly is making a killing at his new manor. This place is the shit. We’re surrounded by lakes that go on for miles and mountains that touch the heavens.

Better the mountains than me, since I was on a slow-rolling trip to meet my maker.

Knock-knock-knock.

Knock.

Knock-knock.

“Mr. Cross? Are you in there?”

A woman. A woman who’s not my sister.

“Mr. Cross, I have something for you.”

I groan and drag myself out of bed. The dull ache in my gut is stronger than before I went to sleep. I have to search for the light switch since I’ve only been in this room for about five minutes.

I flip the lock and pull the heavy door open.

“Um, hi,” she squeaks.

Fuck. It’s the woman who took me down in the lobby. It was not my proudest moment since she’s about as big as a twig, but I couldn’t dodge her when she walked into me, and her elbow connected with my side.

The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them. “It’s you.”

She doesn’t notice my glare, but her eyes do widen as they move south and take me in. Her gaze lands on the puckered red skin that’s still stapled together. I’m commando in my loosest gym shorts, which are baggy since I’ve lost weight. I ripped off the bandage as soon as I got to my room and changed. The thing was making me crazy.

She’s clutching two paper bags to her chest as she stares at the fresh cut in my gut that disappears into my shorts. “Oh my.”