Simply Blair: A Jet City Novel Page 4

  Oxygen. Get an oxygen mask on me. I knew what they should do. I could have told them. I would have told them. If I could only speak again.

  * * *

  Austin

  Lazer would find a way to get in touch with me if Blair got in touch with him. I slept fitfully, expecting a message when I woke.

  Nothing. Hours more of torture. And nothing. No word.

  I'd been an invisible geek too long. Insecurity was rooted deep. What if seeing Nigel had brought everything that had been good about their relationship back? What if she hadn't fallen out of love with him like she thought she had? What if she wanted him again, not me?

  They let me watch TV. The news was on. I wasn't paying much attention. Until Blair's name caught my attention…

  News from London—Seattle celebrity and physician Blair Edwards was hit by a car this morning when she stepped off the curb into traffic near Heathrow.

  My heart stopped.

  A video of Blair lying on the pavement in front of a pub flashed on the screen. It was obviously taken on someone's phone. The quality wasn't good. It was hard to see exactly what was going on. A crowd of people were around her.

  One shoe was off. Her purse and a suitcase were strewn to the side, looking battered and beaten. A handsome guy kneeled beside her, holding her hand. Nigel.

  I didn't know why or how I noticed it, but a ring sparkled on her right hand.

  She got her grandma's ring back from Nigel.

  She'd been hit leaving. It was the only thing that made sense.

  The news continued…

  Dr. Edwards was taken to the hospital, where she's listed in serious, but stable, condition with a head injury.

  Her longtime former boyfriend Nigel Helyer has reportedly been at her side since the accident.

  Damn him. Of course he was.

  Edwards was on her way to Scotland for a vacation before filming a promo teaser for the upcoming season of Jamie with her new boyfriend, Austin MacDougall.

  No word on where Austin is. We've been unable to locate him for comment…

  I froze, heart pounding, staring at the screen. I had to get to her. I pounded on the door of the lounge. "Guard! Guard!"

  Did Beth know about Blair's accident? If she saw the news and learned this way, she'd be frantic. She'd be frantic anyway. What about the guys? Had they seen the news, too?

  I had to get out of here. I had to get out of here now. Whatever it took. It was time to sell my soul to the devil, if that was what it took.

  * * *

  Thursday

  Blair

  The familiar beeps and sounds of a hospital room. Civilians might find the noises disconcerting. To me—as I'd lived with it so long—it was comforting. Almost like the sound of birdsong outside the window or the voice of an old friend.

  The room smelled familiarly of hospital antiseptic and cleaners, the smell that was supposed to mean sterile. My eyes were closed and uncharacteristically heavy. I didn't want to open them. I must have had a grueling day before crashing. My mind was heavy and slow, balking at thinking too hard, or hardly at all.

  Another of my twenty-four-hour or longer shifts was probably the culprit. I really couldn't remember. But that wasn't uncommon in the groggy waking state. How long had I slept? I had no idea. I just wanted more. To cuddle into the covers and sleep like Rip Van Winkle for a hundred years. Sleep was such a valuable commodity in a resident's life.

  There was only one way to get myself up—guilt myself into it. I had rounds to make. My patients needed me.

  I felt pressure on my hand, momentarily confusing me. Until it dawned on me—someone was holding my hand. If I'd had any energy, I would have shaken it off. Who would be holding my hand? Beth?

  It couldn't be Beth. The hand was too large and strong. The surge of adrenaline from fear and curiosity gave me the energy, and impetus, to pry my eyes open. Even still, the effort was gargantuan. Like doing the final reps of a gut-burner workout. Completely exhausting. With none left over to pull my hand away.

  "Blair?" The pressure on my hand increased. "Blair. I'm here, love. Wake up."

  Nigel? What is he doing here?

  I blinked in the relatively dim light of the room. It seemed glaring to me, as if I'd been living in a dark cave for years. Nigel leaned over me, a day's growth of beard on his cheeks and chin, his hair standing uncharacteristically at odd angles, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. As I focused on him, relief washed over his face.

  He looked different. Slightly older, as if he'd aged overnight. And he'd cut his hair differently. He looked like…that character in my favorite show Jamie, Reggie. Yes, Reggie. His cousin played him. I'd teased Nigel about playing on his similarity. To humor me. Reggie was hot. He refused. How sweet of him to do it now. But why?

  My heart squeezed. I hated seeing him look so worried. What was all the fuss about?

  My throat was dry and scratchy as I tried to speak. My words came out thin and frail, broken, slow in coming. "Since when did you decide to become Reggie? I like it. What finally convinced you? Was it my promises of what I'd do with you if you did? Or was I hit by a bus and you'd do anything for me?" I raised my eyebrows, trying to look like I was giving him a come-on.

  He froze. "Don't joke about being hit."

  "What's wrong?" I said. This wasn't the reaction I expected. "You look like you've been through the wringer. What are you doing here?"

  His eyebrows shot up. "Me? I look knackered? Love, you're the one in hospital."

  I frowned and turned my head slowly, looking around. A huge bouquet of flowers and balloons sat on the stand next to my bed. Bouquets of balloons and flowers filled the room, sitting on every available inch of real estate. It was overwhelming. I had an IV in my left hand. Monitors hooked up to me. I was definitely the patient here. So where the hell was my doctor? Who was my doctor? And what had happened?

  "You don't remember?" Nigel said gently. "You don't remember what happened and how you got here?"

  I shook my head, very slowly. But it was still a mistake. I was clearly medicated, but even so, pain radiated in the background, threatening to erupt at any moment.

  He frowned again, obviously debating with himself and not bothering to mask his dilemma. He covered the hand of mine he was holding with the other and squeezed. "You were hit by a car in the street, love. It's going to be all right now. All right." He took a breath. "We should ring the nurse. They'll want to know you woke up."

  "Woke up?" My voice was still scratchy and sore. I wondered if I'd been intubated at some point. It was that kind of sore. "How long have I been out?"

  He pressed the button for the nurse. "Overnight." He glanced at a clock, looking hesitant. "Fifteen hours? Maybe a bit more?"

  "I'm a doctor," I said. "You can give me the straight scoop."

  "Blair, love, this isn't the time for physician, heal thyself. You've had a bit of a bump on the head. Let's have the nurse take a look and see what your doctor thinks."

  "Water," I said. "My throat is dry. I need water."

  A nurse hurried into the room. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Our patient is awake! This is good news." She took my vitals. "Dr. Cage will want to know and see you immediately. I'll text him and get him right in." She flashed a look at Nigel. "If you could give us a moment of privacy?"

  Nigel stepped into the hall as the nurse pulled the privacy curtain around us.

  "I'll need to check your sanitary napkin and see how you're doing." She gently pulled my blanket down.

  "Sanitary napkin?" I frowned. "Am I having my period?"

  She gently pressed on my stomach and checked the pad, much to my embarrassment. She gave me a sympathetic look. "Has no one told you?"

  "Told me what?"

  She cocked her head, looking sympathetic. "Do you not remember, pet?"

  "Remember what?" My heart hammered.

  "You banged your head pretty badly." Her voice was filled with the confident, reassuring professional tone nurses are known f
or. "You have a concussion. There's bound to be some memory loss."

  "Memory loss." Alarm bells went off.

  She glanced at her phone. "Dr. Cage is on his way. Best let him explain."

  I heard Nigel's voice in the hall. Heard him ask something and be answered by another male.

  My nurse nodded. "That will be Dr. Cage now. He's very keen to see how you're getting on."

  An instant later, the doctor stepped into the room and into the curtained area beside my bed. Dr. Cage was younger than I'd imagined. As if I'd had much time to imagine anything. He was about my age, actually. Or looked it, anyway. Now I knew how my patients felt. Young doctors had the advantage of having just learned the most recent innovations, techniques, and medical developments. But they lacked experience—and that aura of kindly maturity that so many people find comforting. It could be disconcerting to patients to be treated by young physicians.

  He looked at me and smiled. "Good to see you finally woke up." He looked at my chart. "How are you feeling?"

  "Sore. Tired. Confused," I said. "I have a hell of a headache. Or at least I think I would if you didn't have me drugged up on painkillers. I feel it in the background. Vicodin?"

  "You took a bad blow to the head," the doctor said. "You were hit by a car as you stepped from a curb outside a pub near Heathrow. The impact threw you into the air. You landed on the pavement and hit your head. Does any of that sound familiar?"

  "No," I said. "Thank goodness." I tried to smile. "It doesn't sound very pleasant."

  "I imagine not, no," Dr. Cage said. "Let's see what you do remember."

  He ran me through a standard set of memory and cognitive tests. Asked me some personal questions. I thought I did pretty well. I recognized all the tests. His face didn't give anything away.

  "Besides a concussion, is there anything else wrong with me?" I said.

  "You had some swelling of the brain. We have you on meds for that. Not enough that we had to go in and relieve it surgically. No fractures. Cuts and bruises, mostly," he said. "You were very lucky, really. It could have been much worse." He paused.

  I nodded. Something about his manner was off. There was something he wasn't telling me. "And? There's more?"

  He took my hand and patted it. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this—you miscarried. The trauma of the accident—"

  "Miscarried?" My head suddenly hurt. "But I wasn't pregnant."

  His expression softened. "You were. Quite definitely. Just weeks along. You miscarried quite cleanly. I don't anticipate any further problems." He squeezed my hand.

  "No. I wasn't pregnant." I closed my eyes. I wasn't pregnant. I would have remembered that.

  "I'm sorry, Blair," he said, patting my hand a final time and releasing it. "You're still bleeding. The bleeding, at this stage, shouldn't last more than a week. It's nothing more than a hard menstrual cycle. You should be fine. If you pass any large clots or think you might be hemorrhaging, then we'll need to have a look.

  "Expect that your hormones will take a while to go back to normal. Given everything you've been through, we'd like you to abstain from sexual activity until the bleeding stops. It's best to wait until after your first period, up to six weeks, to begin trying again. Give yourself time. Don't rush. Wait until you're emotionally ready."

  I knew the drill. I'd given patients the same advice. But it made no sense. I wasn't pregnant. Well, clearly, I wasn't now. But I meant I never had been. Then it hit me.

  That's why Nigel looks so tired and beaten up. He's upset about losing the baby.

  I frowned. That made no sense either. Nigel and I had never talked about having a baby. He wasn't the fatherly type. That was part of what kept us apart—I wanted a family at some point and he wasn't sure he did. If the pregnancy was in the early stages, had I even told him? I was using birth control. I was sure I was.

  Something niggled in the back of my mind, trapped beneath a fog of memories.

  "We'll keep you in hospital another forty-eight hours for observation," Dr. Cage said. "I'd like to run a few more tests to make sure there's nothing hiding that we've overlooked. After that, you'll need to rest. To take it easy.

  "I know you have a busy schedule planned. Promo events. A vacation in Scotland before you're scheduled to film a promo teaser for Jamie in a few weeks. If you take it easy and rest, you should be able to make it—"

  "What?" I frowned. Dr. Cage was making no sense.

  He paused. "You don't remember?"

  "No," I said slowly.

  "As you know, it takes a while for the brain to heal and the swelling to completely abate. Your brain was bruised. Although there may be some temporary memory loss, and the actual accident may always be blacked out, I don't believe any permanent damage was done. Give it time. Your memories will come back. In the meantime, I'll let your boyfriend bring you up to date."

  "And if I want to fly someplace, like home? Or Scotland?"

  Flying was tricky after a head injury and brain swelling. Even after a fairly mild concussion, flying could be dicey. In some patients and cases, it brought on nausea, dizziness, and seizure, and could set back the progress of the patient. I wanted Dr. Cage's opinion. Diagnosing myself, especially when my mind wasn't clear and I hadn't seen my charts, wasn't good medicine.

  He shook his head. "No. I'm recommending you don't fly for several weeks to a month. At least until we see how you heal." He smiled kindly. "You're scheduled to be in the UK for at least that long. You should be safe flying home by the end of your vacation. I do recommend being examined again by a qualified physician first to get approval."

  So going home to Beth was out of the question. For now, at least.

  Dr. Cage gave instructions to the nurse and left. She made me comfortable and showed Nigel back in.

  When I saw him, I burst into tears. My emotions were all over the place. "I'm so sorry about losing our baby."

  He froze, staring at me, then looking helplessly at the nurse.

  She put a hand on his arm. "She's had a shock. Be gentle." She walked out of the room.

  I stared at him. He looked pained. And as if I didn't quite have the facts right.

  "You didn't know?" I said, horrified. "I hadn't told you about the baby?"

  "No," he said. "You hadn't told me about the baby."

  He sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me into his arms. "It's all right." He kissed the top of my head. "We'll handle it. We'll work through it together." He paused. "Like we always do."

  I nodded. "Tell me about Jamie. And the promo we're filming. Is that why you look like Reggie?"

  Chapter 5

  Blair

  Apparently, I was a minor celebrity of some sort back home in Seattle. Because I looked like Elinor, and something about a red dress Beth had made for me. News of my accident had trended on social media and made the local Seattle news, or so I was told.

  Nigel called Beth and gave her the news just after my accident. Shortly after, the hospital contacted her as my next of kin. She asked to be called as soon as I woke up. She must be worried sick about me. That was all I could think.

  I had to call her immediately. Miraculously, my phone had survived the accident in working order. Nigel told me I had it in my hand when I was hit. They found it on the pavement near me.

  I sent Nigel home to get some much-needed rest and called Beth before doing anything else on the phone. I ignored all texts and voicemails. Nothing was as important as reaching Beth. Everything else could wait.

  "Oh, thank God, Blairest!" Her voice broke. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice."

  Tears filled my eyes. "Yours, too! Sorry to give you a scare. They tell me I looked the wrong direction and stepped out into traffic." I paused. "I don't doubt them. I mean, my injuries are pretty hard evidence they're telling the truth. But it isn't like me to be so careless. Unless I was distracted. I'm always really careful about remembering that things are opposite here."

  "I know you are," she said softly. "I w
ish I was there with you."

  "I wish you were, too. I wish I could fly to Seattle. But my doctor says no flying for several weeks at least. It's standard advice after a head injury." I was a grown woman. A doctor. But I wanted my mom with me, and Beth was mom to me. I remembered, out of the blue, that she'd been sick and battling cancer off and on. But how was she now? I didn't trust what I knew and remembered and didn't.

  "That's probably wise. I'm trying to get there." She sounded exasperated. "It's my passport. I let it lapse." She snorted, trying to sound amused as well as put out with herself. "Well, I wasn't traveling much, was I?"

  "No," I said. I couldn't remember. How sick was she?

  She'd wanted to come with me to England sometime. We had a dream of touring around and visiting Cornwall, where Dad's mom had been from. And Tintagel, because it was in Cornwall, and was Camelot. And why not see it while we were there? We had a thing for the Arthurian legend. We'd never both had both time and money enough at the right time, certainly not since I started college. Had she given up on it?

  "I'm applying for a new passport," she said. "With a rush on it. The lady I talked to at the passport office was very nice and helpful. I'll fly to your side as soon as I can. I promise. But it will take several weeks, at least."

  I promise. Someone else had said something similar to me. Recently. It echoed in the dim corners of my memory just out of reach.

  I nodded, even though Beth couldn't see me. I could have made a video call to her. Maybe that would have been reassuring for her. Sometimes your worst imagination can be worse than reality. But I didn't trust myself to keep it together and not give away how confused and afraid I really was. And she didn't need to see my cuts and bruises. They were worse than they looked.

  I hesitated. What I wanted to ask would be no surprise to her. I was sure the doctor had already told her. "Did you know I was pregnant? Had I told you?"

  If I'd told anyone besides the father, it would have been Beth.

  She paused. This conversation was becoming more and more awkward by the minute. What was everyone not telling me?