Opulence, perhaps, but it was so strangely warm and welcoming that I didn’t feel the immediate panic of being trapped as I feared I might.
I cleared my throat. “Max. What the fuck did you give me last night?” I finally got out, the words rough against my dry throat.
The voices, unfamiliar, stopped immediately, and a moment later, a young guy’s face appeared above me. “Good morning, sunshine. She gave you exactly what I told her to give you. Was it too much?”
I grunted.
Max nodded as if I’d said something intelligible. “You’re looking much better,” he said conversationally, resettling the blankets around me. “Let’s plan on a short walk today, just to get some fresh air. And maybe we can be done with the heavy-hitting meds. What do you think?”
I blinked. “Will that short walk be taking me away from here?””
Max raised a brow. “You’re not a prisoner here, Neal. You’re welcome to go home whenever you want. Although I’d recommend putting up with this horrible situation”—his brows rose sarcastically— “at least until the stitches come out in a few days.”
I glanced between the smiling young man and the door to the hallway I’d only seen once. “I’d like to get back to my life as soon as possible.”
Max’s smile dimmed. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“I’m grateful,” I hurried to say. “I just… I can’t be here.”
“No problem. We have physical therapy coming in twice daily starting tomorrow, and we’ll have you back up and running in no time.” Max patted my arm. “Considering everything you've been through. you’re a pretty fit guy. I don’t think it’ll be any kind of issue getting you ready to go.”
After an hour of strange and slightly horrifying investigation into my current conditions, I was finally sitting at the edge of the bed, Max at my side, watching the news as I tugged a sock onto my foot. Everything was harder. My muscles, which I’d always considered an asset, were sluggish and strange to my commands.
Frustration clogged my mind once again. I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. It was the number-one rule I’d made after—I’d made after everything. I could not get attached; I could not get involved.
Fuck.
Max sat with me for a bit longer, enduring my grumpy silence far longer than any sane person should. When he finally rose sometime later, I was surprised by the pang of loneliness that settled over me when I heard him chatting with someone out in the main part of the home and then finally the front door closing.
Ah yes. This was the part of the night he actually took off. I think he had a girlfriend or some nonsense he wanted to see. Which meant I was now alone with Penelope and her daughter, the one and only Madeline Dougherty. I hadn’t had a clue who she was until Max had rattled on about how excited he was to be working with the YouTube star’s family.
And by alone, I mean there was a bodyguard the size of the Brooklyn Bridge parked somewhere between their rooms and me. Max had mentioned that the girl had been staying elsewhere while I was recovering. Even more reason to get the hell out of here. I was displacing a teenager from her home. That couldn’t be healthy.
I slowly stood, straightening my limbs with an awkward grimace. I didn't feel sore today. It was more that certain parts of my body had simply forgotten how to function. Slowly, I moved towards the door. I needed to thank Penelope Doughtery, at the very least, for housing me. I might be a cold, miserable human, but I had manners. Or I’d had manners.
I moved quietly from my room, finding myself in a central living space, with a giant television on one wall, a dancing show playing. But instead of Penelope, there was a young girl there on the sofa, seated next to Mr. Brooklyn Bridge. The man smiled friendly enough, but I didn’t miss the carefully veiled threat in his movements as he stretched out his legs and settled once more next to her.
The girl's head snapped up, looking first at her guard then following his eyeline until she met my eyes.
“Mr. Crowe.” She stood up, a hesitant smile on her lips. “How are you feeling? I’m Madeline. by the way, Penelope's daughter.”
I shuffled into the room, rubbing distractedly at the bandage under my T-shirt. “I know who you are.”
She appeared surprised then delighted. “You do?”
“Google still works, even if my arms aren’t sure they do.” I moved closer, coming into the light of the show as a waltz came on. I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Madeline’s smile deepened. “Sorry. I love these shows. I know they’re super cheesy, but I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the sparkles? Maybe it's the dancing? Either way. I—”
“I came to say thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For housing me. I’ll get out of your hair as quickly as possible. You have my word.”
Madeline straightened, her face aging a dozen years. “You saved my mother’s life and possibly our company's future. It’s the least we can do.” A practiced line but delivered well. I almost saluted her.
My thoughts must’ve been running slow still, because suddenly Madeline was coming closer, circling me quickly before taking out her phone and snapping a picture of me. I grunted, my hand reaching for it instinctively.
