“Tell him there was an accident and I need him at the Manor but to keep it quiet. Come in the side door by the mudroom.”
Royal focused on his phone but followed me, lingering just outside the door of the master suite, knowing without my saying that I didn’t want Hope to hear the call. If I could jump in the shower before she saw me, she wouldn’t worry.
I opened the door, Royal talking quietly behind me. The coast was clear. He followed me in, shutting and locking the door behind us. I heard him say, “Yeah, good, I’ll meet you downstairs and bring you up. No, he’s in one piece but he looks like hell. Didn’t tell me what happened.”
“You’ll let him in?” I asked, scanning the room for Hope.
“Yeah, I’ve got it, but what the fuck, Griffen? What happened?”
“Griffen?” Hope’s voice came from the bedroom or the closet. Crap. Then louder, “Griffen! Oh, my God, Griffen!”
I turned, holding my hands up. “It looks worse than it is, I swear.” I had no idea if I was lying. I was pretty sure I wasn’t. I didn’t feel great after taking a nosedive off the side of the mountain, but head wounds bleed like a bitch and all the blood on my T-shirt made things look worse than they were.
She crossed the room and stood in front of me, arms tight around her chest, hugging herself, breath coming in rough gasps.
“I’m fine, Buttercup. Don’t freak out. Everything is okay.”
“What happened? Tell me what happened right now, or I swear to God—”
“I’d like to know what happened, too,” Royal added, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression far more concerned than I would have expected.
“Hold on a second, and I’ll tell you.” I went to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, running water on it. The sight of my face in the mirror told me exactly why Hope was freaking out so badly. My attempts to wipe up the blood had only spread it all over the place, my hair crimson and sticking up in spikes. The cut on my forehead was close to the hairline and not that bad, but it still bled sluggishly.
I shoved my head under the sink faucet, letting the water wash away sweat and dirt and dried blood. Knowing Hope and Royal only had so much patience, I grabbed a towel and dried my hair and face, keeping the washcloth to hold against the cut.
I came back out to the sitting room to find Royal positioned by the window, probably watching for West’s car. Hope hovered in the middle of the room, her eyes stark, still hugging herself.
“Tell me what happened. I’m not waiting for West to get here,” she demanded.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Griffen
I was on the road, on my run, and a truck came up behind me. I thought it was going to pass, but instead, it tried to run me down. I jumped off the shoulder, rolled down the mountain a little, and walked back to the house. I look worse than I am, I promise. I got banged up a little, but I’m not hurt.”
Hope reared back at those words and swung her fist into my sore shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re not hurt, you asshole. There’s blood everywhere. Your legs are scratched up and your clothes are torn. We should take you to the hospital. As soon as we talk to West, we’ll go to the hospital.” Her words spilled out in a rush, gaining speed with each one.
“I don’t need the hospital, Hope. Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Now is not the time for calm. You got hit by a truck!” The last came out in a screech.
“I didn’t get hit by a truck,” I hedged. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t buying it.
Fists flailing, Hope screeched again, “Don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re covered in blood.”
“Hope—” I sent Royal a beseeching look. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Hope this wound up. Ever. With everything we’d been through, she’d been cool as a cucumber. She’d walked right into the prison earlier and hadn’t blinked.
It occurred to me that the stress of the last week had been piling up on her, all while she acted like our lives were business as usual.
Eventually, it would have been too much for anyone, but this? Her new husband coming home beaten and bloody after admitting he’d almost been run over? That was enough to push even the calmest person over the edge.
Royal gave a helpless shrug but said, “Hope, he’s okay. West is on his way and we’ll figure out—”
“Don’t you patronize me, Royal Sawyer. Just because he says he’s fine and you say he’s fine doesn’t mean he’s actually fine. We need to go to the hospital. He could have internal bleeding or something.”
Not sure what else to do, I crossed the room and roughly pulled Hope into my arms, wrapping her tight. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, her breath shallow. Her fingers closed on my shirt, gripping tight. “Griffen,” she breathed.