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CHAPTER FOUR

arden

I can’t stop cleaning.

My apartment is spotless. My bedding has been washed. I have fluffed every pillow that has ever entered my home and burned all the nose hairs out of my head with the amount of bleach I used in the bathroom.

When I’m stressed, I clean.

Last night was a madhouse. I don’t know how it escalated that quickly. One second, I’m getting angry with Carter for making a blatantly rude comment about that night with Declan, and the next, he’s beating the hell out of the jerk who smacked my ass.

Can you want to slap someone and be insanely attracted to them at the same time?

If Whitney hadn’t grabbed my hand and shoved me out of the way, I probably would have attempted to put a stop to it, only to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him if he’d let me.

There is something remarkably attractive about a man who would defend the honour of any woman who is being mistreated, not just one he’s attached to .

It was a bit insane, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a bit hot, too.

I have daddy issues, if that part wasn’t obvious. I think that’s the clear explanation here.

I didn’t stick around long enough to make sure that guy was okay.

I didn’t learn his name, either. I had Whit checking the emergency records at our hospital to see if anyone was admitted because of a fight, but there was nothing.

I just need to know he didn’t get seriously injured.

I’m sure he didn’t die. Carter Forkerro becoming a murderer surely would have hit the news by now.

I’m worried about all parties, even though Spill Guy deserved a bit of what he got.

So, I clean. Because I created a portion of this mess I can’t clean, and now somebody’s face and somebody’s freedom are at stake.

Yes, I have been refreshing all social media and stalking the Carter Forkerro tags.

I am desperately seeking updates to make sure he’s okay and not rotting away in a prison cell or something.

Only one hour ago did the news break, and some pictures from Carter at the bar were attached to the articles.

Carter Forkerro in handcuffs, to be precise. Being guided from the bar and into a cop car.

Smiling.

Arrogant idiot.

That’s not going to look good to a judge.

My phone rings, cutting off the music flowing through my speakers. I see Noah’s name and nearly throw myself across the room to answer it.

“Noah! Hey!”

“Hey, Dolly.”

“Anything?”

Noah is one of the police officers who frequents the hospital.

He often brings patients into the ER who need medical attention, but who also need to be monitored by the cops.

Being the guy he is, and building rapport with us over the last few years, he’s the first to come to assist us if we require police presence, too.

You never know what you’re going to get in the medical field, and violence happens more often than you’d think.

He and I have a decent working relationship, which allows me to ask for favours like this.

“Yeah. He was brought in last night. Not my station, but Kapshaw had him.”

Dread sprouts in my stomach. I figured he’d been taken in and booked, but I was hoping he pulled some magic celebrity strings and got himself out of it before it got that far.

“Is he still there?”

“No, he was out by morning. That kid is probably going to press charges, though. His dad’s a lieutenant.”

My heart sinks further. No. I should have expected it. His attitude had screamed that he has a daddy who helps him out of every bind he’s ever been in. Looking back, it’s very clear this guy had never been held accountable for anything in his life.

I should have stayed and pleaded Carter’s case to the cops.

“The report says a broken nose, but nothing else too incredibly serious. I’m thinking he gets charged for simple assault. Forkerro is going to have a good lawyer. It’ll likely wind up being a third-degree misdemeanour, if he doesn’t get off entirely.”

I relax a bit, even though a lot of this goes over my head.

A misdemeanour sounds better than simple assault.

I don’t have to be a cop or a lawyer to sort that one out.

I don’t necessarily agree with violence, but in this case, it was retaliation for a different kind of violence.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, but when you’re in the center of a mess like this, one side seems a bit more forgivable.

“That sounds okay?”

He grunts a bit, and there’s a small pause. “You dating Forkerro, Dolly?”

“Nope.”

“You sure about that?” he pushes. “Breaking a guy’s nose for you is quite the statement.”

“I don’t think that’s the first, nor will it be the last nose that Carter Forkerro is going to break in his lifetime.”

Noah chuckles, but I know he’s dying to push this.

I have never spoken about Carter before in my life, and then suddenly, he’s getting arrested because of me?

Noah tends to get wrapped up in all our messy lives because we rope him in for his opinion.

If I was sleeping with a famous hockey player, he’d know by now.

Wisely, he decides to leave it be without digging too deep.

“Alright, well. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know. As of now, your little hockey boy is free.”

Not my hockey boy. Not my anything. A hockey boy. A boy who plays hockey.

“Thanks, Noah. I owe you one.”

Or twelve, at this point.

“Anytime, Dolly.”

I hang up and feel ten pounds lighter than I did when I started aggressively cleaning every surface in this place. I drop the cloth onto the table and fall into the chair, inhaling a full breath of lemon-scented polish.

Assault charges.

Not the best news, but better than being booked and headed to prison. I don’t know how any of this works, but a broken nose is better than a broken neck. Free and out of a cell is better than wearing an orange jumpsuit and posing for the best looking mugshot.

Maybe this whole thing isn’t as bad as it seems. Maybe my little encounter with an incredibly good looking jackass will not be the end of the world after all.

He’s out of jail and will be able to lace up his skates again. The universe has righted itself.