Claimed Darker by Em Brown
Chapter 28
BRIDGET
Past
Aunt Coretta has a sixth sense that knows no geographic boundaries. As I’m packing up my stuff to head to the hospital, which includes my laptop, class reading, and a change of clothes, I get a call from her.
“Thought I’d check in and see how you’ve been doing,” she says. “I got used to hearing from you every day when you were in Thailand, so it felt weird not getting a text or call from you in weeks.”
“I was going to call you today…” I reply, then launch into what happened yesterday: Darren and JD getting shot and undergoing surgery, talking to the police, and Sergeant Trawley’s thoughts on why it happened.
“How awful,” Coretta says. “I thought San Francisco was a fairly safe city.”
“It is, in general.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m rattled, but I’m just so glad that Darren’s okay. I mean, being shot isn’t okay, but it could have been worse.”
I have to assure Coretta multiple times that I’m okay. A loud noise coming from outside did make me jump earlier this morning, but either I have a delayed reaction to the shooting or I’m too fixed on Darren right now for the trauma to sink in. Part of me wonders if I should be crying it out, like Amy did when telling her mother about it on the phone. Amy’s mother wanted to fly up, but Amy argued against it.
She and I arrive at the hospital just after lunch. We hang out for several hours because JD and Darren aren’t cleared for discharge yet. I work on classwork while Darren takes a nap. JD and Amy channel surf and scroll through stuff on their cellphones. I might be imagining things, but it seems JD looks my way a lot. Maybe he thinks I look frumpy in my jeans and a Cal hoodie that’s one size too large for me.
Around dinnertime, JD and Darren are finally discharged with their antibiotics, Vicodin, instructions for changing the bandages, and follow-up appointments. Darren has his arm in a sling, and JD will need crutches. Both will also need physical therapy when they’ve healed enough.
“I wasn’t shot in the legs,” Darren tells the nurse with the wheelchair.
“Hospital rules,” she explains.
JD’s driver awaits him and Amy while Marshall drives Darren and me back to the club. I gasp when I step into Darren’s residence.
Usually a dim ceiling light comes on automatically when he passes the threshold, but it doesn’t this time. The place remains dark except for the light provided by a candelabra atop the dining table, which has been covered by a tablecloth and several dishes, all gorgeously plated.
I turn to Darren, who doesn’t look surprised at all.
“Cheryl arranged it,” he explains. “It’s not as nice as being at Ishikawa West, but at least you’ve got a celebration dinner.”
“That is soooo sweet of her!”
I place my backpack down and out of the way. We walk over to the table. I gawk at the spread. “She shouldn’t have,” I murmur.
“Why the hell not?” Darren asks, pulling out a chair for me.
“In a way, it’s my fault. If we weren’t going out to celebrate—”
“Don’t even finish that bullshit thought.”
I sit down, then stand back up. “I should be getting the chair for you.”
“Sit down. And don’t treat me like an invalid,” he threatens as he takes the bottle of champagne out of the bucket of ice.
“I can open that,” I say.
“You’ve never opened a bottle of champagne before.”
“You don’t know that.”
He lifts a brow.
“Okay, I haven’t,” I admit.
With his right hand, he removes the foil, jams the wine opener in, and nestles the bottle between his left arm and body. Having to press his injured arm against his body, he grimaces as he pulls the cork out.
“You should have let me do it,” I say. “You don’t have to show me how manly you are by doing everything yourself.”
He pours the champagne into two flutes. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance to wait on me hand and foot.”
He hands me a glass. I hesitate. This will be my first sip of alcohol, and I’m not twenty-one yet.
“You want a glass of sparkling water instead?” he asks.
I look into his eyes, touched by his consideration.
“I think, this being a special occasion, I’m going to go for the champagne,” I decide.
He raises his glass. “To refrigerated vans.”
I chuckle and clink glasses. The champagne is very bubbly and a little sweet, like apple cider.
Darren shakes his head. “You’re officially a law-breaker now. It’s a slippery slope that starts with a sip of champagne and spirals into who knows what.”
“You’re a bad influence,” I tease back.
Oddly, he looks taken aback, and I wonder if I hurt his feelings, but surely he knows I was just kidding around?
He sets down his glass and pulls out his chair with one hand. “The restaurant offered to provide a server because this is supposed to be an eight-course meal. I didn’t want to be waited on.”
On our plates are small menus detailing the different dishes.
“Looks like the zensai is the first course,” I say after reading the menu.
I take the lid off the first plate of appetizers. Next is a delicate soup served in lidded lacquered bowls. I end up playing the role of the server for the whole dinner, which is what I wanted. It’s the least I can do. The bullets that ended up in Darren could have easily been in me.
Our dinner conversation is somewhat minimal. My thoughts are occupied with how to pitch the idea of my staying over for a couple of days. I don’t want to intrude into his space, especially if he likes it to remain a bachelor pad, even if it’s just for a few days. I want to be around in case he needs help. But my thoughts are disrupted when I find Darren constantly staring at me.
“What?” I ask when we’re on our fourth course, sashimi.
“You must be tired,” he says.
“I’m okay. I’ve gotten less sleep cramming for an exam before.”
“You get any nightmares from what happened?”
I shake my head. “You?”
“No. You seem to be taking this well.”
“You too.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Like I said, this isn’t the first time I’ve been shot.”
“Yeah, but the other time was an accident. Looking back, it might have been predictable. This was out of the blue.”
“Like getting into a car accident. Shit happens in life.”
“It’s still terrifying.”
He stares at me earnestly. “Are you still scared?”
I set down my chopsticks. “I guess. Mostly because when I think of how you could have been—what could have happened to you…to all of us. I could have—if you hadn’t pushed me away—I haven’t even thanked you yet for saving my life!”
He sets down his chopsticks, too, and sits back in his chair. “You want to thank me now?”
