The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(52)
Andrew didn’t respond, which felt like a small victory for this tight-knit hockey community. One where outsiders weren’t always welcome. Especially, when they didn’t bleed the Caribou green and gold. Julia steered the conversation back to mundane small talk because she didn’t really want to hear any more of his opinions. She was over it all before it had even gotten started.
Julia glanced up to the screen where a special broadcast had interrupted the game. The big screen images showed a wreck involving a semi and a Dodge pickup. Suddenly, his picture appeared to the left of the screen in a small outlined square. What the hell? Had Adam Spencer been involved in an accident?
“Shoot! I’m so sorry. I forgot I was supposed to meet a client tonight about their barn conversion.”
“Now?” His face turned down in a confused grimace. “It’s almost ten and you haven’t even finished your cheese sticks.”
“Yeah, the client owns his own tech company and he works twenty-four seven since it’s a start up. I really have to go.” His face reflected his upset and understanding that she was feeding him a line of complete bullshit. He’d probably call Sue and tattle as soon as her back retreated out the front door.
Andrew stood and gave her a quick hug in a last ditch effort to hang on. “Maybe, we can do this again—”
“It was nice to meet you.” Julia cut him off as she grabbed her purse and started rummaging for her wallet.
“No, I’ve got it,” he said as he put a hand over hers to stop her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled as she turned toward the door. She had to get out of the restaurant so she could look up the accident details on her phone. And call Blake. She opened the door to her Ford Escape and tossed her purse on the center console. The iPhone felt like ice in her hand. She hit the button for Safari and quickly typed in Adam Spencer Car Accident.
Nothing. Probably too soon for an online report.
She turned the key in the ignition and hit the radio button, searching for KFAN, the local sports talk radio. The DJ was talking about the accident. It sounded bad and they didn’t know if Adam would even make it. Apparently, he’d been trying to drive from his farm to the neighboring property and he’d been drinking.
She shook her head, unable to believe it. Drinking and driving was so not like him. That guy always seemed to have his shit together. His folks were pillars of the community before the tragedy. Julie wondered what might have prompted him to do something so rash, stupid and dangerous as to get behind the wheel of a truck while impaired.
She reached a red light a block away from her hotel suite when they announced that Adam had been transported to Duluth General. The hospital was only a red light away from where she idled at the intersection. She sat and stared at the blue “H” sign, until honking notified her the light had turned green.
Adam’s folks had been killed in a combine accident five years ago while she and her brothers were all in college. The scene was gruesome and the sorrow had ripped through their town and lasted for months. Gail and Jim Spencer had been beloved and had worked their farm for generations. Maybe Adam didn’t have anyone to sit with him. To care.
Chapter 3
Beep … beep … beep.
The sound of the heart monitor echoed through the room, piercing his consciousness. Adam tried to pry open his heavy eyelids, but the pounding pain in his brain and limbs prevented him from moving. At all.
He took inventory of his body and a small river of relief flowed when he found he could move his fingers and toes. At least he wasn’t paralyzed. The last thing he remembered was flinging Heather’s shit out onto the lawn of the farm. Pretty much everything else was a blur. He knew he’d been drinking and nothing good ever came from the intimate relationship of Adam Spencer and straight whiskey.
He slowly raised his bruised hand to his forehead and hit the bandage above his right eye. There was a window in this private room, but the blinds were closed and it was gloomy. Blessedly dark. It had to be nighttime because the floodlights outside created dancing shadows across the grey walls of his room. As he continued taking stock of what he could see without moving his neck, his eyes darted over a shape outlined in the padded chair pushed into the corner.
His eyes must be deceiving him. A woman was curled up under a white cotton hospital blanket with only one side of her face exposed. But her hair. Glorious waves of auburn silk flowed over the arm of the chair with the tips almost touching the tile below. He’d know that hair anywhere. He remembered the first time he’d seen it. The day her girlish giggles had pealed out over the snow covered pond as she twirled by him on her white figure skates and that mass of thick hair had spun around her shoulders from underneath her hat.
What was she doing here? He hadn’t seen her since Roger Daughtry’s kegger at the Alpha Nu Omega frat party right before college graduation. And the NHL draft when his entire life had changed. He could still remember how her clothes had clung to her new woman’s body. The halter top had hugged her full breasts and tiny waist. Not to mention the tight skinny jeans on her round ass. Blake’s sister was all grown up. The lust had hit him. Hard.
Inappropriate and pathetic though it was, he’d spent the entire night in her space, wanting to be close to her. Talk to her. But Julia Wales was so far above his dipshit jock ass, she could take flight like a jet and soar that far above him.