Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires, #2)(59)

Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I’m grateful she understands me enough not to ask any follow-up questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal to the years I’ve spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.

“I hate them too.” Her voice cracks.

“Why?”

She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. “Let’s just say my mom ended up in the ER a couple times for being clumsy.”

I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

“And did you have issues with being clumsy?” If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.

She shakes her head rather aggressively. “No. No.”

My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. “If you were, you can tell me.” While I can’t promise I won’t do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot.

The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don’t shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.

“It never got to that point. Nana made sure of it.”

“How?”

“She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa’s life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life.” A tear slips down her face, and I can’t stand the sight of it.

I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers.

A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. “Did Nana’s plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?”

She forces out a laugh. “I think concrete shoes were more in style back then.”

I fake shudder. “Remind me to never make Nana angry.”

“Forget Nana. You’d have to deal with me.” She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.

“I’m absolutely terrified.”

“Mrs. Kane?” a nurse calls out.

Iris doesn’t move at the sound of her name.

“That’s you.” I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.

She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand. Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. “I’m here!”

The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay. Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.

The empty bed meant for Iris is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.

“I’d like my wife to be taken care of in a private suite,” I speak up.

The nurse grimaces as her gaze flicks across my body. “This is a hospital.

Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doc like everyone else.”

Iris hops on the bed without any complaint, and I’m tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Iris’s vitals and asks some routine questions.

Iris answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn’t put anyone at ease, least of all her.

The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.

“I’ll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object.”

The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.

Iris laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.

“You find this funny?”

She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all day. “Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn’t put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it.”

“It’s not my fault she isn’t accustomed to how things are done in the real world.”

“Wake up, dear. You’re living in the real world.” She waves around our room.

“It’s terrifying.”

“Come here. I’ll make it better.” Iris pats the bed.

Doubtful, but I’m a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn’t enough space.

“Isn’t this cozy?” she quips.

She eyes the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.

“What’s wrong?”

She leans closer to me and whispers, “Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?”

My lips lift at the corners. I don’t know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of scary movies without so much as flinching. “You’re afraid of needles?”

She sputters. “No. I’m not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can’t control.”

“That’s good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV

when she comes back.”

“No! Don’t tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”