“It’s either this or I’ll carry you again,” I tell her. I figure Ripley will have her ass in that chair so fast, the orderly’s head will spin. Not so.
Ripley looks up at me. “No wheelchair.”
I don’t hesitate to lift her into my arms. Call it primal, but I like carrying her around.
When the orderly protests, Dr. Marks gives him a silencing look before turning back to me. “If you’d like, we can have someone bring your car around and you can go out the back entrance.”
“I appreciate it, but that’s not necessary. We’re all set.”
Just when I think that there’s no chance the media could have gotten wind of us being here already, I’m proven wrong. As soon as we step out of the glass doors, a camera flashes.
Ripley stiffens in my arms, burying her face against my chest.
“It’s okay. It’s just one guy. He’ll get a few photos and probably try to tail us.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I’m not usually such a big draw. I swear it’s not always like this.”
I glance down at her, and I think Ripley gets what I’m saying. The mess with Amber and then the press latching onto Ripley and me has made me way more entertaining copy that I’ve been in the last year. The happy-couple stories get old. What the media wants is drama.
He follows us at a distance all the way to the car, watching as I get Ripley inside.
After I close the door, I walk over to him. The guy looks a little scared, like I might decide to kick his ass. Valid concern.
“You get everything you need, man?”
His eyes bug out, probably with shock because I’m not yelling. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”
I nod. “Good deal. Since you’re the only guy I see here, you got your exclusive for the night. We’re going home, and I guarantee there won’t be shit for you to see because we’ll be behind gates and trees. Save yourself some time and don’t bother following us. There’s no point.”
“You’re going back to your place. With the girl? You together? What’s the deal with that?” He launches into a bunch of questions that I have no intention of answering.
“I told you all I’m gonna tell you, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d move on, man.”
He yanks a card from his pocket and holds it out. “If you ever want to—”
I look down at it, and part of me wants to rip him a new one for overstepping, but I’m too tired tonight. I take it from him and shove it in my pocket.
“Have a good one.”
“You too, Mr. Thrasher. I hope Ms. Fischer is okay.”
“She’ll be fine.”
38
Ripley
I’ve spentthe last decade as a night owl, so being awake at three thirty in the morning isn’t unusual. But now I’m exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
When Boone heads away from town, I don’t have the fortitude to argue with him about where I’m sleeping, because I have a feeling I would probably lose.
Even with the outcome a foregone conclusion, any other night I would put up a fight. Tonight, I’mdone.
“If they never find my body, you know they’ll come after you,” I tell him as he merges onto the highway. “That paparazzi guy will make sure of it.”
Boone’s eyes shift away from the road to me, shafts of light sliding across his face as the 442 accelerates. “You trying to say you think I’m a serial killer?”