Free His Frozen Heart by Nancy Straight Page A

see the kindness waiting for me in his eyes. “It’ll be a
week with pay. This is on me. You don’t have to use any of your
accrued vacation time. I just want you to be a hundred percent
before you come back.”
    He released my chin, and I burrowed
back into his embrace. I stood there clinging to him, unable to let
go or to say anything. I was grateful, but more than that, I
wondered what kind of Karma I had to get this guy for a boss. He
knew this hadn’t been a normal robbery: this was someone Libby and
I had pissed off. His store was shot up, three of his security
cameras were toast, yet he wanted to give me a paid week off. It
didn’t add up.
    Not wanting to take advantage of his
generosity, I told him, “I don’t need a week off. I’m sure I’ll be
okay by tomorrow.”
    He stepped back from me, distancing
himself by several feet. His pained smile focused on my still
wrapped-up hand. “Then treat it like a well-deserved
vacation.”
    I didn’t know how “well-deserved” he
would believe it to be if Maria called him in a few hours to tell
him, on top of everything else, I had been thirty minutes late to
work. He guided me forward through a second set of double-doors. A
hospital information desk greeted us as we stepped out of the
skywalk. An older gentleman in a security guard uniform was posted
behind the desk. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see us. Maybe
there were security cameras discreetly placed in the skywalk.
Instead of telling him we were looking for my roommate, I held up
my hand with the bloodied t-shirt wrapped around it. He gave me an
understanding smile and pointed to the left, “Emergency is down the
steps on the first floor.”
    Mr. Sanders waited with me for over an
hour. He filled out the mountain of forms saying it would be a
workman’s comp. claim, so thankfully I wouldn’t have to put the
hospital on the payment plan. When the nurse finally called me back
to meet with the doctor, I told him, “You don’t have to wait for
me. I can catch a cab back to pick up my car when they’re
done.”
    He looked at his watch. It was now
well after 3 AM. He started to answer when a lion-sized yawn
escaped him. I cut him off. “Mr. Sanders, honestly, thank you.
There’s no reason for you to stay. Once I see the doctor, I want to
go upstairs to check on Libby. You should get some
sleep.”
    He looked like he was going to
protest, but instead he stood up and kissed my forehead. “If you
need anything, anything at all, call me.”
    The doctor examined my hand and came
to the same conclusion I had – it wasn’t much more than a gnarly
scratch. He glued it shut and had a nurse wrap it. After reviewing
the information Mr. Sanders had written on my admission paperwork,
the doctor wrote a prescription for anxiety. I insisted I didn’t
need it, but he told me at least I would have it if I began to feel
overwhelmed. I shoved the slip of paper in my back
pocket.
    As I was signing out of the emergency
room, I asked the nurse behind the desk, “My roommate, Libby
Merrick, was brought in a couple hours ago. Do you know if she’s
still here?”
    Her fingers whizzed on the keyboard,
then she turned to me, her eyes grave. “She’s in the intensive care
unit on eight.” I turned toward the elevators as her voice warned
me, “You won’t be able to see her. Visitors are restricted to
family only.”
    I wanted to glare at the nurse and
tell her I was family, but instead thanked her for her help and
stood by the elevator anyway. When the elevator deposited me on the
eighth floor, there was a large waiting area, with several lounge
chairs and sofas. As I made my way to the nurse at the ICU desk, a
voice behind me stopped me short. “Candy?”
    I turned to see Libby’s ex-boyfriend,
Loser Larry, sitting alone by an enormous window. What she ever saw
in him was beyond me. The guy made my skin crawl. He worked as a
salesman at the Ford dealership, so he always drove nice cars, but
Libby had never been one