“It’s always about him.”

Liz sighed, and then she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Some things never change, do they?”

Clay shrugged.

“Well, the police will want to hear your story. Plus, everyone else is out in the lobby, waiting for you to wake up. I’ll go get them, but…”

“Why you?”

“What?”

“Why were you waiting in here for me to wake up?” he asked.

Liz smiled. “Because I could handle it.”

He furrowed his brow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Honestly, Clay, everyone else was too distraught. You looked really bad when you first got here. Andrea burst into tears and fled…literally fled. I said I’d stay and look after you.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised by this revelation. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. You’d do the same for me.”

“Would I?” he asked with a grin.

Liz shook her head. “I’m going to get everyone now. Is there anything you need?”

“Aim the next kiss a little lower?”

She stood and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Clay…”

Liz left the room, and he caught sight of her long, lean legs. It was a nice sight even if he had to see it after waking up in a goddamn hospital.

He still couldn’t believe those fuckers had jumped him. He’d made himself an easy target—drunk, stumbling, on his phone, not aware of his surroundings. He might as well have asked them to put that gun to his head and strip him clean. Didn’t make it any fucking better though. At least he knew what one guy looked like. That was his only shred of hope in all of this. He’d gotten one solid look at his attacker before he’d blacked out.

When the door opened, a doctor entered the room, followed by an older nurse, and started checking on him. “Good to see you’re awake. You were in pretty bad shape when you were brought in last night.”

“I still feel like I’m in shit shape,” Clay said.

“You sustained two cracked ribs, significant bruising, and a concussion. I didn’t think you would be in great shape.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “How long is all that going to take to fucking heal?”

“I would say at least six weeks for those ribs.”

Clay laughed and wheezed at the pain. “I don’t have six weeks.”

“The first two weeks will be the most important for you to manage the pain at home and try not to do anything that would damage it further. Unfortunately, there isn’t much more we can do on that front, except help make it manageable.”

“Fuck.”

“You should feel very lucky that you didn’t sustain worse injuries. I hope the cops find the person responsible.”

The doctor left after they’d run a few tests that hurt like a motherfucker. Who knew breathing tests could hurt so fucking much?

The door opened again, and in came Clay’s parents. His father was tall and proud with salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles on his forehead from the strenuous task of running the country into the ground—otherwise known as being a US senator. His mother was as beautiful and serene as ever with her short blonde hair and soft smile.

Clay was surprised they were even here.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Marilyn said, taking his hand.

His father stood on the other side of the bed. His hands were at his sides, and he looked uncomfortable.

“We’re both just glad you’re all right,” Marilyn said. “Aren’t we, Jeff?”

A look passed between them. It was a signal Clay had seen a lot growing up. Show some emotion to your child!

“Of course we’re happy you’re all right,” Jeff said with a rare smile. “You had us all worried.”

“I’d hate to do that,” Clay managed. His ribs were hurting worse than ever, and this conversation wasn’t helping.

“How are you feeling?” Marilyn asked.

“Like shit.”

“I’ll see if I can find the nurse and have her come in and up the pain medication.” She turned and left the room, leaving him all alone with his father.

He was a daunting man. Always had been to Clay. Brady had always gotten along better with him. Clay had always been teased for being a mama’s boy. Just lying here made him want to stand up because that was what was proper in their house. But he couldn’t move.

Jeff cleared his throat. “Did you decide which law firm you’re going to work with now that you’re not clerking any longer?”

Straight to business. “No,” he said flatly.

“Well, you’ll have to decide. Not much time left.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he said dryly.

“They’ll want to know by New Year’s,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard the sarcasm in Clay’s voice. “I think you should probably take the Cooper and Nielson offer. Their reputation is solid, and you can quickly move up the chain.”

“Just what I want.”

“Good, good. Well,” he said with a fucking politician’s smile, “I’ll just check on your mother.”

“Great. You do that,” Clay said.

Jeff turned and started walking toward the door. Clay wanted to make some snide remark about him leaving without even really asking if his own son was okay, but it wasn’t worth it. Years of this wall between them wasn’t going to come crumbling down from one particularly gruesome mugging. Clay expected no more, no less.

Andrea peeked her head in the door. Finally, the moment he had been waiting for.

“Hey,” she whispered.

She looked like a total wreck. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her hair was in a messy ponytail. She wore expensive yoga pants and a tank top with a running jacket and all black Nikes. She didn’t have a scrap of makeup on, and she was chewing on her manicured nails as she entered.

And, despite all that, she still looked gorgeous. He was so used to her being all dolled up under several layers of makeup with perfect supermodel platinum-blonde curls, wearing Jimmy Choos and an endless assortment of those tacky Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But her walking into his hospital room, distraught as hell, was the sexiest he’d ever seen her.

“Clay,” she croaked, walking uneasily to his side, “I’m sure you don’t want to see me.”