Heartstrings by Hadley Danes Read Free Book Online

the time being, though, it’s just fun keeping
up with his verbal acrobatics, crude though they may sometimes be.
    “My shift is almost over for the night,” I say, “Do you need
anything before I go?”
    “Yes,” he says.
    “Besides a glass of whiskey,” I tell him.
    “I need you to stay,” he says.
    “Stay?” I ask, “As in, for another shift?”
    “Yeah,” he says, “The day nurse is no good.”
    “Rachel?” I ask, “What’s wrong with Rachel?”
    “She’s not as nice to look at as you are,” he smiles.
    I hope I’m not blushing as I respond, “Rachel has been
working here for ten years. She knows everything there is to know about
everything.”
    “But she seems immune to my charms,” he says.
    “And I’m not?” I challenge.
    “I don’t think you are,” he says, “Though you’re putting up
a very good fight, I must say.”
    “Why thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Seriously, can I get
you anything?”
    “A kiss?” he asks.
    “No,” I say.
    “A French kiss?” he asks.
    “Why would—? Never mind. I’m just going to sit here and wait
until my shift is over. Let’s both just take a minute and be nice and quiet,
so—”
    The door flies open, slamming hard against the wall. I
nearly jump out of my skin as I whip around to see what’s happened. My mouth
falls open as I spot a motley crew of unwashed hooligans streaming into the
hospital room. I recognize these people. They’re the ones I kicked out of the
way when Slade first got here. I should have known they’d be back.
    “Looking good, Slade!” howls the short, somewhat jowly man I
spoke with in the waiting room while Slade was being admitted.
    “You’re the manager, right?” I ask.
    “That’s me,” he says, offering his hand to me, “Eddie
Bayonne, pleasure to meet you.”
    “I’m Julia,” I say, shaking his proffered hand, “I’m Slade’s
night nurse.”
    “He’s a lucky guy, to be taken care of by someone as lovely
as you,” Eddie grins, holding onto my hand for longer than is necessary.
    “I’m rather good at my job, if that’s what you mean,” I say
coolly.
    “Sure,” Eddie says with a wink. He crosses the room to Slade
and leans over the hospital bed. “So what’s the story, big guy?” he asks, “You
fixed yet or what?”
    “Who knows?” Slade shrugs.
    A man who looks like he could be Slade’s younger brother
steps up earnestly. “What about the show in two days?” he asks, “Are they going
to let you play? The fans are going to kill us if we miss another show.”
    “This is Dodge,” Slade tells me, nodding toward the man,
“Our guitarist. And something of an alarmist, as it would happen.”
    “Do you blame him?” says a thick, shaggy man beside me. I
recognize him from the waiting room as well. “We’ve all been worried about
you.”
    “Joe, I’m fine,” Slade insists. “Tell them I’m fine, Julia.”
    “He’s fine,” I confirm, “A royal pain in the ass, but he’s
going to be out of here soon I think.”
    “Sounds like our boy,” says the lone woman of the group. I
can’t help but give her a long once-over. I assume that this is Annabelle, the
drummer of Flagrant Disregard. She’s got a good three inches on me, and
probably about ten fewer pounds. She looks like some kind of nymph—with long,
jet black hair and bright blue eyes. The features of her face are almost
impossibly delicate, and even the simple cotton dress she’s wearing looks
elegant on her.
    I give my head a little shake, trying to dislodge the
judgmental thoughts from my mind. Why am I comparing myself to this woman I’ve
never met? It’s not like I have anything to prove to these people.
    The four visitors take over the hospital room, perching on
chairs and equipment, wherever they land on first. They’re chattering up a
storm, filling Slade in on the buzz that’s been happening since his
hospitalization. Apparently, some fan managed to get a video of the whole
fight, and Slade’s brave