He stepped into a dim room that was exactly as his had been: beige, stark, and dominated by the hospital bed in the middle. Across the way, the curtain that was drawn against the daylight was moving ever so slightly, as if she had closed it—maybe so he couldn’t get a clearer picture of her face.

Which was a mess.

So much so, he paused for a moment. Her beautiful features were distorted by swelling on the cheeks, chin, and eyes; her lip was split open; and the purple bruising on her pale skin was like a stain on a wedding gown—ugly and tragic.

“It’s that bad, isn’t it,” she said, raising a shaking hand to shield herself.

“Jesus…Christ. Are you okay?”

“I will be, I think. They held me over because I have a concussion.” As she tugged up the thin blanket that covered her, Jim eagle-eyed her hands. No bruising on the knuckles.

Which meant she didn’t do this to herself and didn’t—or more likely couldn’t—fight back.

Staring at her, Jim felt his resolve shift around like it was trying to find level ground. What if…no, Vin couldn’t have done this.

Could he?

“I’m so sorry,” Jim murmured, sinking down onto the corner of the bed.

“I shouldn’t have told him about you and me….” She snapped a Kleenex out of a box and carefully dabbed under her eyes. “But my conscience was killing me and I…didn’t expect this. He broke off the engagement, too.”

Jim frowned, thinking last he’d heard, the plan had been for the guy to break up with her. “He asked you to marry him?”

“That’s why I had to tell him. He got down on one knee and asked me…and I said yes, but then I had to tell him what had happened.” Devina sat forward and gripped his forearm. “I’d stay away from him. For your sake. He’s furious.”

Thinking back on the guy’s expression when he’d been talking about Devina’s blue dress smelling like another man’s cologne, it wasn’t hard to imagine that was true. But there were parts of this situation that just didn’t compute—although it was hard to think like that, looking at Devina’s face…and her arm.

Which had a series of bruises that formed the shape of a man’s hand.

“When are they letting you out of here?” he asked.

“Probably this afternoon. God, I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“I’m the last person you should worry about.”

There was a silence. “Can you believe where we ended up?” she said softly.

No. On so many levels. “You got family coming to pick you up?”

“They’re due here around one when I’m supposed to be discharged. They’re really concerned.”

“I can understand why.”