“I don’t remember our honeymoon. Did you wear a pretty silky teddy thing?” He closed his eyes because his eyelids felt too heavy. At the same time, energy surged through him, making his skin feel too tight. “Because just naked is good too.”

“Joe.”

“Summer,” he answered obediently. “I can’t feel a damn thing. That’s a nice change. Even my heart doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh, Joe.”

Because she sounded so sad, he blinked and tried to concentrate, but it wasn’t easy. “My foot has a hole in it.”

“I know.” Staring down at his IV, she stroked his arm gently. “I was so scared.”

She was so pretty with her sweet worry, with her fiery hair brushing her golden shoulders. She was wearing two tank tops layered together, one white, one sky blue, and a denim skirt that showed off her mile-long legs. He felt a…grin split his face. “You married me. You must really looooove me.”

A frown turned her mouth upside down. “You aren’t that drugged, are you? You know we’re not really married.”

“I didn’t take a bullet to the brain.” Sighing, he lay back and closed his eyes. “I know where we are. You want to be friends, and occasionally fuck me.” Suddenly the morphine wasn’t enough. He realized his chest did hurt. His head hurt. His foot burned like a son of a bitch. And he was quickly sinking into the black pit where he’d run into his father’s fists again. “Red?”

He felt her hand on his jaw, and he sighed, turning his face into her touch. “Don’t go.”

But he fell into the pit before he could hear her answer.

For three days the Creative Interiors case took a backseat to Joe’s shooting. When he was discharged from the hospital, Summer drove him home and set him up in his bed, surrounded by the flowers and gifts people had sent, which looked almost obnoxiously cheerful when compared to his stubborn, set, irritated face.

“Where’s Ashes?” he asked.

“Kenny’s got her.”

He frowned. “You should have taken me into work.”

“The doctor said no.”

He sent her a brooding glance.

“It’s not the end of the world,” she said, carefully propping his foot up on a pillow. “Taking some time off.”

“Are you sure?”

In the act of smoothing his covers, she looked over at him, saw the irony in his expression. “Okay, maybe at first I thought it was, but I got used to it. I sure got used to seeing your face whenever I wanted.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ve had just enough drugs to take that as a compliment.” He lay on his bed very still, as if moving a single inch hurt.