How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

No matter how you looked at it, Jarrod had saved her tonight.

Elodie wasn't stingy with her gratitude. At least, she shouldn't be.

Still...

She frowned slightly, unable to shake her surprise at the way Jarrod had treated Sylvie.

Jarrod turned the car around, glancing at her with those deep-set eyes, his tone unhurried, "You don't have to thank me."

For a moment, silence swallowed the car again.

Elodie knew Jarrod had rescued her tonight—and, in a way, punished Sylvie and her friends. He'd done her a favor. But that was only one side of it.

Business was business.

Whether or not Jarrod genuinely wanted to help her didn't matter. In the end, tonight's incident was between Jarrod and Sylvie, the fallout from their own issues. Elodie had just been caught in the crossfire.

She didn't see why she should shoulder any blame or let her thoughts run wild. After all, Jarrod had never really shared what he was thinking.

She owed him her thanks, and that would be enough.

"Do you need directions?" she asked, noting how far they still were from her apartment complex.

Neither of them seemed interested in picking up the earlier conversation.noveldrama

Eyes fixed on the road, Jarrod's face was half lost in shadow. "No need. I know the way."

Elodie shot him a curious look but let it drop, not in the mood to push.

Tonight felt strangely as if nothing had happened at all.

As they neared her building, the question finally slipped out, "How did you end up in that part of town tonight, anyway?"

Right place, right time-he'd saved her from a tough spot.

Jarrod glanced her way, parking smoothly at the curb. "Are you genuinely curious, or is that just small talk?"

What kind of question was that?

Elodie couldn't help but furrow her brow and stare at him.

Did it even matter?

She decided not to bother responding. With a small shrug, she opened the door and stepped out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the side of Jarrod's luxury sedan- dented, the paint scratched and peeling. It would need a mechanic, though it still ran fine.

Jarrod unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, discreetly bracing his arm for a moment. "If you're still shaken, I could walk you upstairs," he offered quietly.

Elodie caught the subtle movement and stopped. She walked over and, without thinking, reached for his sleeve. Jarrod simply lowered his gaze to meet hers, unmoving.

She noticed for the first time the tear in his shirt right at the sleeve, exposing a gash on his skin, beads of blood welling up. No wonder he'd barely used that hand all night, t looked deep, maybe even down to the bone.

"Why didn't you say anything? I could've driven," she muttered, frowning harder.

No wonder he'd been driving one-handed.

Jarrod glanced down at the injury, then shifted to avoid her gaze, his tone offhand: "You were already rattled. Letting someone emotionally unstable drive us home-were you planning on a murder-suicide?"

Elodie shot him a frosty look.

She was not emotionally unstable.

The car was parked in front of her building now, and he was still bleeding. He needed help.

But she wasn't about to invite him upstairs to deal with it. Instead, she walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. "Get in. I'm taking you to the hospital."

What a night. If he'd just said something earlier, she would've called a cab for herself and had Andrea drive him straight to the ER.

This time, Jarrod didn't argue. He slid into the passenger seat, glancing at her with a faint, teasing smile. "Sure I'm not putting you out?"

Elodie's voice was cool as ever; she didn't bother to answer a question that hardly needed one.

She wasn't familiar with this car, so Jarrod quietly talked her through the controls. Fortunately, the hospital was just around the corner.

She pressed the gas and sped straight to the ER.

The emergency room was bustling, bright lights and urgent voices everywhere: Elodie, dressed in a

white camisole with a pale grey net

cardigan, a matching skirt, and soft beige slippers, looked every bit the picture of quiet domesticity as she hurried off to find a nurse.