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The nurse falters in her footsteps, keeps her back to me, but nods her head. “I figured as much by the way you came barreling into the ward. A man acting like that doesn’t know. I’m sorry for you too.” And with that she exits the room and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
I slump back in my chair and close my eyes as I let my thoughts war against one another. I’m the fool here. I should leave and never look back since the woman played me like a damn violin, but I can’t find it within myself to leave just yet. A small part of me hopes that there is some huge misunderstanding, that she’s going to wake and clarify everything, because I can’t comprehend that she doesn’t love me. If I was watching someone else go through this, I’d tell them they were a sucker, to cut their losses and leave with some of their dignity intact.
But I just can’t bring myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk out of the hospital. Only I know the passion in her kiss, the raw honesty in her eyes. God, I am a sap. Honesty? It seems that word doesn’t apply to Beaux Croslyn at all.
The longer I sit here, the more I hold on to that fact, shoving away how much I care for her, and try to focus on the anger I feel – at her, at John, at the whole fucking world. But then as the reality of my situation comes crashing down on me in this solitary waiting room, the eddy of my thoughts whirls back to the fact that there has to be a reason why she’d let me fall in love with her when she was committed to someone else.
Her explanations about her past filter through my anger, make me recall my fears that she had an abusive ex or a bad situation at home that she was escaping. Could that still be true? Is John one of those missing pieces that Beaux purposefully left unexplained? And if so, how does it all fit together?
Further, why the fuck do I care? If that was the case, then she should have just told me. Wouldn’t she at least have told me there was someone else and that it was complicated?
Stop making excuses for her, Ta
Now I know I should walk away while I can. Grab my bag and go the fuck back to my reality where the possibility of being hit by opposition fire seems ten times more appealing than having my heart toyed with by a woman like Beaux and an angry husband in a hospital room that I don’t even belong in.
But I can’t. Not until I know she’s going to be okay. Call me a pussy, but I can’t turn off my feelings for her. I just can’t.
Instead, I shove up out of the chair, needing a change of scenery, some fresh air for a bit instead of this depressing waiting room with artificial light and waning hope. On the elevator ride down, I tell myself that I need to let this go, but I know for sanity’s sake that I need to make sure she’s okay before I can go back to the life I knew without her.
The minute I exit the doors of the hospital, I feel like I can finally breathe again, clear my thoughts, and am dialing my phone instantly. The phone is picked up on the third ring.
“Everything okay?”
“What do you know about Beaux, Rafe?”
“What do you mean, what do I know? Are you not in Germany with her?” Rafe asks, confused about where I’m coming from.
“I’m here. I want to know about her background. What do you know about her?”
“What? Whoa? What’s her status? What aren’t you telling me, here?”
I clench my fist at my side as my feet eat up the sidewalk outside of the facility. I need to slow down, know it’s important to tread lightly considering Rafe is my friend but also my boss who might look down on coworkers who sleep together. Especially when my stability is already being closely watched after Stella’s death.
The last thing I need is for him to see that as misplaced grief over Stella, and that I fell for Beaux with misguided feelings.
After a deep breath, I relay what the nurse told me about Beaux’s status. “But when I arrived, her husband was here. She never mentioned having a husband, Rafe. She just referred to a bad situation at home…” My voice trails off, and I let him infer what he will, hoping it’s what I want.
“And your point is what, Ta
“My point is that my gut instinct is zinging here that something’s off, and I wanted to know if you knew she was married.” I’m toeing the edge of mistruth with my friend, hoping he doesn’t see right through me.
He blows out an audible sigh that hangs on the co
I harden my jaw in frustration because I knew this was going to be his answer. “Throw me a bone here, Rafe,” I groan into the phone, sick and tired of being railroaded. “How about if I ask this way instead: Does her job application have something written in the spot that says maiden name?”
“Damn it, Ta
“Yes. I might be,” I tell him without hesitation. I’ll take any out I can to get information to validate my feelings or justify hers if there is any such thing.
“That’s not really a question I can ask in an interview because it implies that I can discriminate if she is or isn’t married, but I did ask her if being away for extended periods of time for work would cause any problems. She said no and didn’t elaborate.”
“What about a wedding ring?” I ask, unable to give the topic up.
“Kind of hard to see when the interview was done over the phone. She was already freelancing. All I had were her bio with her picture, her portfolio, and an urging from the bosses to hire her.”
“You’re not giving me shit to go off… Can’t you look at her file, see what it says?” I hang my head back, my feet stopping as I come to the edge of the grounds lined with huge trees.
“I can’t. It’d flag HR, and they’d want to know why I’m looking at her info. Personal data is kept under lock and key around here since you guys are in the public eye.”
“Guess I shouldn’t expect anything less from you, should I? You used to break rules with me left and right to get what we needed. I guess when you slipped on that suit, you gave up your personality too.”
I end the call without another word and lean back against a short retaining wall behind me, not caring at all that I just hung up on my boss. My finger slides across the screen to those damn photographs again. When I pull up the one of the two of us together, I just stare at it as frustration builds inside me because there is no way in hell that moment was fake, that the happiness in our eyes and the smiles on our lips were not authentic. It takes all I have to tear my eyes from my phone and at the same time not throw it away from me in anger.
Instead, I sit there for a moment with my face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth since the heat here is so different than in the Middle East.
My phone rings again and I’m immediately pissed. I don’t want to speak to anyone, but when I look down and see it’s Rylee, I have to answer it.
“Hey, Bubs.” Shit, I sound like a dejected puppy dog.
“How are you feeling?” she asks with concern in her voice. It’s only been twelve hours or so since we talked last, since I reassured her and my mom and dad that I was completely fine, just a little worse for wear, but I know she’s a worrywart and is going to call me often. And in a sense I’m okay with that because everyone loves to know that they are loved. On the other hand, I’m not home much, and so I’m not used to her being in my business.