“Because I believe you just told my wife you loved her.”
It takes me a few moments to hear what he’s just said. Well not really. I hear what he says immediately, a confused chuckle on my lips, but it takes a few seconds for it to sink in. Shock, disbelief, then indescribable confusion flicker through my already fucked-up head. I just stare at him, jaw lax. The ability to form a response is not even a remote possibility as I slowly pull my hand off Beaux’s and take a step back to physically distance myself although I already feel like I’ve been carried a thousand miles away from her.
This isn’t possible. Not at all. She said she loved me. She…
“What do you mean your wife?” I must look shell-shocked, because the bomb he just dropped on me was ten times worse than the one that exploded in our faces days ago.
“I really don’t think you have any right to ask the questions here.” He raises his eyebrows at me as I shake my head, the staggering pain in my chest only intensifying as I try to process some of this, but I just keep coming up empty-handed. “Were you sleeping with my wife?”
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? I can’t even wrap my head around the fact that the woman I just professed my love to is married. Like silver-ring-on-his-left-ring-finger type of married. How can I answer him when I don’t even understand what’s going on here? I was just so absolutely blindsided that I’m still trying to find my feet after being knocked on my ass with one clothesline tackle.
“Yes.” It’s all I can say to him. I can’t lie to the man, can’t take back the words I said to her even if right now they taste like bile on my tongue. His revelation doesn’t change that I love his wife. Oh my God, what the fuck is happening here?
I step farther away from the bed and bump into the wall behind me because I haven’t been able to tear my eyes from the sight of Beaux bruised and broken in the hospital bed. I need her to open her eyes and talk to me, need her to explain what the hell is going on… that what was between us was real and that what this guy is saying is all a joke.
But she’s not.
And neither is he.
John rounds the bed, teeth gritted, shoulders squared, and I know what’s coming next, but still I stand there like a deer in the headlights. “Then you deserve this,” he says as he cocks his fist back lightning fast and connects with my cheek.
My body crashes into the corner where the walls meet, my arm flying out and knocking over something on the bed tray that clatters loudly to the ground, causing the doctor to drop his clipboard and run to get between us. But there’s no need. Absolutely none.
I’m not the kind of guy who takes a punch without scrambling back up and landing a few myself. No one coldcocks me and walks away unscathed. And yet right now, I have absolutely no fight left in me. It’s not just the pain radiating in my already scrambled brain, but the fact that I deserve a whole helluva lot more than one punch because just like I don’t let anyone coldcock me and walk away; I also don’t sleep with someone’s wife. That’s not the type of guy I am.
But fuck, man… I didn’t know. I did not know. And I still fucking love her. How is that even possible?
I rest my head against the wall for a moment with my hands pressed on either side of it, the doctor and John at my back, to try and gain my bearings. I feel like I’m drunk and am trying to get the room to stop spinning out of control around me.