Like fuck I will.
I am stuck here until Dad shows up with clothes. I can’t exactly take to the streets barefoot. I feel like a prisoner in this fucking room. Crawling back out of the bed, I pull up the app on my phone that I’d installed awhile back. The green flashing ping gives me a false sense of security—I know it doesn’t tell me if she’s hurt—but it at least tells me where she is. I keep it open and under my watchful eye while I take a quick piss. By the time I’ve splashed water on my face, Cathy shows up with my dad and a security officer.
Everyone has somber looks on their faces and I think I might snap. “Someone please talk to me.”
“This is really against hospital protocol, but since MPE is such a generous benefactor—” the security guard stammers but is interrupted by my father.
“And we appreciate that. Can you please just tell us what was on the footage?”
“Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “About an hour ago, a man in scrubs was seen entering this room pushing a wheelchair,” the security officer tells me, his breath heaving. “Several minutes later, he came back out with a young woman in the chair. She appeared to be awake. Didn’t look to be injured on the footage. The man’s face was covered. They’re still sorting through the parking lot footage.”
“Shit,” I hiss out and then run my fingers through my messy hair. “I’m leaving. I have to find her.”
She shakes her head. “Sir! You’ve just had surgery to repair a pneumothorax. You can barely walk without getting winded. I strongly advise against that.”
I toss my phone onto the bed so Dad can see and he nods, passing me a bag of clothes. “Cathy, will he be okay if he stays put in the car? Once we get Baylee, we’ll come back. Just tell me he’ll be okay to leave for a short while.”
She frowns and waves her head in a disproving way. “Sir, he has a chest tube in place and a wound vac. Even if he wants to leave against medical advice, I need a doctor here to D/C the tube, get prescriptions for antibiotics—because he will probably get an infection if the chest tube is discontinued early—and provide me with discharge orders. These things will take me some time.”
The mention of antibiotics makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I try to fight the black that threatens to consume me at the mention of the risks involved with leaving the hospital early. The fact that my lung, according to Cathy, will likely fill with infectious pathogens.
My breathing grows shallow. It’s an involuntary response.
But I remember the look in Baylee’s eyes last night—the one that she was trying so desperately to keep from me that spoke of pain, and humiliation, and sadness.
I remember that she needs me.
And I remember that it’s my turn to fight for her, like she fought for me. To bring my queen into the light.
“Just do what you can, please,” I beg. “My fiancée is in grave danger.”
Nurse Cathy looks between my father and I and nods. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says, making her way out of the room.
I work to take a few more calming deep breaths, but I sense my dad approaching and open my eyes to find him in front of me. One side of his mouth lifts into a small smile.
“I’m proud of you, son.”
“ARE WE ALMOST there?” she asks, a cold bite to her voice. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she glares straight ahead of her.
I grit my teeth and give her a one word answer. “Almost.”
Her mouth sets into a thin line and I let my anger fill me up and fuel me on. She acts like she’s the one who was put out for having to leave the hospital. Not once did she consider how I’d feel. How I’d feel when I came back ready to spoil her with flowers and dinner only to find out she’d bailed on me. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out she’d gone to see him. And sure as fuck, I found her wrapped around him. Like she belonged to him.
I deserve her love.
It gutted me.
Fucking gutted me.
She’s lucky I didn’t end him right there once and for all. I craved to yank out the knife I’d bought, after returning to an empty hotel suite, and slash his throat. To watch it spray the ceiling and shower down around her. He deserved to drown in his own goddamned blood. The rage fights to consume me as I grip the steering wheel tighter, so I don’t do anything stupid like turn around. If I turned around and went back, I’d surely kill him. And if I killed him, she’d never forgive me. Her attention would be on him, not me.
I deserve her attention.
We’re walking a fine fucking line here.
Between right and wrong.
Love and hate.
Black and white.
The lines are becoming blurred and I’m tired of playing Mr. Nice Guy.