Her situation improved forty-five minutes later, when a tech took an X-ray. “No fracture. A nurse will strap up your sprain and you’re free to go.”
She returned to the waiting room. Now she knew her wrist wasn’t broken, she felt comfortable wiggling her fingers inside the sling. She glanced at the wall clock. Six p.m. The limo would have collected Jared from the hotel and be transporting him to the events center for the party, where he’d meet up with Dimity, Moss and Seth as support crew.
Happy anniversary, babe.
He’d texted her the message an hour after he’d left her, obviously remembering he hadn’t said it yet. And she’d returned it, though she’d still been ambivalent about his tough love approach. But none of that mattered a damn now.
A red-headed nurse came to get her, apologizing for the delay. “Is there someone with you? You’ll need a driver once I’ve strapped you up.”
“I’ll be taking care of her.”
Unable to trust her ears, Kayla turned. Her husband stood there in a tuxedo, handsome and pale. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I rang the number you called from and Dawn filled me in.” He put his arms around her, being very careful of her swollen wrist. “Oh, honey.”
The rough tenderness in his tone made her throat tighten. “I’m okay.” But her uninjured arm snaked under his dinner jacket and around his waist, mainlining into comfort, into warmth, holding tight. Pressing her cheek against his starched dress shirt, she could hear his heartbeat, too fast. “I’m okay,” she reassured his heart.
He said nothing, kissing the top of her head, her forehead. Smoothing her hair. His intensity spoke for him. It wasn’t bad. But it could have been.
She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I’m so glad you’re here.” No pretense. He’d given her a gift and she was accepting it.
He gave her a little shake. “Of course I’m here.”
“Right.” The nurse smiled at them. “Let’s bandage that wrist.”
“Wait.” Kayla checked the wall clock and made calculations. “If you leave now, Jared, you’ll still make it.” She’d knocked his bow tie askew. She straightened it with her good hand. “How long does it take to get to the Milo Center from here?” she asked the nurse.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Are you crazy?” Jared growled. “I’m not letting you wait in a hospital alone.” He was genuinely pissed.
Her heart lifted. “You’re right, what was I thinking. Where else would you be? At a Grammy nominee’s party? Phh, this is way more fun. At something that could help your future music career? Phh again. Way more important to hold your wife’s hand while she gets a wrist sling.”
“You need me,” he said with total conviction.
“I didn’t know I needed you until you showed up.”
“You need me,” he prompted, arrogant, certain. “Say it.”
“Yes, I need you.”
He stroked her hair. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I love you,” she said. “And that doesn’t describe even a little bit of how much I feel for you.”
He smiled. “Kayla, have they given you drugs?”
“Only Advil.”
Bad things would not happen if she showed him she needed him, if she revealed her insecurities sometimes. When it mattered most, he would always put her first. She knew that.
“Oh my God,” the nurse blurted. “You’re Jared Walker…and you’re the Kayla he wrote about. That’s my favorite song. My fiancé and I are using it at our wedding. I have to get your autograph.”
Her excitement was attracting attention, and Jared was already drawing interested glances. Kayla doubted the ER often saw a guy dressed in a tuxedo, and he had the build for it, lean and tall with wide shoulders.
“I’ll be happy to sign something for you…” Jared looked at the nurse’s name tag “…Sabrina. But can we sort out my wife first? Somewhere private?”
“Of course, I’m so sorry. You must get this constantly.”
“Pretty often,” Kayla said. They followed her to a cubicle and Sabrina became all business as she fitted a wrist splint and gave Kayla care instructions. “Ice it every few hours, wear the shoulder strap for a couple of days. Advil will help with pain and swelling.” She wanted both their autographs. “For good luck,” she said. “I want us to have what you’ve got.”
“Luck,” said Jared firmly, “has nothing to do with it. Some say it’s the hardest work you’ll ever do. Personally, I’d say that’s parenting.”
The mischief in his eyes made her remember her words at Joy Bar on their first date, when all she’d wanted for Christmas was the ‘sweet, shy guy’ she’d married.
What an idiot she’d been wanting their love to be fixed and immutable. Unchanging. That wasn’t how love worked. Like the children they’d created, love needed room to grow. Nourishment, encouragement, discipline. But if you were open to learning when to hold on and when to let go, the results could be…extraordinary.