“You are, Vi. You have a concussion. I won’t be able to settle.”
Her hand moves to her bump, and guilt swamps me. Shit, this can’t be any good for her or the babies.
“Okay,” I relent, it’s not like I have the energy to argue with her, and truth be known, the last thing I fancy right now is being alone.
ChapterForty-Four
NATHAN
I feel like a fucking fool all this time. I truly believed Naomi. Even when the doubt crept in, I pushed it aside. Christopher was surprisingly calm about it once Henry and I explained everything. It turns out he and Naomi split up not long after I found out she was married, but she’s got many issues, it would seem. She needs help, but that still doesn’t excuse my behaviour or what happened to Violet because of it.
Henry drives, and it’s only when he turns off the ignition I see where we are. I don’t even remember getting into the car.
“Come on, man. Let's get you inside and take a look at your knees.”
I clench my fists and feel the pinch of my skin as my nails dig into the soft flesh of my palm. Who gives a shit about my knees when all I can see is the look on Violet's face?
I need to apologise and beg her to forgive me, but I’ve fucked up, seriously fucked up.
Following Henry, I say nothing as we head into our—no—hisplace.
“I’ll grab you a pair of joggers,” he says once we’re indoors. “Go see how bad it is.”
I’m still shaking, the adrenaline coursing through me, and I know I’m moments away from losing my shit.
I sit down and drop my head into my hands. And for the first time since I can remember, I have the urge to cry. I push the heel of my palms against my eyes, hoping it will abate.
My head is still bowed when Henry’s feet appear in my line of sight, and his hand grips my shoulder.
“Come on, man, do you want to drop your trousers here or in the bathroom?”
I’d probably make a joke any other time, but this is the furthest thing from funny.
On autopilot, I go to the upstairs bathroom and strip out of my joggers, taking stock of my knees, just a couple of scrapes from the broken glass. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, I pick a couple of bits out, not even feeling it, and drop them into the small bin when Henry hands me the first-aid kit, but I wave him off.
“Yeah, I want those joggers back, so cover your knees. Don’t be a dick.”
I have no energy to argue with him, so I unzip the first-aid kit and rifle through until I find two square plasters that look like they’ll work.
Henry tosses me the joggers.
“I need to see her,” I say and notice him clear his throat, his posture tense.
“What?” I ask, standing.
He palms the back of his neck. “Ethan and Lottie had to take her to hospital.”
It’s as though I just took a physical blow and stagger back, my arse meeting the countertop giving me some semblance of support.
“It’s just a precaution,” Henry says, but his voice sounds distant compared to the ringing in my ears.
She’s in hospital.
What the fuck have I done?
I blamed her for Naomi getting hurt.
Violet begged me to see reason.
