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“MyBeau? Is he okay?” The frantic fear in his voice sends chills down my spine.
“They brought him in. I’m waiting for answers. I just…”
“Tell me he’s okay,” he demands, and I cry a little louder into the receiver. “Why was he there? Was he… What the fuck, Maggie?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, crying into my hand as I wish all of this away.
“I’m on my way,” he barks in a cold, emotionless declaration. A moment later, the line goes dead, and I stare down at my phone. I want to scream. I want to hurl my phone into the street forallof the things out of my control. My helpless, futile hands clutch hard to the unbreakable device as I squeeze it so hard, my bones start to ache.
I want to march into that hospital and find Beau, hold him, demand they fix him. But I can’t. I’m useless to him now. Two months ago, Beau meant almost nothing to me. I wasfinewithout him. I felt useful. I had a purpose. Now…I’m sitting on the concrete of a hospital parking lot, feeling entirely worthless, because he’s in there and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help him. My entire identity has been completely alteredby him, all of my worth reprogrammedfor him.
And as long as he walks out of that hospital, I won’t regret a thing.
But if he doesn’t…
“Ma’am,” a soft voice says, pulling me from my pathetic mess of tears as I cry into this stupid satin gown I’m still wearing. When I look up into the eyes of the reception desk nurse, I take in a hopeful breath. I stand in a rush, waiting for her to speak.
For some reason, I’m bracing myself for her to utter the words that will end me. Just a simple, “I’m sorry,” out of her mouth, and I will shatter into a million pieces.
“They just put him in a triage room.”
I force in a breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means they’ve finished with him, and they’re monitoring him.”
“That’s a good sign,” I say excitedly as my spine straightens, and I look to her for confirmation.
She shrugs. “He is alive.”
My breath shudders out of me. “When can I see him?”
“Not for a while. Not until he gets into a room, but I’ll send the doctor out to check in with you, okay?”
I grab her hand, clutching to it as I force a sad smile on my face. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t respond. Only nods before pulling away from my grip and heading back inside. As I sit alone on the cement bench outside, my mind is mostly blank. Makeup is smeared across my face, and I realize it will be morning soon. My bones ache with exhaustion, but I can’t sleep. Not anytime soon.
When I see a familiar man crossing the parking lot toward me, his walk rushed and enraged, I sit up and brace myself.
As he charges up to meet me, I stand, squaring my shoulders and preparing myself for what’s about to happen.
“How is he?”
“They put him in a triage room. I think that’s a good sign, but I’m still waiting for an update.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“We were coming out through the back and the guy just ambushed us. He had…a crowbar.”
Emerson winces, clearly mustering his courage to hear this.
“I want to kill that motherfucker,” he grits through his clenched teeth.
“We have security footage. We can give it to the police and get an ID on this guy. He’s one of the protestors—"
“I know it’s one of the protestors,” he snaps, cutting me off. He’s so tense and unhinged, nothing like the calm and collected man I’ve known for over a decade.
He stares at me with wild, tired-looking eyes, before running his hands through his hair and pacing in a circle before coming back toward me.
