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With that, she left the room. “Fuck!” Jessie barked, storming over to the window. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fucking hell, I hate this shit.”
I stayed silent. I was worried as fuck about her as well, but Jessie was the more vocal one out of the two of us. Always had been. I preferred staying silent.
A few minutes later, Dr. Gresham came into the room.
Without West.
“Where the fuck is she at?” Jessie growled, his patience officially gone. He was close to snapping.
“Take a seat,” Dr. Gresham ordered as he moved around his desk and sat down, looking extremely tired.
Jessie stiffly sat down on the couch. “I got West to open up a tiny bit,” Dr. Gresham told me. “And she had a nervous breakdown.”
My eyes widened in shock. Jessie swallowed thickly, his shoulders deflating, worry and concern for her flooding his features. “I figured something like this would happen. She was fighting me so hard to not talk as if she knew what would happen if she did. Has she had any random outbursts, sudden lows, and then randomly becoming angry again?”
I nodded. “Yeah, been happening a lot the past couple of days,” I told him. “We thought it might be because she went cold turkey on her medications.”
Dr. Gresham shook his head. “Her mind has just basically finally had enough,” he told us sadly. “It’s going to take a good minute to recuperate. She’s lost her speech.” I shut my eyes and scrubbed my hands down my face, my chest aching for her. “I’ve tried getting her to write and draw to express herself, hoping she could communicate that way, but right now, it’s not happening. Her brain is forcing her to recover.” He drew in a deep breath. “I can release her to you if that’s what you two want, but right now, I highly suggest leaving her here. We can help her. She needs extensive therapy and a calm environment.”
“Holy shit,” Jessie breathed. He shoved his hands through his hair, yanking on the strands. “I knew shit was bad for her, but—fuck,” he rasped, lost for words. But shit, what the hell could we say?
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked Dr. Gresham.
He nodded. “Eventually, yes. I just need the time to work with her.”
“She’s pregnant,” I informed Dr. Gresham. “She’ll completely lose herself altogether if something happens to her baby.” I knew her well enough to know that. If something happened to her baby because of this, she would feel like she was no better than her mother. And we’d never get her back.
That would absolutely destroy her. There would be nothing left to save.
Dr. Gresham nodded. “We will take care of both her and her baby,” he assured us. “She’ll have regular wellness checks, and we’ll get her on whatever medication is needed—and medication that is safe for her while pregnant—to get her back to you.”
I looked over at Jessie, and he met my eyes. “I hate this for her,” he grumbled, sounding strangled.
“I do, too, bro,” I told him honestly. “But fuck, maybe it’s what was always supposed to happen. She needs help, Jessie—help that we, unfortunately, can’t give her.”
He nodded in agreement and looked at Dr. Gresham. “She stays,” Jessie told him.
“We want frequent updates on her,” I added. No way in fucking hell were we going to allow her to be away from us and not get regular updates on her recovery.
He nodded. “You’ll get them.” He stood up from his chair. “Meghan will lead you back out. I need to get back to West, make sure she’s not freaking out,” he told us. I swallowed thickly. Just how bad was it? “Just sit tight while I go get Meghan. She’s with West at the moment.”
Jessie pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared down at the background of his phone. West was laughing at something, and her green eyes were filled with laughter and happiness as she did so.
She was fucking beautiful.
“Shit sucks,” Jessie grunted.
I nodded in agreement.
It really fucking did.
21
Lincoln
I looked up when Officer Lucky stepped into the garage, and I released a groan of agitation.
I really wasn’t in the mood for fucking visitors—especially not of the asshole cop variety.
“Can we help you?” Jessie asked him. He set aside the wrench he’d been using and wiped his hands on a grease towel.
“I’m looking for West,” he informed us. I grunted. Of course, he was. “I need to bring her in for questioning for the death of Jayden and Luke Falcon.”
I snorted and shook my head. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business,” I retorted, “but that night, she was here in bed in the garage office. I can even pull footage and prove it to you,” I told him. “No need to bring her in for questioning.”
