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“Oh.” She fiddles with the sleeves of her sweater, looking down at her lap. “Your worried signs are very similar to your angry ones.”
I flip on my blinker and turn left, taking a moment to think of how to phrase a question to her. Maybe I don’t deserve to know more about her without apologizing, but my curiosity is mixing with my worry and making me want to ask questions.
“I’ve noticed you’re hyper-observant, is there a reason for that or does it just come naturally to you?” I ask. Silence settles over the car. If I know Juliette, she wants to answer. Over the course of our friendship, I’ve learned that she wants more than anything to feel safe with someone. Hopefully she still trusts me enough to let me be that someone.
“My parents were abusive growing up–mostly emotionally, but also physically–and so I had to learn their triggers and adjust to not step on them.” Her voice is quiet and tinged with a deep pain. I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to talk about it, but she continues.
“Every day in that house was torture. I spent so long holding my breath it felt like I lived underwater. I made sure to be a quiet, good child. No matter what I did, they found something wrong with me. Each time they pointed something out they didn’t like, I got rid of that thing. I made myself smaller and smaller, desperately trying to not be seen or heard … until one day I looked in the mirror and realized I was withering away.
“I decided that day I would get out no matter what it took. I hid money from my waitressing job and bided my time. Then I ran away in the middle of the night. I left a letter on my bed saying not to try to find me and I never looked back. The only person who knows where I live is Caroline.”
She stops speaking when we pull up to the hospital. I know I need to say something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to respond to something so awful, so terrible. Especially since I know she’s in physical pain right now too and needs to get to a doctor.
“We need to get you inside,” I say, my throat tight with emotion, making my voice rough.
I get out of the car and open her door, leaning in to unbuckle her seatbelt and gently lift her. Once she’s settled in my arms I meet her gaze. Her green eyes are shining with emotion, like dew on evergreen leaves. The emotion swirling in them steals my breath, so much so that it takes me a moment to speak.
“Please don’t ever hold back or change yourself around me. You’reincredible, Jules. You’re like a sunflower, always growing toward the light. You make everyone around you want to be better, including me–especiallyme. I’m sorry your parents didn’t love you the way they should have. You deserve better. If someone isn’t giving you what you deserve–even me–you don’t have to settle for less, okay?”
Tears stream down her face as she nods.
“Okay.” Her voice is hoarse and cracks on the word.
Before I can overthink it, I press a soft kiss to her forehead and whisper, “Good girl.”
I feel a shiver go through her and take satisfaction in the reaction. Then, with renewed purpose, I kick the passenger door shut and start walking toward the emergency room doors. Cool air scented with antiseptic hits me in the face upon entering. Juliette leans her head against me and trembles.
“Is now a bad time to mention I hate hospitals?” she murmurs.
I look down at her, taking in her fragile state. There’s no chance I’m leaving her side. And there’s only one way I can think of in the moment to push my way past those hospital doors.
“If anyone asks, we’re married.”
I only have a second to enjoy the surprised raise of her brows before someone asks us what’s wrong.
Chapter twenty-six
Juliette Monroe
“Hello,I’mDr.Phillips,you must be Juliette,” the doctor says upon entering, shooting me a warm smile. He’s older, with receding white hair and kind blue eyes.
“I am, and this is my husband, Adrian.” I gesture to the scowling man at my bedside.
Adrian has been quite firm with every hospital personnel we’ve come into contact with so far. It’s clear he’s experienced typical hospital protocol and is not a fan of it at all. When the nurse tried to get him to wait in a separate room, he looked her straight in the eye and saidnoin a voice laced with the kind of authority she didn’t seem to have the energy to question.
Then, when a different nurse tried to put me in a bed in the hall because there weren’t any clean rooms, he glared at him until the guy scurried off to prep a room for me even though I’m pretty sure that’s not his job.
“I know you’re probably tired of talking about what happened–”
Adrian cuts him off with a growl, “Yes.” I try to give him a look that conveyscalm down, but I don’t know if it registers.
“Butit’s important for us to gather as many details as we can. So if you could repeat it once more, that would be helpful.”
I go through the story of sliding down the steps again, describing my pain and letting the doctor examine my head and back. The entire time, Adrian watches Dr. Phillips like he’s a murder suspect. The only time he looks away is when it’s time to look at my back. Hospital gowns are rather exposing, so I’m grateful for his discretion.
“You seem like you’re doing well, all things considered, but we’ll do an MRI to be sure. You definitely have a minor concussion and some bruising along your spine. If your scans come back clear, you’ll be free to go home as long as you have someone to wake you up every two hours to ask you a few questions and monitor your concussion.”
My heart sinks. I can’t ask the doctor what I should do if I don’t have someone to watch over me, because he thinks Adrian and I are married. But unless Adrian comes to stay with me–which I don’t want to ask of him–I might not have anyone to check on me. Poppy could help, but there’s no way of knowing for sure until I can call her.
