Hard Beat

The nurse falters in her footsteps, keeps her back to me, but nods her head. “I figured as much by the way you came barreling into the ward. A man acting like that doesn’t know. I’m sorry for you too.” And with that she exits the room and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I slump back in my chair and close my eyes as I let my thoughts war against one another. I’m the fool here. I should leave and never look back since the woman played me like a damn violin, but I can’t find it within myself to leave just yet. A small part of me hopes that there is some huge misunderstanding, that she’s going to wake and clarify everything, because I can’t comprehend that she doesn’t love me. If I was watching someone else go through this, I’d tell them they were a sucker, to cut their losses and leave with some of their dignity intact.

But I just can’t bring myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk out of the hospital. Only I know the passion in her kiss, the raw honesty in her eyes. God, I am a sap. Honesty? It seems that word doesn’t apply to Beaux Croslyn at all.

The longer I sit here, the more I hold on to that fact, shoving away how much I care for her, and try to focus on the anger I feel – at her, at John, at the whole fucking world. But then as the reality of my situation comes crashing down on me in this solitary waiting room, the eddy of my thoughts whirls back to the fact that there has to be a reason why she’d let me fall in love with her when she was committed to someone else.

Her explanations about her past filter through my anger, make me recall my fears that she had an abusive ex or a bad situation at home that she was escaping. Could that still be true? Is John one of those missing pieces that Beaux purposefully left unexplained? And if so, how does it all fit together?

Further, why the fuck do I care? If that was the case, then she should have just told me. Wouldn’t she at least have told me there was someone else and that it was complicated?

Stop making excuses for her, Tanner. She played you from the get-go, made you believe her time and again until you fell for her. Fell for her? Shit, more like yelling “Timber” at the top of my lungs in a forest-full-of-falling-trees type of fall for her if I’m being honest with myself. And yet through everything, rooftop confessions, afternoons spent making slow and sweet love, trying to teach her the lay of the land, none of it mattered because in the scheme of things, I was being played on every level imaginable.

Now I know I should walk away while I can. Grab my bag and go the fuck back to my reality where the possibility of being hit by opposition fire seems ten times more appealing than having my heart toyed with by a woman like Beaux and an angry husband in a hospital room that I don’t even belong in.

But I can’t. Not until I know she’s going to be okay. Call me a pussy, but I can’t turn off my feelings for her. I just can’t.

Instead, I shove up out of the chair, needing a change of scenery, some fresh air for a bit instead of this depressing waiting room with artificial light and waning hope. On the elevator ride down, I tell myself that I need to let this go, but I know for sanity’s sake that I need to make sure she’s okay before I can go back to the life I knew without her.

The minute I exit the doors of the hospital, I feel like I can finally breathe again, clear my thoughts, and am dialing my phone instantly. The phone is picked up on the third ring.

“Everything okay?”

“What do you know about Beaux, Rafe?”

“What do you mean, what do I know? Are you not in Germany with her?” Rafe asks, confused about where I’m coming from.

“I’m here. I want to know about her background. What do you know about her?”

“What? Whoa? What’s her status? What aren’t you telling me, here?”

I clench my fist at my side as my feet eat up the sidewalk outside of the facility. I need to slow down, know it’s important to tread lightly considering Rafe is my friend but also my boss who might look down on coworkers who sleep together. Especially when my stability is already being closely watched after Stella’s death.

The last thing I need is for him to see that as misplaced grief over Stella, and that I fell for Beaux with misguided feelings.

After a deep breath, I relay what the nurse told me about Beaux’s status. “But when I arrived, her husband was here. She never mentioned having a husband, Rafe. She just referred to a bad situation at home…” My voice trails off, and I let him infer what he will, hoping it’s what I want.

“And your point is what, Tanner?”

“My point is that my gut instinct is zinging here that something’s off, and I wanted to know if you knew she was married.” I’m toeing the edge of mistruth with my friend, hoping he doesn’t see right through me.

He blows out an audible sigh that hangs on the connection while I wait him out to hear the answer. “Man, I’m her employer… I can’t give out that information.”

I harden my jaw in frustration because I knew this was going to be his answer. “Throw me a bone here, Rafe,” I groan into the phone, sick and tired of being railroaded. “How about if I ask this way instead: Does her job application have something written in the spot that says maiden name?”

“Damn it, Tanner.” He sighs, and I can tell he’s conflicted over professional versus personal obligations. Silence stretches for a moment before he continues. “But if you were concerned for her safety, for instance…”

“Yes. I might be,” I tell him without hesitation. I’ll take any out I can to get information to validate my feelings or justify hers if there is any such thing.