“W-what?” Diana peers at me through wet eyelashes.
The room grows silent. It seems that even the other occupants of the waiting area are suddenly interested in the tragic calamity my life has become.
I can’t meet Diana’s eyes. “We were at the bar. And Kirk showed up out of nowhere. He cornered me. Jude intervened and there was a scuffle. Jude tried to walk away…” I drop my head and shake it. Tears course down my face. In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing Kirk brutally tackling Jude to the ground. In the brief moment before that, I witnessed the raw anger on Jude’s face, but he was strong enough to try and leave. To be the bigger man. “He tried to walk away. And then Kirk attacked him. Kicked him in the knee.”
A pained sound tears from Diana’s throat. “What?”
Lucas’s arms come around her in time, right as her legs give out under her. He walks her across the room and seats her in a chair.
The waiting room’s atmosphere remains cold, sterile, and hushed while we wait. I hear only the sound of Diana’s whimpers against her husband’s chest.
I feel absolutely helpless. Powerless. Weak. Flashbacks of Jude on the ground, howling and clutching his knee, hit me on repeat. Again and again, I’m assaulted by the image of the man I love in so much pain.
And what’s the point in denying it now? It’s never been clearer to me.
I love that man.
I. Love. Him.
He’s noble and caring and protective, and he didn’t deserve this shit.
The way he treats me, the way he’s helped me grow. He’s taken care of me, he’s made me stronger. But right now, I feel entirely undeserving of that.
So what if he was the one who slid the pictures under my dorm room door? So what if he wanted to tear Kirk and me apart? I may not have all the details of what happened that night so many years ago, but one thing is obvious right now, Kirk and I never belonged together. Jude was always supposed to be mine. I wish we’d both had the clarity back then to step up and claim each other.
I just hope he still feels that way when I finally get behind those hospital doors and wrap my arms around him.
Cannon and Lexi arrive next, and I have to repeat my story. I’m still shaky, but the adrenaline has worn off. I’m left feeling exhausted and nauseous. Lexi guides me to a grouping of chairs, holding my hand and trying to get me to relax.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“Jude’s a Kingston. They’re the strongest people I know.”
Cannon is pacing the floor from end to end in a rage. I hear him on the phone with his lawyer. “Frank, you need to find this Kirk Bunting fucker and you need to deal with him. Because if I get my hands on the man…” He stops pacing to growl. “If I get my hands on him, you’ll be defending me against murder charges.”
My eyes keep bouncing up and down the hall, in search of medical personnel. What is taking them so long? Why haven’t we heard from the doctor?
By the time Walker storms in, my nerves are absolutely fried. Thankfully, I don’t have to repeat the night’s events to the oldest Kingston brother. Cannon handles that. And judging by the brief look of disdain Walker shoots my way, I think I’ve just found the family member who will willingly agree with me. This is my fault. He knows it. I know it.
Walker throws his fist into the wall, swearing and yelling. He leaves a sizable dent in the drywall. The other families around the waiting room keep shift about uncomfortably, eyeing the agitated tower of a man. Lucas and Cannon try to calm him, which isn’t easy since they’re both pretty worked up themselves.
“We’re pressing charges,” Walker announces, not missing a beat.
“Frank’s law firm is already on it,” his brother informs him.
“I’ll help with that in any way I can,” I offer because it’s the very least I can do.
Walker’s eyes fall on me. “Did anyone record the fight on their phone?”
I sit there, trying to remember. My muddled brain is still moving too slow. “I…don’t know. I didn’t really see what happened outside of the fight.”
Cannon shoves a big hand through his hair. “If other people recorded the brawl, they could go straight to the press. Jude will have to do damage control on top of everything else he’s facing.
Lord. This night has been an absolute disaster.
I should have handled Kirk myself. I knew he was out of control, and I just stood there. I should have pulled him out of that bar. I should have stepped between them. Kirk wouldn’t have hit me. And even if he had, what’s a night in the hospital for me? I would have recovered just fine, without any repercussions.
But now, Jude’s entire career and dream is on the line. Again. And this time it’s all because of me.
After a dozen more eternities of waiting, a tall, graying man with a white coat walks briskly in our direction. “Kingston family? I have some updates for you.”
45
Jude
No!” I shout like a madman, launching the hospital bed remote across the room.
But instead of a satisfying crunch against the wall, the goddamn remote is hooked to a cord. So it comes flying back, smacking against the bedrail, then dangling to the floor. Disappointed. Frustrated. Defeated.
A sick metaphor for my fucked up life.
I glance up at the ceiling. Somebody up there obviously thinks all this is funny. But I fucking don’t. After all that work and against all the odds, my comeback was almost guaranteed. Only to have it snatched from me again in the cruellest way imaginable.
“I’m sorry, son,” the surgeon says sedately. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”
The doctor just confirmed what I already knew. I knew it the fucking moment Kirk’s
