I snap out of my thoughts and find my friends staring across the table at me. Shit—they asked a question that went right over my head. “I-I’m sorry, I…”
Lexi gives me that sympathetic smile again. “We were just going over options in terms of flower suppliers but y’know what? We don’t have to do that right this minute.” She glances at the wall clock. “I’m meeting Diana for lunch in half an hour, anyway.”
“We can meet again sometime next week, if you’re feeling up to it.” Cannon closes his computer and rises from the table.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I tell them, quickly gathering my things so I don’t have to come face to face with Jude’s mother.
Cannon squeezes my shoulder. He wants to say something but he holds back.
When he exits the room, Lexi gives me a hug. “I know you’re hurting, girlie. And he’s hurting, too. He’s just being too stubborn to see it now.”
“I just wish things were different,” I say as Lexi walks me toward the elevator. I glance down at the chipped nail polish on my toes and am flooded by thoughts of Jude and how he’d affectionately painted them weeks ago. “I wish I’d done things differently that night. I wish…”
The elevator doors open and Diana stands inside.
Fuck…
Jude’s mother slowly steps off the lift. Eyes on me, she gives Lexi a one-armed hug then affectionately strokes her daughter-in-law’s growing belly.
“Hello Iris…”
“Mrs. Kingston…” A small smile pushes through the megatons of guilt weighing on my heart.
The woman pauses and time seems to drag on forever. Then she steps forward and takes me into a hug. “It’s Diana, Dear. It’s still Diana.”
And that’s all it takes for me to dissolve completely. I’m a river of tears streaming onto the shoulder of Diana’s floral blouse. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry for what happened to Jude.”
She strokes my back. When she pulls away, she’s blinking back tears and clearing her throat. “This isn’t your fault, Iris.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You didn’t put him in that hospital bed. Kirk’s bad decisions and anger led to that. And the bastard will pay. But you don’t need to carry any of that guilt on your shoulders.”
In my heart, I wonder if Jude will ever see things that way.
47
Jude
I slip one shoe on, but don’t bother tying it. Simple tasks like that now require an expert level of skill.
“Ready?” Cannon asks, zipping up my duffle and handing me my new accessories for the next three to four weeks, a shiny new pair of crutches. These damn things are going to bruise the hell out of my sides. Again.
“I can’t stand to look at this room another second,” I mutter. I’m restless but exhausted, something I know all too well.
It’s been four days since my second anterior cruciate ligament reconstructive surgery. And they made me wait several long days before putting me on the operating table, which puts my hospital stay at…way too fucking long.
If I never step foot in here again, it’ll be too soon. The antiseptic smell, the never-ending beeping, and the barrage of nurses checking my blood pressure like I just had open heart surgery.
As I said…exhausting.
I position my crutches strategically against my ribs and not right up in my armpit, like my doctor recommended. It’s like he forgot I’m a professional at this.
Before I can get out my hospital room door, one of the nurses rushes in and glares at me. “I told you to wait. You know I have to take you down in this.” She’s pushing a wheelchair like she hates me.
“Come on, Alice. You know I don’t need that,” I tell her, putting on a showy grin that has no depth to it.
She frowns, clearly not charmed by my faux bravado. “Doctor’s orders.”
I grumble and swear, lowering into the seat, letting myself fully absorb the tormenting throb in my leg while Cannon takes my crutches. Bag on my lap, I pull out a shirt and toss it over my head, effectively hiding my face to any nosy individuals or reporters who might be hanging around.
Since the video of the bar fight hit social media, I’m being ridiculed all over the internet. The things people are saying have been fucking horrendous. I don’t need any cameras all up in my face today.
Getting into my brother’s car is a whole damn production, trying to twist and angle myself to minimize the impact on my knee.
Cannon gets behind the wheel and pulls on his seatbelt. I drop my skull against my headrest. “I’m going to your house,” I announce, without bothering to ask.
He gives me a wary glance. “Oh, okay…I figured you’d still be staying with Iris. All your stuff is there.” He hesitates. “And…she misses you.”
His comment strikes me in the chest. I rub the ache with my palm, but of course, it doesn’t fix me. Nothing can. Sometimes the pain in my chest is so big and wide, it throbs harder than the agony in my leg.
“No, I’d rather stay with you, if you don’t mind.”
It’s been how long since I last spoke to her, held her, kissed her? I’m not sure. The last time I saw her was when she rode in the ambulance with me after the bar fight. She was holding my hand, crying, apologizing as I writhed on the stretcher in pain. Fuck, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I resent her.
If only we hadn’t gone to the bar that night…
If only she hadn’t chosen that table in the corner…
Hell, if only she had dumped Kirk’s ass a decade ago instead of forgiving him and loving him and marrying him…
Even I know my thought process is all skewed.
But I still haven’t come to terms with my new reality. I’m still angry. Still looking for anyone and anything to put my blame on. Even though I know it doesn’t
