I reach for the doorknob, gripping it tightly. My hand fits perfectly around it but I can’t seem to bring myself to twist it and open the door. After a moment of trying to force myself to not be a wimp, I drop my forehead to the door and close my eyes. My hands are sweating, my heart is beating scarily fast, and I think I might begin to hyperventilate at any moment. This is unlike me; I’m fucking unraveling. Thank fuck I’m at a hospital.
How the fuck do I do this?
“Sir, is everything ok? Is there something wrong with the door?”
The voice breaks me out of my daze, and I look up. A middle-aged nurse with dark circles lining her eyes is standing at my side watching me. She looks exhausted, but the sincerity and concern behind her words tells me the exhaustion is worth it to her. I know she wouldn’t continue to do this job if that wasn’t the case. We push ourselves for the things we love.
I shake my head. “No, sorry I’m good. Thanks.”
She reaches for my shoulder, giving it a gentle pat, and says, “Having a loved one in here is hard. If you need anything, let me know.”
I give her a nod and she walks away to help the next poor soul who is going to need the encouragement of an army.
I turn the knob with a shaky hand, but it slips before I can push it open. I wipe my hands down my jean-clad leg and try again. This time the knob turns fully, the click pounding in my ears as I push the door open and step inside the dimly lit room. The glare from a TV mounted on the wall highlights the petite woman lying in a typical hospital bed with the railings down on the sides. As luck would have it, most of my dealings with my girlfriend’s mother have been a result of bad situations, and today is no different. And there always seems to be one common denominator: Marcus. If we all manage come out of this safely somehow and this woman is still willing to let me be in her daughter’s life, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
“Jesse? Is that you?” Her mother peers up at me with a smile. “Where’s Fallon?”
She leans over to look around me, expectantly waiting for her daughter to appear in the door. It kills me to know she might not ever grace that doorway—or any other door in our lives—again.
No, I can’t think like that. I will find her. She will be safe.
“Hi Darla. It’s just me today,” I cough out as I sit down on the brown cloth chair next to her bed. I can feel the tension creeping into me, and my leg starts to bounce involuntarily.
“Oh.” She reaches for the remote and mutes the television before looking over at me. “Is everything ok?” she asks, unable to hide the hint of fear in her eyes. She knows. I don’t know how she knows, but I know she does. I’m not sure if she’s like my mom and can read minds, like all those times my mom knew we were lying to her as kids. But I can see it in her face. She knows, and I’m about to tell her it’s even worse than she’s probably imagining. “What’s wrong?”
I bend forward and put my head in my hands, running them through my hair and giving it a hard tug before rubbing them over my face.
“Jesse?”
I sigh out a deep breath before I speak. “She’s gone.” Fuck, that doesn’t sound right. “I mean, missing. I don’t know—maybe taken?” I start to ramble into my hands.
“Wait! Slow down. What do you mean she’s gone? Start from the beginning,” she says. I look her in the eyes and see it clear as day in her expression. She’s not dumb; she knows who is behind it all.
Was there really any question as to who did this?
“He fucking took her. We were at a barn party, and she was there one minute and then gone the next. I looked everywhere for her. We all did,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up.”
I stand up and start pacing at the end of the bed. My hands pull on my hair again, like I’m trying to cause the pain I know I deserve for losing her like this. No amount of pain that I cause myself can make up for the fact that I failed Fallon or make this situation any better. The only thing it seems to help is the immense guilt that has overtaken my soul.
“And you’re sure it was him?” she asks. I don’t need to tell her the answer. She knows it was him. But just like me, she needs to ask the question. She needs to hear it for herself.
“It has to be. No way would she walk away from you. I know it in my bones. No, he took her.” I shake my head at the idea that she would ever walk away from her family. She would never. Nothing could make her leave them.
“Jesse, she wouldn’t walk away from you either. I know my daughter, she loves you. She loves all three of you,” she says, “But you? You mean the world to her.”
I stop pacing and place my hands at the foot of her bed, gripping the foot rail until my hands and knuckles turn white. The words echo in my head. She loves you. That damn spot in my chest aches again. It’s a permanent reminder of what I couldn’t do for her.
“Have you gone to the police?” she asks quietly.
This is other part I was dreading. I lean back and readjust my grip on the bed. I meet her eyes,
