Our eyes meet, and she smiles warmly. “Dr. Henderson, I presume?”
“Yes. How is she?”
“I’m Felice Philemon, child psychologist. I work with the police department when it comes to minors.”
“Nice to meet you. Slade Henderson.” We shake hands as her expression softens. “I’m not at liberty to talk about what we discussed, but I think you can imagine what was said considering the lengths at which you went to protect her at the expense of your career.” She shakes her head ever so slightly. “That’s one incredible little girl who I have no doubt will thrive after she’s given some time to heal.”
“What happens now? I mean if her dad . . .”
“When and if what happens should happen with her father, she’ll live with family members. Several have stepped forward and offered to be her guardian. CPS will vet them, see who is committed to getting her the counseling she’ll need, and ask her who she feels most comfortable with—that type of thing. She’ll be taken care of.”
“If you were waiting for her to wake up to press charges, why have people already stepped forward?” I ask. “I mean, that implies you knew all along what had happened and—”
“I don’t have the answer to that, but from what I gather, her father is well-known in many important circles that have a lot of influence. Perhaps the district attorney wanted to make sure she had all the tools she needed to ensure he couldn’t weasel out of the charges. With Ivy’s statements and my assessments, I think she’ll have all she needs. But, of course, this is all supposition as I’m not at liberty to discuss any of this with anyone.”
“Of course. Strictly supposition,” I say. “I don’t understand why she asked for me.” It isn’t what I’d planned on saying, but it’s out and I can’t take it back.
“When you’re suffering in the dark, it’s amazing how much you cling to the one person who brings you a glimmer of light.” She pats my arm and lifts her chin toward the door. “You should go in.”
I stare at her for a beat longer before looking at the door I need to walk through. Nerves rattle with an anxious anticipation and hesitation.
Taking a deep breath, I push it open and enter.
I haven’t seen Ivy in weeks. Not without her head wrapped, bruises marring her olive complexion, or without machines attached and monitoring her vital signs.
Her eyes meet mine. They’re a jarring blue, the color of sapphires, and I realize I didn’t remember that. Possibly because the subconjunctival hemorrhages in both eyes made it impossible for me to see her eye color.
But now they’re blue and they’re staring right at me as if she’s memorizing every single thing about me.
I stare, too, because she’s tiny. The hospital bed that dwarfs her little body, the sheets tucked under her arms, and the two braids her sandy blonde hair has been put in for manageability rest over her shoulders.
Her smile is timid, tentative, as it should be for a little girl who is waking up to an all new world for herself.
“Hi,” I say softly as I look back at Felice, who’s stepped into the room behind me, before taking a few cautious steps toward the side of the bed opposite Ivy’s casted arm. “I’m Dr. Henderson.”
“You’re him. Your voice. You’re the one from that night.”
My chest constricts as I fight back the emotion that those simple words evoke in me. “I am.” I nod. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you, Ivy.”
“Sorry. I forgot my manners. I’m Ivy.”
“I know.” I chuckle and marvel at her all at the same time. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
She nods, her eyes flickering over to Felice before coming back to mine. “Is it okay—can you just sit and hold my hand for a little bit like you did that night?”
I blink back my tears, the ones I’m not supposed to show as a doctor, but fuck, I’m human. How can I not be overwhelmed in the moment by this incredible little girl?
“Of course.” I pull the chair toward the side of the bed and take a seat as I slide her tiny little hand into mine. Someone painted her fingernails pink while she’d been unconscious. I’m not sure why that gets to me, but it does. Such a tiny gesture that says she is loved by someone. “I can sit here all night if you want me to,” I murmur.
She smiles again, but I can see the exhaustion in the smudges beneath her eyes and in the way her eyelids are so slow to lift back up when she blinks. “Thank you.” Another heavy-lidded blink. “Just thank you.”
Blakely
“I’m sorry for tonight.” Slade’s voice is a deep rumble that I’m not actually certain I want to hear. “I can explain.”
“Don’t bother.” The woman’s laugh echoes in my ear. The bottle-plus-some-more of wine I drank doesn’t help to dampen the stubborn hurt that has festered inside of me with every ticking minute of the night that had passed. “It doesn’t matter.” I try to sound nonchalant but the bite to my tone says I’m hurt.
“Blakely—”
“No. Really. I get it. You had more important things to do—”
“That isn’t what happ—”
“Do you know how much I wanted to see you? Do you even understand—”
“Iv—”
“I have to go.”
“Iv—”
I end the call with his last word unfinished and clutch the damn phone in my hand as I try to fight back the ridiculous amount of hurt radiating in my chest. Hurt? Maybe it’s more like dying hope.
I told myself I’d never let a man treat me how Paul did, and I’m sticking to it.
My cell rings again and I push the call to voicemail.
This is for the better. It’s too soon to get involved with a man.
