The wait at the hospital might be the most excruciating hour I’ve ever experienced. I remember learning about Einstein’s Theory of Relativity in a science class at some point, but there is no greater object lesson then watching a clock on the hospital wall practically tick backwards.
One hour might as well be half a lifetime for all I can tell the difference.
I know there are people filtering in and out around me. My parents come for a bit, but didn’t stay very long. Iain doesn’t say anything as he slouches in the uncomfortable plastic seat next to me, but just rolls his eyes when I tell him to go if he wants.
It doesn’t escape my notice that there isn’t anyone there for Zaya. Her brother is still locked up, and her grandfather is too far gone to understand what might be happening.
She doesn’t have anyone but me.
And I drove her to the point of suicide.
I’m not usually the type to go around analyzing my own behavior, but I’ve heard enough about the feeling to recognize guilt. I’ve just never had the opportunity to feel it in the way I do now.
It surprises me how little I feel about the revelation that it was her mother who poisoned me. I might be surprised later, when the shock of all this wears off, but it’s hard to care about anything aside from Zaya’s life being on the line. And it didn’t sound like she had any explanation for why her mother would want to kill me, and a reason is all I ever wanted.
Until I married her.
Now, it’s hard to remember that I ever wanted anything aside from Zaya.
If she dies, I’m not going to be able to live with myself. We might as well have a suicide pact at this point, because the minute her coffin gets lowered into the ground, I’m throwing myself in after it.
But fear will make you crazy.
Everyone else leaves after a few hours except for Iain. His head rests against the back of the seat, looking so relaxed that I might assume he is sleeping save for the fact that his eyes are wide open and staring.
“This is your fault,” I grouse.
“That’s the grief talking.” His voice is mellow, which means he probably smoked a dab before coming to the hospital. “Nobody makes Vin Cortland do what he doesn’t want to do, remember?”
“Poking holes in the condoms was your idea.”
“As if you wouldn’t have thought of something equally diabolical if given enough time. At best, I’m your accomplice.” Iain glances at me briefly, before returning his attention to the ceiling tiles. “To be fair, if I thought you’d caught actual feelings for the girl, then I might have given you different advice.”
Just because I’m ready to admit things to myself doesn’t mean I’m ready to let the rest of the world in on it. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Okay, man.” He lifts his head again, gaze taking in the crowded waiting room before sliding up and down my tense form. “I think the asshole doth protest too much.”
Before I can think of a suitably barbaric response, a nurse with a clipboard calls out my name.
Iain’s dry laugh is easy to ignore as I bound to my feet and rush over to her.
“Vincent Cortland?” At my nod, the nurse checks something on her clipboard before looking back up. “Zaya Milbourne is awake.”
“Cortland,” I correct automatically. “Zaya Cortland.”
Then exactly what she said finally filters through the frenzy in my mind.
Zaya is awake, which means she isn’t dead.
The sense of relief I feel is so keen that it weakens my knees. I have to grip the back of a nearby chair to keep from falling over. Thankfully, it’s bolted to the floor.
When I move to stride toward the double doors, the nurse stops me with a hand on my chest.
“She doesn’t want to see you.” She sounds apologetic, but her gaze is resolute. “This kind of thing happens sometimes, people go into shock. We’ll be keeping her for a couple of days, so you might want to come back.”
“I’m her husband,” I snap.
“Patients always have the right to refuse visitors, including family.” The nurse backs away, keeping her gaze on me like she thinks I might dive past her. “Your wife is on the third floor. You can try calling the unit tomorrow.”
She turns on her heel and strides away before I have a chance to argue anymore with her.
Iain sidles up next to me “Third floor is the psych unit. It’s where they put the people who try to off themselves.”
I don’t bother to ask him how he knows that.
Under other circumstances, I would have barreled after that nurse like a steamroller and forced the staff to allow me in to see Zaya or suffer the consequences.
Except I know I’ve finally found a situation I can’t bully my way through. Even if I forced my way into to her room and insist she talk to me, I won’t be able to force my way into her heart. And that is exactly what I plan to do, no matter how long it takes.
I’m going to make this right, even if it kills us both.
It’s amazing what you can do when money is no object.
I only have to make two phone calls, one to a private investigator and another to the bank for a wire transfer, to get a last known address.
The drive to LAX is completely silent, because the rush of my own thoughts is enough of a distraction at the moment. My anachronistic love for girl power pop songs is legendary, but I need to be alone with the maelstrom inside my own head.
This isn’t a problem that Taylor Swift can fix.
But two hours of total silence can do a lot to keep things in
