Page 33 of From Fling to Ring

So, keeping the cash-rich bartending job during college set me back behind my peers to a level I’ve been trying to crawl out from for the past several years.

Why does everybody but me have a goddamn ‘plan’?

Actually, I do have a plan right now, and it’s to get to San Francisco General Hospital in one piece. The last thing I want to do is get in a car accident so Tyler has two patients to visit.

I park in the labyrinthian underground hospital garage and start fumbling my way out of it to some floor, any floor of the hospital where I can ask where Ruby Brooks is, because I’m here to support her and her family.

I mean, I guess that’s why I’m here. Tyler helped me in my time of need. Of course I’d like to be there for him.

Hospitals freak me the hell out and I’m getting close to a panic attack wandering through endless white halls with no sign of life. Thankfully, someone who looks like an employee turns a corner and heads toward me. The nice lady takes pity on me but gives me directions so complicated I end up recording her on my phone, with her permission, of course, so I don’t miss a turn. I’m thoroughly confused but at least now know the general direction I need to head in, and I’m crossing my fingers her turn-left-turn-right instructions get me where I’m going.

And miracle of miracles, I find out what part of the hospital Ruby’s in. I find my way there and someone at the nursing station points me toward a dreary little room, where I find Tyler slumped in a chair with his head in his hands.

He’s wearing ratty sweats and Nike shower shoes, even though it’s chilly outside. His hoodie has a little rip in the side seam, and that’s when it dawns on me, he threw these clothes on to get out of the house and over here as fast as he could.

His anguish hits me in a way I don’t expect. A lump grows in my throat and my chest tightens, I think maybe because my heart is breaking a little for him. When Petal called me with the news that Ruby was in the hospital—that was all she knew, just that she’d been hospitalized, which Rake had somehow found out—I dragged my ass out of bed, figuring I’d stop by, offer some words of support, a rub on the back, and maybe a hand squeeze or two. I hadn’t counted on witnessing what can only be called pure, heartbreaking despair.

I want to rush to him and tell him everything will be all right, which is stupid because I don’t even know what’s going on, and at the same time I want to give him his privacy so he can feel as shitty as he needs to without worrying about chatting me up.

In fact, I back up out of the room as silently as possible, vacillating between bolting back to the parking garage, if I can find it, and heading home, or redoing my approach, walking noisily down the hall so as not to surprise him.

Instead, I back into a small table I didn’t notice on the way in, sending a sad-looking potted plant to its death, because after it hits the floor, in my attempt to catch my balance, I stomp all over the poor thing.

“Hi,” Tyler says after I startle the shit out of him picking up the plant and scooping the dirt back into its pot.

The look on his face nearly brings me to my knees. He is red and splotchy and as he clears his throat loudly, he grabs a tissue from the table that I didn’t trip over. With great embarrassment, he dabs at his eyes and blows his nose.

This is not supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to feel anything for this guy beyond the disdain that’s fueling my drive to use him as Subject A for my ‘bitch book’, as Michaela jokingly calls it. I wish she didn’t use that term because I am sure there are many women out there, like me, who need to be warned about the masculine charms of a certain kind of man.

Like a gorgeous pro athlete who looks around a party, trying to pick out the prettiest girl. Even when he claims to be looking out for the trouble-making girl he once dated, who he can’t get out of his life.

Cripes, what am I doing?

“Hey,” I finally say. “Petal called me.”

He gets to his feet in his should-never-leave-the-house clothes, looking even sadder than he did sitting down.

And it’s so fucking endearing my eyes get watery.

I point over my shoulder. “I’m… gonna go get us some coffee. I passed a… cafeteria kind of place on my way up. Would you… like some?” I stumble.

He nods like he doesn’t know what else to do.

I bolt down the hall and around a corner before he can see a tear dribble down my cheek. I wipe it away, then shake my arms out hard, as if that will chase away the unwanted emotions surging through me, pricking at my skin like some kind of warning.

Get a grip, I want to scream.

This is anxiety. I’ve been here before.

I find a ladies’ room and splash water on my face, soaking my hair and shirt, and don’t even care. I need to get my shit together and calm the fuck down. I’m not going anywhere but back to Tyler to offer whatever small amount of support I can.

I am not a lame asshole who bails on people, even if the thought of doing so crosses my mind.

By the time I get two coffees, I am composed, ready to offer words of encouragement and wisdom. I earn my living with words. Of course I’ll think of something appropriate to say.

“Here we go. Black, just how you like it.”

Tyler accepts the coffee with a grateful smile when his attention snaps past me and toward the door where I nearly wiped out. I follow his gaze to see an older gentleman joining us. If I had to place a bet, I’d say this man’s got to be his dad, that’s how much they resemble each other.

---