Page 44 of I Still Love You

Our moment in front of her parent’s mantle shifted my hatred, pushed it to the back burner for me to open my mind to an entirely different world where I’m not a complete dick. There’s this ardent need brewing below the surface telling me to do and say things to her I probably shouldn’t. It’s why I didn’t want to go over there yesterday. Why I haven’t today.

I scrub a hand from my cheek to my neck and attempt to squeeze the building tension from it when lunch hour comes. I angle my head from side to side to stretch it and roll it forward and back, rotating it in a circle to get a brief release.

“You okay, boss?” Rebecca peers from her chair and computer with a concerned look. She’s been a fucking pro for the last two days. Hasn’t complained about the heat once, has been kind and welcoming to people, and recruited more subscribers for our newsletter list—which is pretty big when people would rather hang out on social media than check their inboxes. “You look like you could use a rest.”

“I’m good.” I turn my wrist toward me. “Just getting hungry.”

“Oh, what do you want? I can grab something from the cafeteria today. They have the salads with fruit and pecans sprinkled over the top again.” She pushes her pen and notepad off to the side and closes her computer.

“No, no,” I say, lifting a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. I think I could use the walk today. I’ll get lunch if you’re okay with holding down the fort.”

She smiles. “Sure. That would be great. Get me whatever you get.” She turns her attention back to work. Back to the abundance of new patients we’ll be able to send info daily.

After explaining the ins and outs of the anatomy of a shoulder, I peek under the table in the mini cooler I brought for water and check our count. I make a mental note to grab more from the supply tent after I raid the cafeteria for two salads and whatever else I can’t live without. I push a hand in my back pocket, verifying that my wallet is still there, slip my phone into a different pocket, and make my way out of the booth.

Up ahead, Andrew’s stupid purple shirt catches my eyes. Twenty feet ahead of him are periwinkle scrubs that look incredibly familiar. If the person wearing them didn’t also have blonde hair, my stomach wouldn’t tense, but it does because that’s Layla. My heartbeat hastens. From my perspective, it seems like he’s following her. The same feelings I had in that bar in Texas rush my senses, and if it weren’t so damn hot, I’d march closer, pluck him by the collar, and ask him if what I’m seeing is true.

I talk myself down and maintain a steady pace. I’m a decent foot taller than him, and my stride would eat up the space between us if I weren’t paying attention, but the uneasiness that sits deep in my stomach tells me to fall back. To allow enough space that he doesn’t notice someone is behind him. To watch his direction to see if he’s staying the course with Layla or if my mind is just playing tricks on me.

When she approaches the end of the path that guides people into the clinic’s booths, I focus to see if she hooks a left to go to the supply tent or if she moves right to head into the hospital. To my surprise, she heads in the same direction I need to go, and I would be eager for that if Andrew also didn’t turn as well. His lanky body moves in the same direction, and his hands sink into the pockets of his shorts.

No wonder Layla grabbed my hand that day. I can tell this guy is a tool from the few interactions we’ve had, Layla’s reactions to him, and the way his back looks—which might sound strange, but when his shoulders slouch to the front slightly…

It gives me this eerie sense that something isn’t right.

And if it gives me the creeps, it must make Layla just as uncomfortable.

And why the fuck is he following her into the hospital?

I could be wrong. I realize how likely it is that he’s going to the same cafeteria she and I are aiming for, but I’ve seen his greedy eyes steal glances all morning. He knows he can’t have her, but do you think that stops him?

They disappear into one of the hospital’s side entries. Inside, there’s a long hall lined with benches, private alcoves with snack machines, and bathrooms. It eventually leads to the hospital’s main entrance if you walk far enough. From this end of the building, you hook a right at the first adjoining hall, then follow the signs to get to the cafeteria.

As I pull the door back to head inside, I picture it all and imagine Layla’s hips swaying side to side as she rounds that first corner, but when I blink back the brightness of the sun and revel in the sudden blast of cool air that hits me when I get inside, there’s no Layla to be found.

There’s no Andrew, either.

I scratch the back of my head and continue forward, knowing that even if there is something going on between the two of them, I only have so long to make it to the cafeteria, get back to Rebecca, and eat lunch until there’s another swarm of interested people lining the clinic booths.

But…what the fuck?

She wouldn’t be sneaking around with him. Our coworkers, and her friends, know that we’re an item. Would she really risk jumping into bed with the same person she announced us to?

The first turn toward the cafeteria is at least a hundred feet away from the side entrance, and Layla wasn’t that far ahead. Andrew even less so.

Where in the hell did they go?

An unexpected bout of jealousy moves through me. A bitterness slithers into my bloodstream, and I press my lips flat. A barrage of thoughts hit me one after another, and nothing I do or say to myself silences the image of them being together.

Jesus Christ. I need to get a goddamn grip. I shouldn’t be worrying about what Layla and another guy are doing. I should figure out how the hell I’m going to make it through the next few weeks in one piece.

I shake the anguish out of my hands and pick up my pace, turning my attention from Layla and toward lunch. I’m nearly at the crossroads in the hallway and ready to turn for the cafeteria when a shriek comes from behind me. My feet stop me before my brain fully understands the high-pitched sound. It rings in my ears long after it settles into the background noise of the hallway’s sounds; the occasional squeak closer toward the main entrance at the far end of the hall, the soft rumble of the air conditioning blasting through the vents.

When I glance over my shoulder, back toward the side entry, and see nothing, my stomach twists. Looking toward the main doors, people are coming and going near the check-in counter, but they’re too far away. That, and it doesn’t appear as though anyone is in a state of surprise or scared. Which makes me think…

I steer back the way I came. There’s an alcove just inside the door that leads to a bathroom, another that leads to vending machines, and a private door meant for hospital staff only. Since the private door is closest, I check that first, pushing my hand down on the handle quietly to find it’s locked. If it weren’t solid oak, I’d rip the door off its hinges to silence the fears brewing in my head.

I sneak toward the first opening in the wall, the light from the vending machines casting a shine over the tiles. There’s nothing there when I peak in. Just the subtle buzzing of the machines. I move to the second cut-out, knowing I’ll have to clear both sides of the narrow hallway that leads to the women’s and men’s restrooms. I clench my fists and slowly make my way toward it. Unsure of what I’m going to walk into, I open my palms and spread my fingers apart. I cock my head to the side a foot away and breathe quietly. My posture perks up, my shoulders moving back and squaring. I actively listen to see if I can pick anything out of the ordinary before twisting around the wall.

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