Page 47 of I Still Love You

A man dressed in a black security uniform sprints in my direction. Hand on his hip, the other one pulls his walkie-talkie to his mouth, talking into it as he reaches me. I point in the alcove's direction, my throat on fire from screaming. His eyes flash with concern as I bring my hands up to my hair, and he embarks on the chaos behind.

I swallow down the image he’s walking into and back up against the far wall, giving him space. There’s yelling and shoes scuffling, no doubt from Luke holding his own. A second security officer appears to my left, disappearing into the alcove to help. The two of them drag Luke out into the hallway and radio into the hospital’s main security office.

The officers drag Luke against the wall, and he slumps to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He razors his teeth into his bottom lip, causing a line of red to streak his chin—which I realize isn’t his own—and knocks his head back against the wall. Rather than running to him, I back away. I take small, careful steps down the hall, sliding along the wall as I do. Then, like him, I slide to the floor, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened.

Had Andrew had me for a few more moments, he would’ve dragged me into the bathroom and likely had his way with me. And Luke…

The crazed person he morphed into is not the person I recall. Not the man I loved or the man I came back to. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. It’s clear seeing me on the other side of Andrew made him snap, and for good reason, he was assaulting me, but…

His eyes flit around the hallway, and I know it’s because he’s looking for me, checking to see if I’m okay. The emotion encapsulated in them is otherworldly when we lock gazes. It’s crushing and ferocious and makes my head fill with questions. I’m too distracted by the sudden flow of doctors running to get in at Andrew and the startling clink of metal as the security officers haul Luke to his feet and slap a pair of cuffs on his hands to get a handle on my thoughts.

Luke came to my rescue and hauled Andrew off me, protecting my body from being unfairly abused and used.

He’s just risked everything.

For me.

21

Luke

Fuck!

Adrenaline pumps through me like a wild fucking beast until it doesn’t. My body is numb, and it’s all due to the cuffs on my wrists. I’m close to emotionless, my breath huffing out of me as each security officer puts a hand under my pits and hauls me to my feet. “We’re taking you down to the security office. You’ll wait there until the cops arrive.”

Cops.

Fucking hell. What the fuck did I just do?

Even in my unfazed daze, I’m aware of just how bad this is. Just how much I crossed the line, but then images of Layla being held against that wall rush in, and I think about how much I’d beat the shit out of Andrew all over again. I snapped, and aside from the initial sight of him on her, I can’t remember shit. Not the look on Andrew’s face or how many times my fist connected with his body. Still, I’m man enough to say it shouldn’t have happened.

When they walk me toward the main entrance at the other end of the hall, I choke out, “Wait,” and twist my gaze back to Layla—or try to with the tight grip these guys have on me. I only get a glimpse of her feet but know she’s listening. At least, I fucking hope she is because I’m heading into a shit storm, and I’m not arrogant enough to think I can get through it on my own.

Hell is about to rain down, and I need to make sure I have an umbrella in place, even if the storm soaks me before I get under coverage.

“My phone is back at my booth,” I yell over to her, raising my voice just enough for her to hear. “Call Jett, tell him I need him. Mason, too.” I’m hesitant to say the next part, but I swallow down the shame that comes with it and hope to fucking God she remembers. “Password is our anniversary.”

The officer on my left jostles my arm, straightening me, and I look forward, lowering my chin half an inch as they escort me to the last damn place I thought I’d ever see the inside of. I lost all control moments ago. Everything turned black when I saw Andrew hovering over Layla like a goddamn predator. I knew something was off with him, but Jesus, I didn’t consider he was the type to do what I just witnessed.

I couldn’t bring myself to walk away or simply pluck him off her and tell her to go get help while I kept him from running off. My blood turned white hot, and I thought of ripping his body to pieces, starting with his assaulting fingers. My emotions carried me the short distance it took to get to them, to wrench his domineering figure against the hard wall, and to hike back my arm and lay not one punch into him but many.

Layla was right to be upset with me before. I should’ve laid into his ass that day at the farmer’s market. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have thought he could manhandle her.

When we pass by the front desk, I notice another officer closing off the wing of the hallway we come from. He moves to block off half the main entrance doors, and I recognize the faint sound of sirens in the distance, knowing they’re coming for me. The two men at my sides guide me forward and around a wall behind the main desk. Opening the door that’s there, they push me inside and shove me down into a seat in the corner of the cream-colored room. It’s exactly like I would picture a hospital security office. Bland with not much to look at, but I guess that’s the point.

The taller officer bends at his waist slightly and puts his hand out. “Give me your hand. Don’t try anything, either.” I notice the blood when I lift them, how it’s not mine and smeared into my skin. Still, he pulls the key he has on his waistband and unlocks one side of the cuffs, then snaps it around the chair’s armrest—the chair just so happens to be bolted to the ground. An arm’s length to my left is another seat just the same, and to my right, there’s a trash can.

Fucking great.

“We’ll get someone in here to clean you up.” Both officers walk out of the room then, leaving me with my thoughts. The last place I should be is alone with lingering adrenaline and the want to bust out of this goddamn chair so I can check on Layla. She’s the only thing I can seem to think about.

Her delicate frame having a weighty body against it. Her golden hair falling to her shoulders but appearing as though it’d been ravaged by a hand—Andrew’s hand. I can’t bare to think what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t heard that squeak travel the length of the hallway. It’s like it reached out, gripped me by the back of the neck, and dragged me back.

I blink, squeezing the ache from my eyes as if it’ll help with the worry, and lean the side of my head against the wall. The fluorescent lighting in one light flickers beyond my closed eyelids for a split second, causing me to sit straighter and move my thoughts elsewhere. But my mind bounces back to Layla, how scared she must have been, and what would’ve happened if I didn’t hear her. My heartbeat thuds in my stomach, thump, thump, thumping at the prospect of me turning into the next hall toward the cafeteria a moment sooner. If that had been the case, he would still have her. His disgusting fucking hands would still be on her.

How many times did she try to get away? Was she blind-sided when he pulled her in there? Where exactly did he have his hands on her? Did he hurt her?

It’s driving me fucking crazy not knowing the specifics and it has me lashing out at my chair, slamming my hands down the best I can with the barely-there slack I have from the cuffs. The metal bites into my skin, into my bones, and I would trade this pain—all the pain I’ve felt my entire life—if it could take back what just happened to Layla.

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