Page 56 of Tangled in Vows

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you want me to come over?”

Air stalls in my lungs before I exhale sharply, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. “Yes, please.”

“I’m heading out as we speak. Comfort and safety are essential when experiencing an emotional shock, so stay with her and offer reassurance if needed. She’s going to be okay.”

I have a feeling he’s coming to check on my clearly unstable state too, but I don’t even care. All that matters is Olivia. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”

We hang up, and I focus on what he said. Comfort and safety. I can do that. I pull a blanket over Olivia, careful not to cover Stormy. Hopefully, that’ll ward off the shivers.

I stare at the bed, at the space on the other side of her, until my brain kicks in.

You can’t just climb into bed with her, you moron. Not without permission.

My focus shifts to the gray chair near the door, and I stroll toward it.

I’m halfway across the large room when Olivia croaks my name. “Holden?”

Her voice is quiet and weak, not even close to the strong, impenetrable woman she consistently pretends to be. My chest responds, feeling like someone just took a crowbar to it and pried it wide open. Especially since I know that if she were okay right now, she’d hate for anyone to see her in this vulnerable state. That alone indicates how badly the news about Felix, and probably all the weird occurrences lately, hit her.

Back by her side, I take her outstretched hand and sit down on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her.

Every time I imagined telling her about Felix, I expected her to lash out at me. To call me names and ask me a million questions that would lead to me having to give up my secret. Instead, the opposite happened, and she collapsed. I should take it as a blessing in disguise and be happy my secret is still safe for now, but I don’t feel any relief from the situation.

After several minutes, her breathing slows, and a touch of color returns to her cheeks.

With my free hand, I retrieve my phone and update Jax on the situation so he can let the doctor in. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait for long. The older man is in his sixties, always taking his time to do a thorough examination. He’s gentle, and Olivia doesn’t rouse until the end.

Once he’s finished, I walk him to the door, where he hands me two small boxes.

“Something for sleep and something to calm her down. If she doesn’t want either, that’s fine. It’s more of a just-in-case medicine than a must-have.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

I watch him as he puts his stethoscope back in his black leather bag and closes it with a quiet snap. Phoenix and I had to call him for Evie, and I liked him immediately. He’s used to getting random and often dubious house calls from us, but he’s always professional and discreet.

“Call me if you need anything else or want me to call in a prescription for you.” He studies me, his elderly eyes way too knowing. “I know this is none of my business, but maybe talk to Dr. Johnson about whatever brought this on in your next session. And if Miss Parker doesn’t have a therapist yet, I’m sure Dr. Johnson can make room for her.”

He keeps his voice low so only I can hear him, and I nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“If she doesn’t want to see a professional, have her talk to you or a friend about what happened. Bottling it up and isolating herself will only make things worse.” He squeezes my arm gently. “Some rest will also do wonders, so take good care . . . of both of you.”

I nod absentmindedly, my gaze already back on a half-asleep Olivia on the bed. “I’ll try my best. Thanks, Doc.”

He steps out of the room, and I know Jax is out in the hallway waiting for him to ensure he gets out of here safely.

Olivia tries to push herself into a sitting position, and I rush to her side. “What are you doing?”

She mumbles, “Bathroom,” so I help her to the en suite and linger by the door in case she needs help.

Although I’ve been in this room before today, it strikes me again how little it feels like Olivia. Earthy tones and pastels dominate the space, similar to the rest of the house. Quiet and calm. Sure, it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t show any of the creative powerhouse she is. Her old apartment was an explosion ofcolors, patterns, and odd knick-knacks. The most colorful items in this condo are probably the dog toys strewn about.

She emerges again a few minutes later—still looking a bit too pale for my liking—and blinks up at me, exhausted and unsure.

“Will you . . . can you . . .” She clears her throat and leans against the doorframe for support. “Would you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t even have to ask, Hurricane.” I leave the light on in the bathroom and gently put my arm around her to guide her back to bed.

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