Page 8 of Still The One

‘What do you mean?’

‘Love-dddd. Past tense, darling. Really, harsh as this may sound, he’s not your problem any more. He didn’t even show up at your wedding reception.’

‘That is a technicality. He tried to make it, his face via iPad made it, but his flight got changed last minute.’

‘OK, fine. What if he has a girlfriend now? Or a wife? Or children? What will you do if they walk in and see you there?’

‘Children? God, are you trying to kill me?’ I ask, planting a hand on my thumping heart. ‘You’re worrying about nonsense. I already know he’s single as a pringle. I googled him as I sat here in the ICU waiting for him to get out of surgery. Only one other woman besides myself was listed as one of his partners and they broke up publicly a year ago. Her name is Gia.’

‘He’s got a thing for girls with three letter names, eh?’ she asks with a slight chuckle. ‘Well, I’m sorry for being a worry wort. I forgot he was famous and Google knows all. What about his family? Shouldn’t they also get ‘the call’?’

‘If they were in his paperwork. But considering he’s a grown man who probably no longer has his parents listed anywhere for anything, I’m not holding my breath.’

‘Hi.’ A brunette woman dressed in navy scrubs, with a stethoscope around her neck and a badge with her photo, and the name ‘Chelsea – RN’ attached at the breast pocket, steps into the doorway of the waiting room. ‘You’re here for Guy?’

‘I gotta go,’ I say to Kait, hanging up before she can even say goodbye. Slippery slope or not, I’m going in. My heart won’t say no.

‘Foster,’ I correct Chelsea. ‘He never goes by Guy.’

‘Oh! Good to know! And you’re his wife?’

‘Yes.’ I don’t even feel guilty saying it at this point.

She looks at my scrubs, lifting a single eyebrow. ‘I recognize you. Don’t you work here?’

It’s a big hospital but if we work the same hours, it’s possible to meet in the halls or cafeteria. I don’t know this nurse, but that’s not to say I’ve never spoken to her on the phone or run into her at some point.

‘I do,’ I say with a nod. ‘Trauma ER.’ I pull my badge from my pocket to prove it.

‘Oh, you poor thing – you were there when he came in?’

‘I was.’

Her bubbly persona fades and she frowns. ‘Well, come with me. He’s just been wheeled in from recovery. You must be worried sick,’ she says, touching my shoulder with concern.

‘You have no idea,’ I mumble, glancing at each room we pass, fear building in me.

What am I about to walk into? It can’t possibly be as bad as it was earlier but that doesn’t mean he’s not still struggling. I have no idea what’s really wrong with him at this point, other than what I heard in the ER, and none of that sounded promising.

Chelsea stops outside a room, sanitizing her hands and pointing to the wall where the dispenser is for me to do the same. As I lather my hands until they’re dry, I glance at the wall of glass separating us. The curtain within the room is pulled, so I can’t see him just yet, but I hear the medical machinery beeping steadily enough that I know he’s stable.

‘I know you see a lot of horrifying things, but brace yourself, it’s always different when it’s someone you love,’ she warns, slowly pulling back the curtain, stopping me in my tracks. My steps falter, and I have to steady myself against the doorframe, my breath catching in my throat. Despite our painful separation, my now stunned heart is telling me the connection is still there, like an unbroken thread binding us together.

‘Freaking. Hell.’ The words tumble out of my mouth without trying.

I approach his bed slowly, my heart galloping through my chest. His hand lies limply at his side, and I hesitate before gently placing my own over it. The contact is electric, a stark reminder of the bond we once shared. His skin is cool, and I squeeze his hand lightly, willing him to feel my presence, to know he isn’t alone.

‘Foster,’ I whisper, leaning into him and speaking in his ear, my voice trembling. ‘It’s Eve, again. Surgery’s over. You’re doing great,’ I say, glancing at the numbers on the monitors. All of those words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have.

I scan the room, taking in the array of medical equipment – the IV drips, the infusion pumps, the tangle of wires and tubes – all working to keep him alive. I struggle to maintain my composure, my professional mask slipping in the face ofpersonal crisis. Chelsea was right, the years of training and experience as a nurse couldn’t shield me from the raw, aching vulnerability of seeing someone I once loved in such a critical state.

Tears well up, but I blink them back, knowing I need to be strong – for him. For the person I once promised to love and protect. I speak again, my voice steadier this time. ‘You got this, Fost.’ No response as I plant my lips on the side of his forehead.

Standing, I glance at Chelsea and another nurse I don’t know who’s also in the room, documenting something on the computer near him.

‘What, uh—’ My mind is not moving the way it usually does considering it’s now clouded with every moment I’ve ever spent with this man. ‘—What injuries did he end up having?’

‘Might be easier to talk about the injuries he doesn’t have,’ the nurse at the computer says with half a grin.

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