Page 93 of You Loved Me Once
“I need to follow protocol,” I sigh.
“No, you need to do as I say.” Westin touches my knee.
I glance at him through wet eyelashes. “How do I get through this?”
He pulls me into his arms, kisses the top of my head, and squeezes. “With time, you’ll see that you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes people die and sometimes we can prevent it, but you tried. I’ll come to your place later, okay? I need to check in on another patient before I can leave.”
It feels like I’m crying, but there are no tears, just shame. I can sit here and let people see me fall apart or I can go home and hate myself there. I need to listen to Westin. When his trial went to hell, it was the whispers of the staff that were the worst. People gossiping about the doctor who’d lost his mind. I don’t need that. He’s right to force me to leave.
“Okay,” I finally agree.
Westin helps me get ready like a father dressing a child. He holds my coat out, pushing my arms through the holes, and then zips it closed.
His lips part as though he’s going to say something, but whatever he sees in my eyes stops him.
He holds my hand as we walk through the halls toward the hospital entrance. Just a few hours ago, I stood in this same spot, ready to be epic. I wasn’t epic, though. Unless you count epic failure.
“I’ll see you soon?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he kisses my lips and then walks away.
The warmth I was feeling is gone and dread fills me. Does he think I’m a failure too? Or worse?
I walk the few blocks to my house, open the door, and sink to the floor. My head rests on the cool wood floors and I cry. I cry for all the hell I’ve endured and caused the last few weeks. I let my sobs out and fall apart, because what else can I do?
* * *
A loud bang on the door startles me awake. Disoriented, I push myself up. I look around, trying to see what time it is.
The knock comes again and I get to my feet, hoping it’s Westin.
When I open it, I stumble back.
“Bryce?”
He looks as bad as I probably do. His eyes are red rimmed, hair disheveled, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he confesses.
“How did you find me?”
His eyes are haunted. “I followed you one day, I wanted to talk, and then I thought better of it. I didn’t want to cross that line and make Allison think...but...I guess that doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m alone. Where do I go, Chick? What do I do now?”
My stomach drops and I don’t know the right thing to do. Should I offer him comfort or send him away? Then I remember I killed his wife, and the least I can do is listen to him.
“Do you want to come in?”
He nods.
We walk into my living room and he sits on the couch, head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do now. I don’t understand.”
I move in front of him, and sit on the coffee table. “I don’t know what to tell you. There’s nothing I can say to make this better.”
His head jerks up. “I lost her. She was taken from me.”
The accusation in his voice is louder than the words spoken. He means to say,you took her from me.
“She was,” I agree.
