Page 132 of Branded
What the fuck?
I’d stopped at a signal, could see her pale reflection in the window. Which meant I could also see the stark look in her eyes, could see the tears dripping down her cheeks.
And again what the fuck?
Slowly, surreptitiously, she lifted a hand, wiping at those tears, and I knew from the sneaky way she’d attempted the maneuver that she didn’t want me to know she was crying.
Which was fine with me.
I didn’t want to understand that was why her voice had sounded odd as she’d spoken of something innocuous like music. I didn’t want to know why she was upset, didn’t want to find out it was because I was an asshole, didn’t want to discover it was for another reason.
Worry for the babies or for herself. Or maybe just Beth being Beth. Or probably, more likely, it was whatever shit that made women like her cry—a broken nail, her favorite perfume out of stock, her lipstick clashing with her outfit.
A horn blared behind me, and I cursed, hitting the gas, moving forward, lifting a hand in apology to the person behind me.
Which just meant that I got that same person swerving around me, flipping me the bird as they sped by, not giving a fuck that I’d apologized.
Cool.
Moving on.
I was almost to the hospital. Pru and Marcel would be there, and by the sounds of that phone call she’d just finished, her doctor would be meeting her there, too. She wouldn’t be my problem any longer, and I could go home, could enjoy my days off.
I had three of them off in a row, a long weekend that was unusual with the season underway.
Would I be enjoying them by myself? Hopefully.
Was that the way I preferred, even as it was unlikely because my teammates would probably seek me out and try (succeed) to annoy the shit out of me? Yes.
Smothering a sigh, I turned into the driveway of the hospital, pulling up to the front doors, and throwing the transmission into park.
Her shoulders hitched up again when I slid to a stop. “I can walk?—”
“We’re here,” I said, throwing open my door. “You’re not walking.”
I rounded the hood, got to her side just as she was opening the metal panel, putting her feet down and starting to stand.
“What part of not walking don’t you understand?”
“What part of I can walk don’t you understand?”
But I was done arguing. I just bent and picked her up again, bringing her into the ER and setting her on one of the chairs at the reception desk when the woman nodded at me.
Beth glared up at me for a beat then turned to the receptionist and handed over her insurance card and ID, letting her know that her doctor had called ahead.
Which meant that was my cue to go.
Which was exactly what I’d intended to do when I left her in that chair and headed out to my car.
But…I didn’t see Pru and Marcel on the way out, didn’t see their car in the lot when I circled through the rows.
I should have left, pulled right out, and gone back to my empty house.
Beth in that chair.
Alone.
Beth in my car, hiding her tears.
