Page 45 of Returning Your Love
The automatic doors opened as I approached, a guy a decade or so older than me running past, sobbing out of control.
That was what I had expected from Chaz, even though he and Shelly had been on shaky ground. Hell, any sort of emotion would have been nice, giving me some sort of hint into how Chaz was handling the situation so I could figure out how to help him.
He fared better than me, that was for damned sure.
I exited the building and turned left, breathing in the cool evening air, closing my eyes against the parking lot lights and the flashing ones of an ambulance. “Siri, call Dad,” I croaked into my cell.
“Jamie?”
“She’s gone, Dad,” I gasped out the words, my heart breaking along with the floodgate holding back tears. “C-Can you tell the Hendersons?”
“Jesus—I’m so sorry. How’s Chaz holding up?”
Like a goddamned oak while I crumpled beneath the crippling weight of guilt.
“Still in shock, I think,” I managed to answer in between sobs.
“Don’t worry about making calls—I’ll get in touch with his parents and the nursing home. You just go hug that boy of yours tight. He’ll need you now more than ever.”
I nodded even though Dad couldn’t see me. If he knew that I was responsible for her death?—
No.
I wasn’t so stupid to believe I’d been behind the wheel of the car who’d smashed into her, but goddamnit, how many times had I wished her gone?
Hanging up, I slumped to the cement sidewalk, leaning against a wall, head in my hands. In my current state, I wouldn’t be any help to Chaz. I ran my hands through my hair, biting my tongue until I tasted blood.
Chaz would hate my guts if he ever learned I’d wanted his wife out of the picture so I could have him all to myself. He could never know the truth. It would wreck us for sure.
How the hell did we move on from this?
Could we?
Chapter 16
Chaz
Emotionally dead, I replayed the surgeon’s words over and over in my head, wishing I could at least bring myself to anger since grief refused to hit like it ought to. My sense of shame intensified over my inability to cry or rage over the loss of my wife.
And…a baby?
After thirty some months of trying, she finally conceived?
How the hell was that even possible? We hadn’t?—
A man sprinted into the ER, rushing past the waiting room’s entrance. “T-Tara!” the man sobbed. He choked on his own spit, sputtering in his distress as he stumbled forward.
“One minute, honey,” the reception said. “I’ll go get her.”
The man paced past where I sat, frantically yanking at his too-long, dark hair, mewling whines of anguish slipping past his lips. “Please, God…please.” He turned leaking eyes to the ceiling but didn’t stop walking or even bother wiping the wetness off his face.
Why did empathy fill me for the pain he suffered while I couldn’t shed a shingle tear for myself? Disbelief or denial seemed like the reasonable answer, but I knew she was gone. Believed what I’d been told. Maybe I was in shock. Unlike whenI’d first gotten the news, I didn’t have difficulty breathing, and my heart beat steadily without pain. The fuck was wrong with me? What kind of spouse was I?
Widow.
Even that word whispering through my brain didn’t rouse the type of emotion pouring from the frantic man nearby.
The doors leading back to the triage area clanked opened, and the man spun around. “Oh, God.”
