Page 92 of It's Always Been You
I squeeze my eyes shut as the door slides closed.
“I love you too.”
Jordan is sitting on an uncomfortable looking couch, wearing a white coat with a stethoscope looped around his neck. Leaning back with his legs crossed in front of him and one arm tossed over the back of the couch, he’s holding a cup of coffee in his other hand and laughing at something another doctor is telling him.
He looks happy and carefree and not at all like a man whose life is about to shatter. Whose life already has shattered, really. He just doesn’t know yet.
Somehow that’s the worst part of all. That it already happened. The love of his life—the woman he calls baby girl and looks at like she’s his sun and never stops touching and kissing wherever they are and no matter who’s watching—is gone, and he doesn’t know yet and didn’t get to say goodbye.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your fault.
I must make some kind of noise because both Jordan and the guy he’s talking to turn toward the door. When Jordan sees me standing there, a grin spreads across his face. My stomach clenches.One foot in front of the other. Do what comes next.
“Hey, Mol, what are you doing here? I thought you and Allie were having dinner. Did she let you know about that ER consult? She said it wouldn’t take long though. Word is something weird happened down there a little while ago, but I figured you guys would be at least one marg in already.”
I glance around the room, and it’s just Jordan and the one other guy. I focus on him. “I’m a friend of Jordan’s. Would you mind if I talked to him in private?”
Whatever he sees on my face has him nodding. “Sure, no problem.” He must sense something that Jordan doesn’t yet because he squeezes Jordan’s shoulder as he passes. “I’ll be in the office catching up on charts if you need me when you’re done.”
Then he slips past me and out the door.
I walk into the room, close the door behind me, and flip the lock so no one can interrupt. Jordan’s eyes track the movement, and when they meet mine, his gaze is wary, like he knows something isn’t right but can’t figure out what.
I sit next to him on the couch and turn so I’m facing him. He does the same, his eyes searching my face. He’s so smart. Too smart to think this is just a social call. My hands try to shake, and I grip them together, slippery palms sliding against each other. My brain may be in crisis mode, but my body hasn’t gotten the message.
“Mol, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what the fuck is going on? Where’s Allie?”
I look at Jordan, knowing that the person in front of me is about to disappear. That this moment is the line that divides his life into before and after. And I’m the one drawing the line.One foot in front of the other. Do what comes next.
I take his hand. Hold his gaze. Then, I let go of the wrecking ball that will smash his life to pieces.
“Jordan, Allie was shot about twenty minutes ago outside of the ER while she was waiting for me to pick her up.”
Nothing. Absolutely no reaction at all except for the rapid blinking of his eyes and the hitch in his breath. His face is a mask of confusion, and I can see his brain work to process what I just said.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your fault.
“The person who shot her was the father of a patient she lost last week. The bullet hit her in the chest, and she lost a lot of blood. They couldn’t save her. She died, Jordan. Allie is gone.”
Jordan’s jaw works. His mouth opens and closes. Then opens and closes again. He shakes his head vigorously.
“She’s not. She can’t be. I just saw her. I came in early so I could see her before she had dinner with you since we’re working opposite shifts this week. She was just sitting right where you are, and then she got called to the ER for that consult. You guys are having dinner. She said she told you to pick her up outside the ER instead of at the front. That she was going to wait for?—”
He breaks off, and I see the exact moment it hits him. The fast panting of his breath. The fluttering of the pulse in his neck. The tightening of his hand around mine. The tears that flood his eyes and spill over.
“She died?” His voice is a whisper, as if speaking the words any louder will make it real. I see him clinging to the last shred of hope that maybe this is all a mistake. I hate myself for being the one who has to cut it.
“She died, Jordan. I am so, so sorry.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and clench my jaw so hard I’m surprised my molars don’t crack.
