Page 64 of Resilient Rhythms
When she messaged that she was leaving the office, he asked her to wait and hurried to settle the bill. Mckenna messaged back that she would wait for him in her car and that’s when everything went to shit.
Which is so fucked up. Because Mckenna should be able to walk from an office building to her car without being physically assaulted.
While I logically know it’s no one’s fault—not mine, not Drew’s, not Mr. Byrne’s—I also can’t check the helplessness and anger that course through me. I know Mr. Byrne and Drew feel the same way.
It’s impossible not to when a woman we all care about is laid up in a hospital bed because her attacker—her goddamn rapist—walked free months ago and we didn’t put a stop to it, to him, then.
My hands curl into fists and I bite back the sob that threatens to explode from my throat.
I want to see Mckenna. I want to hold her and kiss her and make sure she’s okay. She must have been terrified. Fucking traumatized at the hands of that sick fuck. Again.
Why does this keep happening?
As I glance around the sterile hospital hallway, a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
How are we back here? Have we learned nothing from the tumultuous circumstances that first brought us to this place?How is Mckenna handling things? Is she shutting down? Will she block me out? Will we still be…us? Can we be?
Thoughts I don’t fucking want to think assault my mind, ratcheting up my nerves and anxiety with every passing second that I don’t know shit about Mckenna’s mental state and physical well-being.
She was finding her footing again. She’s worked so hard for so long to make progress. She graduated law school and took the bar exam. She met with a legal team to press charges against Bran. She sought out Aiden to put out job feelers in Boston. She’s…heragain. Fierce and determined and fucking perfection.
I can’t bear the thought that her light will be dimmed. I can’t accept that this attack may have set her back, again, and that the woman I see when I walk through the hospital room won’t be my Mckenna.
“What the fuck is taking so long? Where is the goddamn doctor?” I huff.
“Relax.” Jameson’s voice is low and steady. His hand lands on my shoulder and he squeezes. “Why don’t we go back to the waiting room?”
“I’ll get us some coffee,” Jeannie offers, nudging Mr. Byrne toward the waiting room.
“That’s a great idea,” my brother agrees. “Thanks, Jeannie.”
Mr. Byrne, Drew, and I don’t reply as we shuffle to the waiting room, sink into the chairs, and stare at the doors to the hospital ward.
SIXTEEN
MCKENNA
“You’re prettybanged up but will make a full recovery,” the doctor explains from the foot of my hospital bed. He clasps a clipboard in his hands and holds my gaze. “Your throat will be sore for a few days. Don’t push yourself to speak unless necessary.”
I nod, already feeling the soreness he alludes to.
The doctor glances at his clipboard again. “We didn’t realize you’re pregnant or?—”
My eyebrows nearly fly off my face as my eyes pierce his.
At my genuine surprise, his voice falters.
“Can you repeat that?” I croak. Wince. My throat burns but the doctor’s words distract me from the pain.
Did I hear him correctly?
Me, pregnant? There’s no fucking way…
The nurse, Kimberly, clears her throat and the doctor bobs his head. “Yes,” he repeats. “You’re about seven weeks along.”
Pregnant?My hand automatically moves to my abdomen. Holy fuck. My eyes widen as I shake my head.
I can’t be pregnant.
