Page 75 of Doctor Mile High
The same woman is hugging him.
And he isn’t pushing her away.
Tears fall as if a dam has broken. My heart aches from the pain searing through it. I don’t understand, and I can’t talk to him here, not in front of all these people. Should I talk to him? Does it matter? I mean, this isn’t my kind of event. I’m so far out of Winston’s league. We made a baby together, but a life? I’m not one for galas and jewels. I never have been.
What am I doing here?
I tuck my phone back in my clutch and stare at myself in the mirror, wiping my tears away before my mascara has a chance to stain my face. Taking a deep breath, I glance to the door I entered through, not ready to walk through it again.
This is so common. I always run when I get scared, but I don’t know what else to do.
To the right is another door that exits the bathroom on the other side, and in my emotional snap decision, I run through the heavy, gold-trimmed door. I don’t look at anyone. I keep my head down, careful not to bump into anyone since I can see their feet.
I have no idea where the hell I’m going. I look up, searching for a way out, and all eyes are on me. People in designer gowns and fancy suits stare at me in pity, whispering to one another as if I’m the issue, as if I’m the problem.
Hiding behind a round pillar, I take a deep breath, forcing my tears not to fall. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a glare against a window.
Headlights.
Rushing toward the doors, I bump into a few people that I know I’ve never met. They mumble their unhappiness about their drink spilling over the rim of the champagne flutes. They sigh and huff in annoyance. I shove open the door that leads outside, the cool night air hitting me in the face. The slight breeze dries my tears, and I race to the edge of the sidewalk, raising my hand to hail a taxi.
The yellow cab pulls over to the side, the brakes slightly squeaking. I slide in across the worn leather bucket seats. There’s a scent in the air that has my nose scrunch. A mix of sweat and cigarette smoke.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
I stare at the hotel where the lavish party is. People pass me by on the sidewalk in their expensive gowns and tuxedos, reminding me again that that’s not the life I’ve ever had. Winston deserves to be with someone who won’t taint his Warrick name.
And that’s all I’ll do.
A girl who worked for his enemy? I can see stories plastered everywhere now, saying that I’m just money hungry and that I trapped Winston with a baby.
I wipe my cheek again and rattle off an address to the driver. The cab pulls forward, leaving the gala behind, and I can finally take a breath. My phone dings over and over again in my clutch.
“Are you going to get that?” the driver asks.
I dig into the clutch and switch my phone to silent. “No, sorry about that. I hope it didn’t distract you.”
“You’re fine. Is everything okay?” He peeks into the rearview mirror and our eyes meet. “You’ve been crying. Did something happen?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to see my son and I’ll be okay again.” It’s true. I miss baby Winston like crazy. It helps cover the main issue of my heart and mind being pulled in two different directions.
The driver grins. “Ah, yes. I remember when my wife had our first child. A daughter! I was beside myself. I had no idea what to do. I worried all day every day. I slept in her nursery to be close. I was obsessed with knowing she was safe.”
“Exactly. My parents have him, but it’s the first night I’m away. I know he is fine.”
“I understand completely. You don’t need to explain. We’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you so much.”
The ride falls into a comfortable silence. I lean my head against the window, crying silently as the negative thoughts get in the way. My mind is racing. In my heart, I know there’s more to the story that I should hear from Winston. I know that it probably isn’t what it seems, but my mind? My mind is poisoning me with so many different scenarios and they are what’s in control right now.
I know if I talk to him, everything will be fine.
Yet I’m still running because these photos reminded me of the one thing I’ve been burying inside me ever since I met Winston. Why would a guy like him want a woman like me? I don’t have money, or status, or connections. Hell, I don’t even have a career now, and I don’t know what I want to do with my life. It reminds me that our age reflects where we are in life.
I stare down at the giant emerald gemstone on my finger, surrounded by diamonds. I don’t deserve such luxuries. I can’t take it off because it would mean that my relationship with Winston is over.
My phone vibrates on repeat to the point that I finally check it. I ignore all the texts and calls when I see another news notification from that same site.
