Page 45 of Secret Surrender (Harlow)

Twenty-One

Sarah paused under the hospital corridor’s stark white fluorescent lights, the air a touch too cold and her mind a muddle as she stared at Blaine’s door just ahead.

“I wouldn’t go down there.”

She spun around to Emilia’s pretty brown gaze, the scent of vending-machine coffee wafting from the paper cup in her hand. “Not unless you want to see the nurse cleaning out his wound. Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

Emilia nodded at a row of gray-blue plastic chairs along the wall. “Would you like to sit and wait with me? The nurse won’t take long.”

Sarah dropped her chin and gawped at Emilia, a dull pang of guilt expanding high in her tummy. “Oh. I. Yeah, sure.”

Eight days after the home invasion, word had gotten to her that Blaine was taking visitors, but for some reason, Sarah hadn’t banked on meeting his new girl again. Though she had no major issues with Emilia, the woman’s presence added weight to what was already a confronting task.

But Sarah had to be here to show Blaine her support. That there were no hard feelings. To dispel any guilt he might have over what had happened with her, in case that guilt impeded his recovery. Though even with all those reasons, a deeper part of her questioned whether, more than anything else, her own guilt prompted this visit.

Dean. His mere presence in her life, plus the fact that he made her happy, call it survivor’s guilt, even though her ex had no idea she was moving on too…

Emilia sat and took a slow sip of her coffee. Her weak movements and distant stare belonged to a woman who carried more than she could handle. She flicked her attention up to Sarah and gave a small smile.

“I keep telling myself I’m going to cut back”—she lifted the cup in a resigned sort of gesture—“but then something new happens, and well, I fall back to this trusty old crutch.”

Sarah wandered over and sat too, her chest muscles squeezing because Emilia had always shown more vulnerability than she ever could.

Maybe that’s why Blaine didn’t pick me.

She slammed her eyes shut at that thought, before opening them again and pasting on a smile for Emilia’s benefit. “I know more than a few people who would drink my bar dry over less than what you’ve been through.”

Emilia’s doe eyes relaxed into warm chocolate pools, and a slight smile lifted her lips. “I thought… Blaine… I thought he would die for sure.”

Her lower lip trembled, and she turned away, her thick lashes beating together as if she fought off tears.

“But he didn’t.” Sarah curled her fingers in her lap, wanting to reach out and comfort Emilia, to clasp the woman's hand and say something meaningful, but she couldn’t.

Not because this was Emilia—her replacement with Blaine—but because Sarah didn’t do tears.

Besides, she wasn’t the best support person, anyway.

She’d been so busy with work and Dean that she hadn’t had time to fully come to terms with what had happened. Heartbreaks. Gun fights. Near-death experiences. Yeah, that was a lot for any person to work through.

Emilia pressed her lips together, the edges lifting in pained acknowledgment, like she saw that Sarah tried but failed to offer help.

“You’re right. I’m very lucky.” Her whispered tone matched the paleness of her usually warm skin tone, that same skin red and splotchy around her eyes. “Blaine was a part of your life for so long. You must have been beside yourself too.”

Emilia reached out and did the thing Sarah had struggled with, the woman’s hand landing over Sarah’s on her lap and giving a gentle squeeze.

You must have been beside yourself too.

Had she been, though?

She frowned, unable to remember a time when she’d ever been beside herself… about anything.

Even in the wake of the worst of the worst. When her dad had abandoned her along with the other members of her family. When her mother had fallen apart. When Sarah had been forced to give up her dreams… she just kept going.

What other option was there?

Emilia withdrew her hand, and Sarah tore her frown away, directing it to the floor. “Blaine’s yours now. Maybe he’s always been yours, anyway. Don’t worry about how I’m doing, okay?”

What a charitable offer. Letting Emilia know she had nothing to feel bad about, so she could focus solely on her immediate problems. But really, Sarah didn’t like fuss. Much less over her. Much less since asking for help usually invited a barrage of unwanted intrusions.

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