Part 25 (1/2)

”You . . .” Confusion buzzed around Emerson's head for just one more second before all the dots lined up and connected with vivid, sickening clarity. ”You told him?”

”I told him you were here,” Hunter corrected, as if the semantics made some sort of a difference, and anger sailed through her, scalding her veins.

”How could you do this to me?” Her tone was high-pitched and d.a.m.n near hysterical, but oh, she didn't care. She'd trusted Hunter, she'd believed him when he'd said she'd be fine, and this, this was what she got for her leap of faith?

He took a step toward her bed, and she had to hand it to him. The puppy dog eyes were a nice f.u.c.king touch. ”I want to help you,” he said, but before she could let loose with where he could shove his ”help,” her father stepped in.

”Emerson. Everyone here has your best interests at heart. Whatever is making you ill, I'm certain we can take care of it. I can have whatever specialists we need down here within the hour, and I'll confer with them to hire the very best caregivers. You could even move back into the house if-”

”No.” The word cracked from her mouth like gunfire, but she wasn't about to apologize for it. ”Multiple sclerosis may be breaking my body, but I'm still perfectly capable of making my own decisions, including the ones pertaining to my healthcare. I don't need you”-she paused to jab a shaking finger at her father-”to strong-arm me into what you think is best, and I don't need you”-she pointed savagely at Hunter, dangerously close to losing what little cool she had left-”to try to fix me.”

Her father's eyes flew wide. ”Multiple sclerosis is your formal diagnosis? Are you certain?” After a few seconds, he took her glaring silence as the yes that it was. ”Emerson, please, if you would just listen to reason-” he started, but she'd had enough.

”So you can tell me what to do and get the best possible spin on things while you're at it? Thanks, but I'm all set. I told you the other day I don't need your help. I haven't changed my mind.”

Her icy stare at the curtain got the message across, and her father's mouth flattened into a grim line.

”I see. Then I suppose there's nothing more for us to talk about.” He turned on the heels of his flawlessly polished loafers, nodding once at Hunter before leaving the curtain area.

After a breath, Hunter broke the deafening silence. ”Look, I know-”

”Get out,” she said, and his eyes widened like a pair of blue-gray saucers.

”What?” He blinked, and even though a dark, horrible part of her wanted to feel satisfied at the slash of hurt on his face, all she did was ache.

She'd shown him who she was, all her broken parts, and he'd betrayed her.

”Get out,” Emerson repeated, manufacturing strength from G.o.d only knew where. ”I don't want you here.”

Hunter's startled expression gave way to something else. ”You're mad, I know that.”

”You know nothing,” she spat, all the anger and fear and betrayal colliding in her chest to push the words right out of her. ”You're so bound and determined to fix everything, but you don't get it, do you? This can't be fixed!” She slashed a hand through the air, the medical tape pulling at her skin as she gestured harshly at the dead weight of her legs. ”I can't be fixed! Not by my father or any other doctors, not by you. Not by anyone! I'm broken, Hunter. I'm always going to be broken!”

Hunter flinched, his stare going dark beneath the overbright hospital fluorescents. ”I care about you, Emerson. I know you're angry right now. Hurting.” He sucked in an audible breath. ”I didn't know how else to help you.”

Her heart gave up a stupid, mutinous squeeze, and for a second, she nearly gave in to it. But then her legs seized in yet another all-too-painful round of This Is Your Life, and the hope behind her breastbone flickered out.

”You really want to help? Then get out, and don't come back. I've got enough damage on my own that I'm not going to recover from. I don't need you doing any more.”

Hunter opened his mouth as if to argue. But then his eyes touched on the hospital bed, the IV tubes and monitors, and his shoulders fell.

”I hope you get some rest.”

Only after his footsteps had faded completely did Emerson let herself cry. She thought her body had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.

She'd had no idea that in the end, her body would be completely outdone by her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Emerson rolled over in her hospital bed, wis.h.i.+ng for all the world that she had a toothbrush. The light slipping in past the blinds told her she'd slept through the night, and although her legs were still pretty sore, she had more energy than she'd been able to muster in the last four days, easy, and her stomach seemed to have settled considerably.

Her heart? Still a train wreck, but nothing they could put in her IV was going to fix that.

Haven't you ever wondered what if . . .

No. No. She'd taken that leap of faith and it had blown up in her face. There was no more what if. Only what was.

G.o.d, what was hurt.

”Knock, knock.” A familiar voice filtered in from the door, and Emerson sat up in surprise.

”Dr. Ortiz?”

The doctor poked his head past the entryway to her room. ”Morning. I've got a minute before my s.h.i.+ft starts downstairs, so I thought I'd bring you a peace offering.”

Emerson waved him in, chuffing out a rusty laugh at the tray balanced in his well-muscled grasp. ”Jell-O?”

”You have no idea how hard it is to snag the strawberry around here,” Dr. Ortiz said, placing the tray on the rolling table beside her bed. ”Anyway, I wanted to come see how you were doing. I feel bad that we had to keep you overnight. I know you didn't want to stay.”

She let out a slow breath, busying herself by reaching for a spoon. ”I understand. It was necessary, and I actually do feel a lot better today.” She'd hated the decision, but in truth, she'd known it was the right one.

”I'm glad to hear that. Your vitals have improved a lot overnight. Once you get up and move around a bit, the neurologist on call should spring you.”

Ah, at least there was one good thing. She had a lot to do once she got back on her feet, literally and figuratively. She was two sessions behind on that marketing webinar for Cross Creek, and . . .

d.a.m.n.

”Can I get you anything other than the Jell-O?” Dr. Ortiz asked, the concern in his black-coffee stare telling her she had a s.h.i.+tty poker face.

”Yeah, I . . .” She swallowed. Recalibrated. Head up, eyes forward. ”I'd love to get my hands on some toiletries. That, and I'll need to figure out how to get home once the on-call doctor decides I'm good to go.”

”Oh, that's easy,” Dr. Ortiz said, his running shoes squeaking on the floor as he turned toward the door. ”Your mother left a bag for you at the nurses' station, and your father said he'd arrange a car service if you needed a ride. Actually, he may be in the waiting room down the hall.”

Emerson's jaw unhinged. ”My parents know I'm up here?”

”Of course.” His brows knit together over his stare. ”Haven't they been in to see you? The charge nurse said they were here most of the night.”

”No,” she managed, confusion m.u.f.fling her thoughts. ”Are you sure they've been out there most of the night? My parents?”

Dr. Ortiz nodded. ”I saw them briefly after I admitted you. We didn't discuss your health, obviously, but they didn't ask. All your father said was that you might be more comfortable in a private room if we had one and that they'd wait upstairs for you to rest. I'm sorry, I just a.s.sumed you knew they'd been here.”

Emerson grabbed at a breath. Her parents trying to control things, she got. h.e.l.l, it was practically branded into the Montgomery DNA. But this felt odd, different somehow. They hadn't barged in, hadn't demanded that she listen to reason, hadn't insisted on a private room or pricey specialists. They hadn't even let her know they were there.

Her parents knew she had MS. She'd said so in the heat of the moment yesterday. She couldn't hide from the truth anymore, even if she wanted to.

And even though that truth scared the h.e.l.l out of her, she didn't.