Colt is nothing if he's not resilient in his new psychotic frame of mind. Without skipping a beat, he pops up and runs toward the door, slamming it closed behind him.
Deciding I may need him the most, Dante doesn't give chase. Instead, he just stands staring at me. I can tell by the look of horror on his face that the sight before him has him worried. Instinctively, I know he sees something other than the invisible broken arm. As if on cue, my field of vision is instantly blurred by the blood dripping from my forehead and into my eyes.
Shit, that burns!
I close my eyes tight in order prevent any more blood from getting into them. I groan out of frustration.
"I-I guess you're gonna have to call 9-1-1, Dante. I'm going to need some stitches..." I pick up my broken arm up with my opposite hand. "And a cast."
I crawl to a sitting position, lean against the couch, and tilt back my head. I can't see Dante, but I hear his feet shuffling as he moves around the suite, and I hear the phone buttons as he dials them.
"Yes, ma'am. I need an ambulance at the Hyatt Regency," Dante says urgently. "One of our guests has been beaten, and she's bleedin' pretty bad."
The person on the other end of the line is asking questions, and Dante does his best to answer them. "She's conscious. There's just a lot of blood. I know for sure she has a cut to her head, and she thinks she has a broken arm."
If I could roll my eyes, I would.
No. I know I have a broken arm.
Dante hangs up the phone and calls another number. Based on his conversation, I'm assuming it's the concierge desk. "Ralph, Mr. Russell's guest has just been beaten. I've already called the ambulance. Will you bring them up as soon as they get here? She's bleeding something fierce." I hear Dante breathing. It's fast and panicked. "Yeah... you better call the police. That man needs to be in jail for what he's done. I don't want any of our other guests meeting up with him."
After he hangs up, I hear Dante dialing the phone. "Who are you calling now?" I ask frantically.
"I'm calling Mr. Russell. He's gonna want to know about this," Dante explains patiently.
"Please, Dante! Don't call him. Let me do it. He has an important meeting tomorrow, and I don't want to worry him," I plead, and I'm just desperate and anxious enough for him to decide not to argue with me.
"I won't if you promise me you'll call him as soon as you can."
I nod earnestly. "I will. I'll call him as soon as they get my arm set."
* * *
It's hours later. I've been driven by ambulance to the Ben Taub emergency room where I specifically requested to be taken. Not only is it one of the leading trauma centers in the world, but I can be treated in complete and utter anonymity because it's not the hospital where I worked my first year out of nursing school.
Having been in the emergency room for four hours, I've been poked and prodded and questioned—by nurses, doctors, forensic nurses, policemen, and registration staff—ad nauseam. Every single person I've come into contact with has been the epitome of professional and respectful. Because of them, I have a newfound appreciation for this hospital, its mission, and the efficiently compassionate employees who have been tending to my every need since the ambulance dropped me off.
I'm especially thankful for Olivia, the nurse who finally insisted that I get a dose of pain medication. As a nurse myself, I understand why I couldn't have anything until head trauma had been ruled out. Still, it didn't make the ache in my arm any better while I waited through mental status assessments and radiology clearance.
I know it's only a matter of minutes until I'm discharged. The last doctor, Dr. Angela something-or-other, told me the nurse would be in with a prescription for pain medicine—which I will absolutely need—and then I could go.
While I'm waiting, I have a moment of panic. I can't go back to the hotel. Mostly because I'm too ashamed to face Dante and Ralph. I can't go to the apartment. Dante never gave me the key back. I could call Sabrina... but it's nearly midnight.
Damn it! Could my life get any more pitiful? I don't have anyone I can call in a true emergency... That's not true. You have Ryker... Yeah, but I can't call him about this. Not while he's in Austin.
That's when it occurs to me who I can call. I know in my heart she will not judge me. Joss.
I use my good hand and fumble through my purse. I find my phone and see that Ryker's been texting me for the last hour. My phone has been on vibrate, which meant I couldn't hear it.
I begin scrolling through his texts. The first few are casual. Then he progresses to a hysterical and almost angry mess.
Yeah. It's a good thing I didn't let him know about this.
Ryker: Are you ready and willing to sext?
He waited about ten minutes before sending his next one.
Ryker: I'm assuming by your lack of response that you've fallen asleep. How boring do you find that book?
This time he waits fourteen and half minutes before he sends another message.
Ryker: Just so you know... I'm going to bed a frustrated man. I had every intention of having another first with you. Seductive sexting, whereby you told me every tiny thing you did. Fortunate for you, there's still plenty of time for us to have all kinds of new and wonderful firsts. Thank you so much for today. Twice. I hope you have sweet dreams. Feel free to call and wake me up the second you get this message. I miss you.
If I'd not been in the middle of a busy non-private emergency room, Ryker's texts would have me wallowing in a pool of melted me. My chest burns with love—even if new and fledging—for him.
Me: Sorry for not responding. I had a little accident and ended up in the emergency room.
Ryker: What the fuck?
Me: It's nothing. I was in a new place and just happened to trip over the coffee table. When I did, I hit my head and banged up my arm. Dr. Angela just finished stitching up the cut and splinting my arm. I'll be good as new by tomorrow when you get back.
Ryker: I'm on my way back now.
Me: Please don't. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet. If I can't... if I don't, I'll hate myself for it later.
Ryker: Who will drive you back to the hotel?
Me: If you don't think she'll mind, I thought I might call Joss.
Ryker: She wouldn't mind at all. I'll call her for you. Which hospital are you at?
Me: Thanks. I'm at Ben Taub.
Ryker: One of the foremost trauma centers in the nation seems a little extreme of a place to treat a late-night stumble.
Me: Yeah. I thought so too, but it's where they brought me.
Ryker: I'm calling Mom now. Stay put until she gets there.
Me: I will. And thank you for being there and understanding. I miss you more than you know.
A few minutes later, my phone rings.
"Hello," I say.
"I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to leave you again. I'm absolutely sure if I'd been there with you and we were doing all of the wonderful things I'd planned to do with you and to you, this never would've happened," Ryker says seductively. Even then, I can hear every ounce of worry and concern he has for me.
I smile. "It was just an accident, and I'm completely humiliated by it. Can we never mention it again?"
"I'm not sure that's possible, but I'll let it go for now. Joss was leaving a movie at the theater near the beltway. She says she can be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes."
I can tell by his clipped tone that he's not fooled by my lies. He knows I'm not dead so he's trying to keep things in perspective, but he also knows I'm not telling him everything.
"I'm glad she wasn't already in bed," I say, sighing with relief.
"It wouldn't matter. She and I will do anything for you, Bay. That's what you need to know," Ryker says.
A tear leaks from the corner of my eye.
How can I miss a man this much when I've only just met him?
"I know, and I appreciate that," I say.
"Ms. Messenger," Nurse Olivia says while
sliding the curtain separating me from the rest of the patient population back and stepping into my very non-private room.
"Ryker, I need to go. The nurse has some instructions to give me," I say hurriedly.
"Call me when you get to Mom's. Please," Ryker gently demands.
"I will," I say, hanging up the phone before he has a chance to say anything else... or hear anything Olivia says to me.
"Ms. Messenger, I've written down for you the address of a few of Houston's best women's shelters. You need to know that you can go to any of them if you ever need a safe place to stay," Olivia says, using the same tone she would use if she were talking to someone about the weather. Every cell in my body begs for her to whisper, to keep my private life private, my secrets secret.
Since she's the one who demanded that the doctor order pain medication for me, I know she's not being cruel by talking about the women's shelters loudly enough for the entire emergency room to hear. It's just business for her. She has no idea that the last thing in the world I want is for everyone to know what my ex-boyfriend has done to me.
I'm so ashamed by it that earlier I even went so far as to tell the police officers that the fall was my fault because Colt was holding on to me, and when I pulled away, I slipped and fell.
I did my best to keep the story accurate while minimizing Colt's responsibility in my injuries. The last thing Colt needs right now is the police arresting him for domestic abuse and him losing his ability to practice law in the state of Texas.
Based on what I've seen over the last several days, he's already on the edge of mental illness. Losing his license would push him over the brink and into an abyss no one would ever be able to pull him from.
"I'm here to pick up Ms. Baylee Messenger," Joss says from somewhere down the hall.
Damn! Joss's fast.
CHAPTER 19
LIGHTENING MY LOAD
Baylee
"Baylee... sweetie," Joss says to me before rushing to my bedside and hugging me very carefully. I can tell she's afraid of hurting me any more than I've already been hurt today. Little does she know that her kindness is exactly what I need. I blink away the tears that are hiding so close to the surface that I'm having a hard time holding them back.
As Joss studies me—jaw gritting and muscles rolling—I realize how much Ryker looks like her. He has her dark hair, brown eyes, and deep dimples. Suddenly, I miss him all the more. I—embarrassed—can tell by the pity she feels for me that she knows I've been beaten, but she doesn't quiz me or interrogate me. For that, I'm thankful.
With a grin that has absolutely no happiness behind it, I hold up my prescription that needs to be dropped off and say, "I've officially been released. Do you think we can find an all-night pharmacy where we can get this filled?"
Joss smiles. "I know pharmacists who will do anything I ask of them. I'll call one of them on our way to my house," she assures me while helping me up and off the stretcher.
I'm moving at a snail's pace. I don't realize until I get off the stretcher that I'm hurt all over. The simple acts of standing up and walking cause a sharp pain to shoot up and between my shoulder blades. The instant I wince, Joss's stare jerks my way. I don't want a lot of questions right now, so I grit my teeth and bear the discomfort.
Suspicious, Joss studies the way I'm walking. "Baylee, do I need to get you a wheelchair?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm just stiff from sitting on this hard stretcher for the last few hours. I'll be fine. Where'd you park?" I ask before she can inquire any more about my injuries.
After I take a few more agonizingly slow steps, Joss looks around. "I want you to sit in the waiting room. I'm going to the parking garage to get my car. I'll come around to the patient pick-up and get you. You don't need to walk that far."
Again, I shake my head. "Honestly, Joss, the more I'm up and around, the better I feel. I-I know I'm pretty slow, but if you don't mind, I'd prefer to walk with you to your car."
Joss smiles that warm and loving smile—Ryker's smile. "I don't mind at all, sweetie. We'll go real slow," she says patiently.
Before we're halfway to the garage, I wish I'd never asked Joss to let me walk with her. My wrist is on fire and my back and head are throbbing. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I'd not been given any pain medication at all before being discharged.
When we make it to the garage, I have a whole new reason for wishing I'd stayed in the emergency room's waiting area. It never occurred to me that the parking garage would be so dark and secluded... and ominous. There is the periodic blinking fluorescent light, but the shadows between the cars and near the elevators remind me that I wouldn't want to be making my way to my car by myself.
And I wouldn't want Joss to be out here by herself either.
Either because of or in spite of the fact that I've been beaten thoroughly today, my instincts are on high alert and my self-defense training takes over. I keep a close eye on my surroundings, watching for movement and listening for noise. Hypersensitive to anything abnormal after the week I've had, I jump several inches off the ground when I hear several loud beeps echo through the garage and see the lights of a car flashing.
After I realize it is nothing more than a car alarm, I glance to my side and see a sheepish Joss holding her key fob. "Sorry, sweetie. I didn't know it would scare you."
With my good hand coving my chest and after my racing heart slows a bit, I say, "I-it's just me. I'm jumpy. Let's get out of here."
If I was in a better mood, I'd chuckle when I see that Joss drives a burgundy Porsche Cayenne, the car Ryker recommended I buy for myself. Instead, I just open the door and pull myself up into the SUV. The trip from the emergency room through the garage and to the car has taken its toll on me physically. The beating at the hands of my ex-boyfriend has taken its toll on me mentally.
After I close the door, I lean back into the seat and prop my casted arm up on the window seal so the swelling is minimized. As a nurse, I know my arm and hand will ache and throb even more than they already do if I let the inflammation get out of control.
Elevation. Elevation. Elevation.
I create a mantra meant to remind me to keep my arm above heart level at all times for the next few days. Mindlessly, I recite it repeatedly, closing my eyes while Joss maneuvers her way through the parking garage (which I'm happy to be away from), out to the freeway, and toward her house.
I'm exhausted, but pain and worry... and needing to talk to Joss keep me from falling asleep. Instead, I think about all of the ways I can tell her what happened tonight and ask her opinion on what I need to do about it, what I need to do to help Colt, what I need to do so I don't get beaten again.
After we're out of Houston, I very cautiously ask, "Joss, when was the first time Bob beat you?"
Joss nods as if her suspicions have finally been confirmed and takes a few minutes to answer me. I can tell Bob is not a subject she likes to talk—think—about.
Taking a swipe at the corner of her eyes, she says, "I hadn't been with anyone since Liv, Ryker's dad," she says, and I can hear the tears in her voice.
"You don't have to talk about it if it's too personal," I say quickly before she gets any sadder.
It takes her a few more minutes to shake her head, resolving to share her story. "Liv was bigger than life. After being with a man like him, the love of my life, no one else could compare, so I was alone for a long time. Too long. By the time Bob came around and started paying attention to me, I was desperate for someone to make me feel special and loved and cared for. I can honestly say I was real tired. I needed someone to help me make ends meet. He promised to do all of that for me if I'd marry him. Like a dumbass, I did.
"I was old enough to know that anything that sounds too good to be true usually is, but like I said, I was ready to let Liv's ghost go. I needed to make a new life for me and Ryker, and that wasn't going to happen with me living in the past and working as a maid in a hotel.
"The summer was wonderful. Bob treated me
like a princess and waited on me hand and foot. Things changed after Ry came home from summer camp. As soon as Ry got off the bus, I hugged and kissed him like any mother who hadn't seen her son for eight weeks would, but it made Bob jealous. He jerked me away from Ry as if he were a man who had just hit on me. Shocked by his response, I played it off and tried to act like it was all a big misunderstanding. What I should have done is gotten the hell away from him right then. I've since learned that when someone shows you who they are, you better damn well believe 'em."
Joss looks over at me for just a few seconds before glancing back at the road and continuing her story.
"Ryker... he's always been intuitive. He saw what I saw, and because of it, he hated Bob right away. He also knew his disappointment tore me up. That's the last thing he wanted so he tried his best to tolerate Bob. Over the next few years, they figured out how to live in the same house and pretend that the other didn't exist. I was delusional enough to convince myself that we could live like that forever."
Joss gets quiet, and the silence stretches on for so long that I assume she's decided to keep the rest of her story to herself... and I don't blame her when I think about how hard it is for me to talk about what Colt did to me.
Then Joss takes a deep, shaky breath and says, "One night while Ryker was at a friend's house, Bob started quizzing me about who I loved more, him or Ry. I thought he was joking and played along for a while, claiming to love them equally, which of course wasn't true and he knew it. His questions were relentless. At some point, I realized he wasn't going to stop until I swore that I loved him more than my own son. Uncomfortable with his aggression and refusing to betray the love I had for Ry, I stood up to Bob, hoping to end the debate once and for all. I told him I loved Ryker more than I loved anyone. Always had and always would."
Joss clears her throat several times. "As soon as I said it, he backhanded me. It was the first time he'd ever hit me. He'd squeezed my arms too tight before, and he'd bullied me into doing things I shouldn't have or agreeing with him when I didn't before that day, but he'd never hit me. He'd crossed a line, and he knew it. Right away, he began apologizing and swearing he'd never hit me again. I decided to take advantage of what he'd done to rid Ryker and me of his surly disposition. I asked him to leave and told him I would be divorcing him.
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