Page 97 of Rules

Chapter 33

Tobias

The drive back to Whispering Pines blurred into a streak of headlights and rain-slick asphalt. I drove mechanically, muscle memory carrying me around curves I knew by heart while my mind raced ahead to Ruth. My speedometer climbed well above the limit, but I couldn't make myself ease off the gas. Not with those images playing in my head.

Two hours and seventeen minutes. That's how long it took me to make what should have been a three-hour drive. It was nearly two thirty a.m. when I pulled into the hospital parking lot, the emergency entrance lit up like a beacon in the darkness.

The automatic doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing a nearly empty waiting room. A young couple huddled in one corner, the woman's eyes red-rimmed from crying. An elderly man dozed in a chair near the television, which flickered silently with late-night infomercials. My badge and a nod got me past the ER night nurse. Goodness knows I've walked these halls enough throughout my career, if I had a flag on a stick I could give tours.Not that our small town hospital is big by any means. I'm just glad we have a hospital in town. The two night nurses at the station looked up as I approached.

"Kind of late for you to be out, isn't it Sheriff?" Marjorie Sloan, who I went to high school with, asked.

"Hey, Marjorie," I nodded, "Elaine," I gave a small smile to the other nurse. "I need to see Ruth Manchester."

"She's sleeping." Marjorie informed me. "I didn't know you and Ruth were friends." Everything about her demeanor said she was waiting for me to explain. If she was, she might want to get a snack because she'll be waiting a while.

"We are. What room?" I asked again. "And what is the extent of her injuries?"

Marjorie hesitated so I looked at Elaine who smiled, "She's got some facial cuts and a fracture, plus internal bruising. Nothing that won't heal. The Doctor wanted her to stay the night for observation. I'm sure she'll be able to go home in the morning."

Nothing that won't heal. The words should have been comforting, but they weren't.

"Thanks." I turned and made my way to Ruth's room.

The shadows in the room did nothing to soften the reality of how Ruth looked. I had to take a moment to regain my composure. Ruth lay unnaturally still, her normally vibrant presence diminished by the stark hospital setting. One side of her face was so swollen I hardly recognized her. Bruises bloomed across her skin in violent patterns of purple and blue. A split in her lower lip had been stitched closed. I closed my eyes and stood listening to the hum of the monitors.

Man, I fucking hate hospitals.

I moved closer, each step heavier than the last. An IV dripped clear fluid into her arm. Monitors tracked her vital signs. Her copper hair, usually so bright and alive, lay flat against the white pillowcase.

My throat closed as memories surfaced, Joan in a similar bed, surrounded by similar machines. Her body that had fought such a hard fight was now weak and frail. My beautiful wife, who I knew I was losing. I used to come into her room at night and sit by the side of the bed to hold her hand. She never woke up but I told myself she knew I was there. There was nothing I could do to help her, nothing. I hated that feeling, and now the same helpless feeling clawed at my insides.

I sank into the chair beside Ruth's bed, my legs no longer able to support me. This was my fault. All of it. If I hadn't pushed her away, if I'd stayed close instead of creating distance, if I'd been honest about my feelings instead of hiding behind excuses she wouldn't have been working late tonight. She would have been with me, safe.

Carefully, afraid of causing more pain, I reached for her hand. Her skin was warm, her fingers limp in mine. She didn't stir.

"I'm so sorry, Roo," I whispered, my voice breaking on her name. "I'm so damn sorry."

She remained still, her breathing steady, her features relaxed in drug-induced sleep. I traced the outline of her hand with my thumb, cataloging each delicate bone, the soft skin of her palm, the small callus at the base of her index finger from years of working with flower stems.

I couldn't reconcile this broken, battered woman with the vibrant force of nature who'd stormed into the grocery store and proclaimed her worth to the world. Who'd faced down my insecurities and called me on my bullshit. Who'd created beauty with her hands and brought joy with her smile. Who'd with just a look, turned me on more than any other woman in a long, long time.

"You were right," I told her sleeping form. "I'm a dumb ass. The dumbest. I should have told you the truth from the start."

The machines continued their rhythmic beeping, the only response to my confession.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my vigil. Marjorie slipped into the room.

"Sheriff?" she whispered, "time to check her vitals."

I nodded, reluctantly releasing Ruth's hand. I stood and backed up to give the nurse space to work. She moved efficiently, checking monitors and making notes on a tablet.

"She didn't wake up when I touched her," I said, unable to keep the worry from my voice.

Marjorie offered a reassuring smile. "That's normal. The doctor ordered some pretty strong pain medication. Her CAT scan was clear, she didn't have any brain bleeds or skull fractures from the blows to her head nor from her hitting the floor. But she's going to be uncomfortable for a while. She'll likely be discharged tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" The word came out sharper than I intended. "She–"

"I know it looks bad," she said gently. "Facial injuries always do. But she's tough. She told the ER staff what she did to the guy."

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