Page 98 of Still Yours
“You better.”
Walking away from Mrs. Stalinski is a lot harder than I predicted. I battle back tears as I get to my car and dump all my things inside.
Berta, the new nurse, drives up just as I’ve turned the ignition to warm up the inside, and I walk over to her and give her last-minute instructions before leaving.
“She’s the best patient you’ll ever have,” I assure Berta as she steps out of her pickup truck.
“I’ll take good care of her, Noa,” she assures.
“She has nightmares sometimes. I like to leave a glass of water next to her bed for when she wakes up parched. Oh, and sometimes she has trouble getting to the bathroom with her walker, so I bought a baby monitor just in case you can’t hear her.”
“Got it.”
“And—”
“I don’t mean this as an insult, sweetie, but I have twenty-five years’ experience, and nobody’s died on my watch. She will be okay. Okay?”
I bite back more instructions and nod. “Okay.”
Berta softens. “What’s been written about you sucks. I hope it goes away soon.”
“Me too.”
I get in the car and refuse to look in the rearview mirror as Mrs. Stalinski’s house shrinks into the distance.
I’m doing the right thing, refusing to be a sitting duck at Stone’s house. Even as I leave her long drive and hit the road, thepaparazzi swarms. They shout through my window and block my car. I have to inch forward, blasting the horn, and for the first time in my life, I contemplate running over another person.
My lurching and hard braking eventually gives me enough of a gap to gun through, and I leave all those men dressed in black with dangling cameras and equipment behind. To think Stone goes through this daily boggles my mind. How he tolerates it is even more perplexing.
I drive for what seems like hours. No destination in mind—just away. Thoughts of Stone keep trying to surface, but I mentally bat them away or drown them out with music.
When it gets dark out, I choose a chain hotel off the highway. I figure once I’ve eaten, showered, and rested, I can come up with a better long-term plan.
Check in is easy, since I’m not exactly at a popular destination, and once I drop my bags on the floor of my hotel room and splay out on the bed, I check my phone.
There are a concerning number of missed calls from an LA-based number, coupled with voicemails. I listen to them, noting Aaron’s nonplussed voice and his instruction for me to call him so we can put our heads together and come at this as a solid unit.
It’s not a bad idea, but I need more time to process. I decide to call him later.
There are also multiple texts from Stone.
Call me. Please.
I just got home.
I can fix this.
The last one gets me the most.
Let me be with you.
My knuckles go white against the phone. I let it fall onto my chest as I stare at the ceiling, wondering if walking away from Stone was the best decision.
Yes, he hurt me deeply all those years ago, but this time with him has shown me he’s changed. He’s a man now, one with a public life and strangers who live off his scandals and feast on his mistakes. Everything he does is picked apart and discerned. If I stayed with him, I’d be flayed open. The little girl I never had will become public property.
And unlike him, I didn’t choose this.
My phone vibrates against my chest. I think about ignoring it until I reason it could be Mrs. Stalinski, so I check the display.
