Page 97 of Six Month Wife
I step forward, keeping my voice steady. “This started as business, sure, Adair. But it’s more than that now. You’re not part of some deal. I see you, what you’ve built, what you’re fighting so hard for. I won’t screw you over to save a few dollars and make him happy. And if you screw me over in the end, like he keeps saying, then oh, well. I'm willing to take that risk. Because I believe in you and us.”
She stares at me, remaining guarded, but I can tell she's thinking.
“Well, this article screwed me, Parker. I’ll never have a business here in Palm Beach, now.”
“I'll fix it.”
“How do you propose to do that? Are you going to DCto beat your father up, sue the journalist? You can't take these words out of the universe. They are there forever, now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “I’m staying in Palm Beach. And whatever you want to do from here, annul, keep going, walk away, I’ll respect it. But what we agreed to, the money? That doesn’t change. And I’ll walk through fire to make sure everyone knows this was all me, not you.”
Her eyes narrow. “So you’re saying we can put an end to this today, and you’ll still honor the money we agreed to from the start? It won’t be voided by ending it earlier than the six months?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“As a heart attack. The ball is in your court, and I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you choose won't change anything.”
The silence hangs a second longer. Then her shoulders drop. “Alright. Because if I had to throw you out twice in one week, I was gonna need stronger coffee.”
I almost smile.
“Come in,” she mutters, stepping back to let me in. “If we are going to stand up to this, we need a plan.”
The hospital is quieterthan usual, but I can still hear the whispers.
Not actual words, but the shift in tone when I walk past a nurse’s station. The not-so-subtle glances from the surgery floor receptionist, who never used to look at me twice. I don’t need a headline above my head to know they’ve all seen it.
I lean against the counter, tapping my pen against my clipboard like I’m studying the board.
Everyone waiting has minor cases. There are a couple of sprains, and someone with chest pain waiting for labs, which is marked as a likely panic attack.
There’s nothing urgent, but all of it will require me to dive in and lose myself.
My brain keeps circling back to this morning. The article. Adair’s voice, flat and steady while she asked if I was going to screw her over. The fact that she still opened the door, but didn’t let me in.
It's like every time we take a step forward, we are shoved three steps back.
She’s not angry or bitter, surprisingly. But I can see, even in the short time since this exploded, that she's being more careful now. Calculating. Like she’s already scanning for exits, planning her next move.
I don’t blame her.
But it still guts me.
All I want is for her to trust me. To seeme, not Leeland’s shadow. But I know she's pulling back and retreating behind those polished walls she wears like armor.
And the worst part is, I get it. I’d pull back, too, if the roles were reversed.
“Dr. Matthews.”
Gunner’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. He’s standing at the edge of the nurses’ station, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable. “Got a minute?”
If he's calling me "Dr. Matthews" instead of Parker, this must not be good.
“Yes, sorry. I was zoned out.” I straighten, grateful for the distraction.
I nod slowly, heart thudding with that old, familiar pull.This is the path I thought I’d never find. And now it’s right in front of me.
