Page 12 of The Surrender
I feel Jude’s head turn, and he nods before slowly pulling me out of his chest and wiping my eyes. “First aid is here.” A man appears, taking in the blood before sweeping a hand out in a gesture towards the back of reception. Of course they want to remove the bleeding, blubbering lady from the bustling lobby. “Come,” Jude says, helping me up and tucking me into his side. He reaches for my face and pushes it into his chest as he walks me, following the first-aider. We’re led into a room and Jude sits me down.
“And what have we here?” the man asks, pulling a chair over and taking my hand.
“She’s cut herself,” Jude answers. “It looks nasty.”
The first-aider eases the material back and flinches. “Yes, a hospital visit for you, my dear. I’ll get this covered for now.”
I look away from the cut on the edge of my palm, which is still oozing. “Thank you.”
Jude takes his phone to his ear. “I’ll meet you in Air Street; I need to get Amelia to a hospital,” he says, hanging up and facing me. His eyes tell me not to challenge him.
And I don’t.
We were only able to leave the hotel after completing an accident report, and the drive to the nearest hospital was bathed in an uncomfortable silence, as was the two-hour wait in the accident and emergency department, with Jude often standing and pacing, his impatience growing minute by minute. Because of my silence? Because of my distance? Because of the wait?
When a nurse eventually calls my name, Jude doesn’t ask if I want him to accompany me, and instead slips an arm around my waist and walks me as we follow the nurse to a private room off the corridor. His attentiveness isn’t helping my constant wavering, flimsy resolve to protect my heart.
The nurse checks my hand and concludes Dermabond won’t be suitable due to the location of the wound on my palm. So stitches it is. Ten of them. “And how did you end up with a nasty cut like this?” she asks.
I clench my teeth as she starts to sew me up, her eyes moving to Jude every now and then. He’s sitting in the corner with his head in his hands, and it hits me. She thinks he did this? I turn my gaze onto her, seeing the concern in her eyes. “No,” I say quietly, shaking my head, but I’m very aware that her training has probably told her a victim might protect their partner.Shit.“It was my brother’s wedding. It was a long day, too much to drink. I was a little fuzzy this morning. Clumsy.” And now I’m lying, but I can hear myself trying to explain, and it doesn’t sound good for Jude.
He looks up briefly from his place in the corner and shakes his head in despair before hiding again in his hands.
“Was it a lovely day?” the nurse asks.
“Stunning.” I smile, and she gives me a forced one in return, telling me she’s not convinced Jude didn’t do this.
“Okay, do your best not to get it too wet. I’ll get you some spare dressings to take home with you,” she says, pulling off her latex gloves and dropping them in a bin. “Give me a moment.” She casts her eyes over to Jude again, and I wilt. She’s reluctant to leave me alone with him.
“I can’t tell you how wrong you are.” I’m perfectly safe with Jude. My heart, though?
She nods, still obviously torn, but she leaves the room.
I slip off the edge of the bed and assess my palm, thankful it’s not my right one.
Jude comes out of his hiding place again and rakes both hands through his hair, standing. “She thinks I did that to you.”
“It’s her job to be vigilant.” I pick up my bag and sling it across my body. “Thanks for bringing me. You don’t have to wait around any longer.”
“I’d wait forever.”
I shoot my eyes to his, stilling where I stand, and he breathes out, moving in and sitting me back on the edge of the bed. Reaching for my thighs, he spreads them wide and puts himself between them, taking my uninjured hand gently and resting it on his hip before directing my face up to his. “Stop, Jude.”
“Why?”
Because I’m not strong enough to stop myself.
“You’ve got to let me fix this, Amelia.”
I haven’tgotto let him do anything. And if I do let him fix this, it can be broken again. “Why was she in your apartment?” I ask. “You cooked for her.”
“I cooked for one. Katherine let herself in and helped herself to some pasta and wine.”
“You had her lipstick on your collar, Jude.” It’s so fucking cliché. “So it looked like she helped herself to you as well.”
“Nothing happened,” he grates, his palms hardening on my cheeks. “She tried, I rejected her, and—”
“She stayed for pasta and wine.”
