Page 15 of The Billionaire's Bride
"How about right now?" Weston walks in, this time dressed in jeans and button-down shirt, with his white coat on top. "Your test results are all fine. You’re free to leave."
"Hallelujah." Edward swings his legs over and stands. "About fucking time."
Weston stares at him, "I can’t remember the last time I heard you swear so much."
"Maybe before he joined the seminary?" I volunteer.
"So, it’s definitely over, then?" Weston makes some notes on his clipboard, his voice absentminded in the way of most doctors when they are processing a few different streams of thought in their mind.
"What is?"
"Your priesthood?"
Edward stills. "Seems that way," he says, in a voice devoid of all emotion.
"How do you feel about that?"
"About what?"
Weston pins him with a stare. "Don’t bullshit me, Ed," he snaps. "Being a priest was a big part of your life. How are you adjusting to life in the aftermath?"
"I…" He rolls his shoulders. "I am not sure yet, and that’s the honest truth."
"Hmm." Weston looks him up and down. "You have a place to go, now that the rectory is out for you?"
"I’m trying to figure that out." He glances around, heads for the chair in the corner where his clothes have been folded. He pulls off the sling, winces, then struggles into his jeans and shirt. Then he sits in the chair to put on his shoes and looks up at us. "What?" he growls.
"You know you can stay with any of us, right?" Weston adds.
Not with me, though.I fold my arms across my chest and Weston slaps the back of my head. "What the fuck?" I sputter. "Seriously, Doc."
"Aren’t you forgetting something, asshole?" Weston growls.
"What, what?" I glare at him. Weston glowers back and I blow out a breath. "Yeah, yeah, you can stay with me." I mumble, "It’s a studio, but hey, I am sure we can work something out."
"Oh, fuck off, Masters," Edward mutters. "I am sure you’d be glad if I took you up on your offer, but it’s not happening. I am staying with Ava."
Anger thrums at my temples and I shove it back.Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. For Ava’s sake.You need to win her over and that’s not going to happen unless you get back in her good books.
Which means, having to pretend to get along with your once friend.It’s the only way she’ll realize that you are serious about her.Fuck! I don’t have a choice. I am going to have to grit my teeth and get through this.
"You ready to go?" I say through clenched teeth.
"You offering me a ride?" Edward arches an eyebrow.
"For my sins." I rise to my feet, heading for the door. "Don’t blame me if you can’t keep up."
Forty-five minutes later, we draw up in front of Ava’s home. The drive had been tense. Neither of us had spoken and I had turned on the radio—because, yeah… That’s how much of a coward I am. I figured it was best to fill the silence so neither of us had to speak. Fucking hell, the last I checked I still had my balls about me, so why the hell can’t I have a direct conversation with this man I’ve known more than half my life? Maybe some things are best left unsaid?Like, why the fuck didn’t you called in all those years you had my phone number… And when you finally did, it was only because you needed my help with something?Typical Edward.
To the rest of the Seven, he’s always been the voice of reason. The calm and collected teen who’d become a voice of conscience for them. Me? I know better.
I know that hidden under that exterior is a man who is angry with the world, with himself, with everything that happened to us when we were kidnapped. I know, because I was there. I know, because I bore the brunt of what happened during the incident, along with Edward.
I know, because neither of us have ever discussed what happened during that time. Not with each other… And definitely not, with the rest of the Seven. There are some things you take with you to the grave, for if you mention them aloud, they became real. Too real. To the point that it would consume your every waking moment. Some things… You are never prepared to face, no matter how much time passes. Some things are best forgotten, because to acknowledge them would mean you have to face the consequences of the aftermath, something which I refuse to deal with.
I park the car, shove open the door, and head up the garden path. When I unlock her front door, he stiffens. "You have a key?"
Clearly, I do. I push the door, walk through, and drop the keys on the table in the hallway. I leaf through her mail, just to irritate him, then gesture to the couch. "Make yourself at home."
