Page 46 of Wreckage of Us
“Because I… I… I…” I turn my head to look at Morgan helplessly.
“Hi,” she gets in between me and the man of my dreams. “Dylan, is it?”
“Who are you?” he watches her with suspicion.
“My name is Morgan Foster.” She sounds so official and cool as a cucumber. She really makes a great bitch. “I am Becca’s direct supervisor,” she informs Dylan. “Becca just requested the rest of the day off, and I approved it. She needs a ride home.”
Dylan doesn’t acknowledge her, just continues to stare at me.
“You need to go home?” he verifies.
“I do,” I nod in confirmation.
“But you just got here…”
“I know,” I admit. “But I just lost my shit when Morgan asked me if I was okay,” I start explaining, feeling as if my brain just imploded. “I got upset because Claire Peters is back,” I say, my eyes filling with water again. “And I looked her chart up,” I point toward the computer where all the bad things happened.
“Who’s Claire Peters?” Dylan shakes his head in confusion. I completely ignore his question.
“I started crying, so Morgan pulled me into that room,” I point toward the examination room, then look at Morgan. “Thank you so much for all the help, Morgan,” I give her a teary smile. She brings her arm up and covers her mouth with her hand, looking like she’s fighting back a smile.
“Don’t mention it,” she waves my gratitude off.
“Bex,” Dylan’s hands turn me back toward him where I fall into him, my forehead digging into his chest. “It’ll be okay, babe,” he kisses the top of my head. “I promise.”
Noise from down the hallway signals people coming our way.
“Let me grab my bag,” I whisper, worried that someone will hear my voice and know I was crying. I push away from Dylan, then rush toward the locker room. I mess up my combination twice before the locker door finally pops open. I grab my purse and run back out.
“Thank you so much, Morgan,” I call out on our way out.
“Wait,” she stops us. “Here’s my cell phone number.” She hands me a business card with her personal number written on the back. “Call me later to tell me you’re okay, got it?”
“Got it!” I grin at her, then turn back toward Dylan. He grabs me by the hand and rushes me outside and into the truck he drove me in this morning.
“I’m so sorry you had to turn around for me, Dylan,” I tell him as soon as he gets in the driver’s seat.
“Babe,” he grabs me by the back of my head, my very favorite move of his. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” I assure him, even though I most likely don’t look at all.
“Thank fuck,” he mutters right before slamming his lips over mine. He kisses me with all the passion I feel as well. I am so happy he is back in spite of all the other mixed feelings I have for him.
“What the hell happened?” he asks once our lips finally part. “Can you just stay home until this shit show is resolved?”
“I don’t know, Dylan,” I fidget in my seat. “This is not a good time for me not to have a steady income…”
“I got money,” he assures me. “Fuck the steady income, okay?” he shakes my head a little. “Your life is more important than any of this shit. Our baby’s life, too.”
“But…”
“No,” he cuts me off. “Listen to me this time, okay? Just this one time,” he insists. “I promise not to let you down, Bex.”
“I can’t quit,” I finally say and watch the disappointment on his face. “But I’ll talk to Morgan about maybe taking some sort of leave of absence. Would that work?”
“That’s perfect,” he grins at me. “Thank you.”
“Do you know how long before you guys can flush your father out?”
