Page 49 of Rooke
Andrew, not in Texas… Andrew, showing up in my life again after all this time, shouting at me, so, so disappointed all over again.
“Open your eyes, baby. Come on, open them up for me. Come on. Can you sit up? Oh, god…what the…fuck?”
I groan, trying to free myself from the hands of my ex-husband. Who the fuck does he think he is, breaking in here, trying to tell me what the fuck I should do? How dare he come back here? How dare he—
My stomach heaves as he turns me over. Bright flashes of light explode behind my eyes. I try to open them, and everything is blurry, distorted, bent out of shape. Andrew’s face doesn’t look right. His hair is dark. His eyes are—
Rooke.
Oh god, no. Rooke has broken into my house, not Andrew. Rooke is bent down, frantically working over me, trying to get me to sit up. I can’t fucking breathe.
“Goddamnit, Sasha,” he hisses. “What have you done?”
******
“Makes a change from our regulars. I’ve had to pump the stomachs of a bunch of frat kids over the past week, but not a thirty-year-old housewife. Do you think she drank on meds? She’s pretty bruised up. Looks like she’s been cage fighting with Tyson or something.”
I can hear the nurses talking outside my cubicle. I can hear a number of disturbing things—the sound of a heart monitor, the sound of a child crying somewhere in a distant room, a man and a woman arguing loudly in Russian somewhere closer—but the nurses talking about me is the most upsetting thing to reach my ears.
“Who knows? I wouldn’t be all that surprised if she just drank herself this way though. Happens more often than you’d think. Husband’s cheating, spends too many late nights at the office ‘working’. Doesn’t pay her any attention. Kids are ungrateful little shits, running riot all the time. A vodka soda seems like a good idea. Then a second sounds like an even better idea. Suddenly you’re passed out in your hallway in a pool of your own puke and your nephew’s breaking down the door to scrape you off the floor.”
Ha.Nephew. I close my eyes, hoping to drown out the sound of the chatter, but it doesn’t help. It feels like my veins are filled with ice water. I’m chilled to the bone, and yet my skin is slick with sweat. I don’t know how long I’ve been here or what really happened to land me in the hospital, but I have a pretty decent idea. I do remember Rooke lifting me from the floor and carrying me in his arms. I do remember the sound of broken glass crunching under his boots.
Then…
Blackness.
I open my eyes, slightly freaked by the memory of the nothingness that took hold of me. The curtain surrounding my bay twitches slightly, and half a face appears—one blue eye, and one nostril and some bright pink lipstick. The eye goes wide, and the curtain falls back into place.
“She’sawake,” the nurse hisses. “Shit, you don’t think she heard…?” There’s a scuffling sound, and the curtain opens fully, revealing a tall guy in his forties wearing a white lab coat and a checked button-down shirt. He looks pissed. The two nurses follow him into the bay, eyes cast to the floor, their cheeks rosy. Looks like they just got busted gossiping about me.
“Good evening, Ms. Connor. I’m Doctor Elias Soames. This is Nurse Wheatley and Nurse Diddick. I’m sure you’re acquainted with them by now.”
“You could say that.” My throat hurts when I speak, raw, like I’ve been throwing up for hours and hours. Doctor Soames must see me wince, because he reaches into his pocket and produces a slim black penlight and leans over me.
“Open for me,” he says. I open my mouth, and he frowns gently as he inspects me. “Yes, unfortunately your throat is a little enflamed. Not uncommon when you’ve had your stomach pumped. Tell me, how are you feeling?”
“Like I just got run over. And then backed over.”
“Well, I suppose that’s what you get when you drink the well dry. Your blood alcohol level was dangerously high, Ms. Connor. Is this something that happens regularly?”
Oh god. This can’t be happening. I want to pull the sheets over my head and hide myself away but that doesn’t seem like a particularly adult way of handling the situation. “No,” I say. “It doesn’t. Today’s just…just particularly hard for me is all.”
Soames nods in a businesslike manner. “Okay. I’m going to have to take your word for that. Please know there’s help available here if you need it, however. All you have to do is reach out. Now, there’s a young man in the waiting area that’s been asking to see you for the last six hours. We advised him he’d be better off going home and waiting for you to call, but—”
“It’s fine. You can let him in.” I’d love for them to send Rooke away. I’m so humiliated right now. What did I look like, sprawled out on the floor like that? And in a pool of my own vomit, no less. Perfect. It would be so much better if I could just hide here for another few hours, then go home and hide in my shame for a couple of days before I see him again, but if there’s one thing I know about Rooke Blackheath, it’s that he’s a stubborn and persistent man. So long as I’m here, he won’t just go home. He’ll raise hell until he’s either been arrested or he’s laid eyes on me, and I don’t want him getting into trouble. Not because of me.
Soames shoots an acidic glance at one of the nurses, who scurries off. The other nurse looks lost for a moment, and then she turns tail and bolts, too. Soames shakes his head ever so slightly. “Please accept my apologies on their behalf. Idle chit chat is more rife in this hospital than the common cold. They’ll be getting a stern talking to, I promise.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure they’re just saying what everyone else is thinking anyway.”
He collects my chart from the foot of my bed and makes a few scribbled notes on it, then replaces it. “We’ll keep you here for another hour or so. Once your fluids are back up, you’ll be free to go home. Might I make a suggestion, Ms. Connor?”
I have a feeling I’m not going to like this suggestion.
“Don’t let what other people think affect you,” he says. “There are seven and a half billion people in this world, and every single one of them has an opinion. The only opinion that should matter to you is yours. And your beau’s, of course.”
I give him a weak smile. “Soyoudon’t think he’s my nephew, then?”
