Chapter 48

I fly down the hospital hallway, nearly colliding with a nurse who rounds a corner and steps in front of me.

“Careful!” she calls.

My brain is so engulfed by the swell of emotions crashing through me that I’m not even sure I call out an apology. I’m running frantically, uncaring of who or what I run into, arms pumping as I careen towards the information area.

I’m unable to stop my momentum as I approach; I slam into the reception desk ribs first, my hands loudly slapping the counter as I catch myself. That’ll leave a large, painful bruise tomorrow, but I don’t even feel it right now.

The nurse behind the desk raises a startled look at me, waiting patiently for me to rip in a breath so I can finally speak. “Yes, hi. Sorry…,” I gasp. “I’m looking for Bettina Noble. She was admitted a couple hours ago apparently. I just received the notification. I’m her daughter, Tess.”

Oh god, I can feel the tears gathering behind my eyes, threatening to make an appearance. Guilt eats at me. I’ve been so caught up in my own life since coming home that I’ve only seen my mother once, over a brief lunch. We ate in my office, as I periodically checked my emails. I didn’t even take her somewhere nice. And now she’s in the hospital and I don’t know what state she’s in or the extent of her injuries.

“Okay, Miss. Take a breath, we’ll help you find your mum, alright?”

I nod shakily, those tears pearling at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you,” I choke out, hastily wiping them away.

The hospital notified me as her next of kin thirty minutes ago. I was in the office bathroom when I answered the phone. My stomach plummeted so suddenly, I thought I was going to pass out. Everything between then and now is a little fuzzy. All I know is that my legs carried me mindlessly out of the bathroom and straight into a taxi. I left without my purse or coat, without informing Arturo.

The entire ride here I considered calling Thiago. No, consider isn’t right. I fought against the desperate urge to call him. He was the first person I thought about when I got the news. I’d wanted to bury my face in his chest, to feel his thick arms closing around me as he held me and told me she was going to be okay.

In the end, I didn’t call. We’ve never talked about these types of situations, him and I. He might be my husband, but we don’t exactly have a traditional relationship or marriage. Would he even care if I called him and told him what happened? I was afraid that he’d say he had more important things to do than take time away from his work to be there for me. I was afraid of how much hearing those words would hurt me.

Somehow, somewhere along the way I’ve given him the power to cause catastrophic, irreversible harm to me. I have no doubt that he’d use it if he knew, but the fact that he doesn’t even seem aware of it means he can hurt me without even trying. I need to be cautious of guarding myself against him, of not letting myself fall the rest of the way for him.

That damage would be fatal.

Instead, I broke the no contact rule with Tristan and texted him the news about our mum being in hospital. Then I texted Arturo and sent him the same update. I didn’t want anyone worrying unnecessarily about me.

“Found her. She’s in a private room, number thirty-two, in our East wing. What you’re going to do is…”

I thank her for the instructions and make my way to the East wing. As I come up to a door marked with the number thirty-two, a doctor comes out, closing the door behind her.

“Excuse me, were you just in with Bettina Noble?” I ask.

Pretty green eyes lift from the chart in her hands to meet mine. “I was.”

“I’m her daughter, Tess. Can you tell me what happened?”

The doctor’s gaze softens. “Your mother has a broken arm, several large hematomas to her face, and small cuts on her body.”

“Oh, god.” My hand flies to my mouth and I peer in at my mother through the bay of windows. Her arm is in a cast, but her face is turned away so I can’t see her injuries.

“She’s going to be fine, but she has a bit of a recovery ahead of her.”

“Did she say what happened?”

The doctor’s silence makes me turn back towards her. Her mouth is set in a flat line. “She says she fell.”

The pit in my stomach widens into a cavernous crater. It’s not the first time I’ve heard my mum use that excuse and it’s never been because she actually fell. I know exactly what it means.

“I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn’t deviate from her original explanation.”

I shake my head, sadly. “She won’t.”

“It’s not the first time?”

“No.”

The doctor looks at my mum’s file, then back at me. “She’s only been admitted to the hospital once before and it was for a ski related fracture. No other previous visits.” To make sure I understand, she adds plainly. “He’s escalating.”

I nod, the mass in my throat thick and obstructive.

“I can give you the address of a shelter.”

“She’ll never go.” I look back at my mum. “She has the resources to leave, she just…won’t.”

“It’s hard for a lot of women. But when a situation escalates like this,” she pauses. “Leaving becomes a matter of life and death.”

“I understand.”

The doctor puts a reassuring hand on my upper arm, giving me a sympathetic look. I’m struck by her warmth. “You can go in there and see her. I’m Dr. Cavanaugh. Ask for me at the desk or call me if you have any questions,” she says, handing me her business card.

“I will, thank you.”

She starts to walk away but then stops and turns back towards me. “Oh, I forgot to mention we had to give your mother some intravenous pain medication. Fair warning, it should be hitting soon. She might be a little loopy but she’ll eventually go to sleep and it’ll wear off.”

When I open the door to her room, my mum’s head turns towards me and a happy expression crosses her face. I barely notice it because all I can focus on are the mottled red and purple bruises covering half her face. I sag against the door, the emotion right back in my throat. She doesn’t even look like my mum right now.

And my father did that.

“Darling,” she sings, extending her uninjured hand towards me. “You didn’t need to take time off work to come see me. But come in, come in.”

She says it like I’m visiting her in her boudoir at home, not a hospital room where she’s surrounded by half a dozen beeping machines.

“Mum,” I croak out, my voice breaking. I clear my throat to rid myself of the obstruction and walk over to her bedside. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Oh, nothing serious, darling. A little fall down the stairs but they’ve patched me up. I’ll be back in top form before you know it.”

“Why didn’t you tell them dad did this to you?”

She flinches and I hate it. I hate that I made her react that way when she’s injured. I hate that she’s so concerned with keeping up appearances that she’ll never leave him. But more than anything, I hate that bringing him up has that effect on her.

“Because it’s not true,” she says quietly, averting her gaze.

“What if he comes here?” She pales. I continue anyway. “What is it going to take for you to finally tell the truth? How badly does he need to hurt you next time?”

“Oh darling, you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t.” I say, my jaw locking in place. “What if it was me?”

Her eyes fly up to mine. “What do you mean?”

“Remember Franklin, from work? The man he made me dance with at the charity gala?” She nods. “He attacked me at the office. He hurt me. He tried to sexually assault me. He would have succeeded if Thiago hadn’t intervened.”

Thiago and my mum haven’t met yet. I’ve been so busy trying to settle into my new reality, my marriage, that I never even considered setting something up. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he’d even be interested. He often speaks with his dad on the phone, but hasn’t once introduced me either.

Her eyes widen in horror. They have a hard time focusing on my face for a second, but then she clutches my hands in hers. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I hope karma catches up with him in the end.”

If only she knew that it already has, in the form of my merciless husband.

I squeeze her hands in return. “Have that same empathy for yourself. Please, Mum. If it’s unacceptable to you that it happen to me, then the same should apply to you.”

When her eyes unfocus again, I remember the doctor’s words about the IV drip. She spreads her hands on her duvet, marveling at her fingers. “Gosh, what beautiful linens.”

I look down at the drab hospital bedding knowing that sober Bettina Noble would judge them to be approximately fifteen levels below hideous.

Her eyes snap up to a spot just above my shoulder. “Don’t turn around just yet but there’s an incredibly handsome man staring at me through the windows.”

I snort. “What kind of drugs are they giving you?”

She sighs wistfully, a longing look on her features. “A face that chiseled must make for a wonderful seat. I sure hope someone’s taking him for a ride. Alas, I’m no longer in the appropriate age bracket or I might be tempted.”

“Mum!” I exclaim, flushing beet red. Hearing my uptight, etiquette-conscious mother say that is absolutely shocking, and frankly, a bit traumatizing. The unexpected levity caused by the introduction of drugs into this tragic moment considerably lightens the weight in my stomach. “What’s gotten into you?” Looking up at the IV bag, I mutter, “They must have you hooked up to the really good stuff.”

“Oh, he’s coming in Tessie,” my mom says excitedly. I hear the door open but I’m so caught up in her use of my nickname that I don’t acknowledge it. She hasn’t called me that since I was fifteen. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

“Tess.”

My heart trips hopelessly in my chest at the sound of that deep voice. My pulse speeds up, the mad organ banging against my ribcage like it’s trying to break itself out. If it could, it would run across the room and throw itself straight at the man who just walked in.

Unfortunately, my husband has turned my heart into a bit of an attention-seeking slut where he’s concerned.

When I turn around, Thiago is standing in the doorway wearing a long black coat over his customary all black suit, one hand buried deep in his pockets with an intense yet unreadable look on his face. The other hand holds my coat and purse tightly in his fist. Those tattoos crawl up his neck like tentacles reaching out to me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask huskily, so happy to see him that my breathing deregulates.

He steps into the room, coming closer. Behind him, Arturo reaches in and closes the door, but not before throwing me a dark glare.

Okay, I probably deserve that one.

Thiago comes to a stop inches from my body, his large form towering over me as he stares down into my face. He eyes me intently for long moments before he speaks.

“Showing up for you,” he replies, eyes locking on mine and flashing. “Something I could have done earlier if you’d called me yourself instead of forcing Arturo to handle it.”

There’s a hint of reproach in his tone. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe he was genuinely upset that I didn’t call. But that’s not possible.

I swallow thickly and continue whispering, staying out of my mum’s earshot.

“I didn’t think it was important,” Looking down, I quickly clarify. “That it would be important to you, I mean. I know you’re busy, I didn’t want to pull you away from work just to deal with my problems. I can handle it, I always have.”

Thiago takes a deep breath, his chest settling at the bottom of a slow exhale. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he corrects. “When I said you were mine, I didn’t mean just on the good days. Your problems also belong to me; I’m as possessive of your rainy days as I am your sunny ones. Got it?”

My cheeks warm and I nod, whispering. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to deal with these things alone anymore. You have me now.”

That mass is back in my throat for an altogether different reason now. He told me once that he could be sweet to me if I’d just let him. He has been. The butterflies that take flight in my stomach are worrisome, a reflection of how hooked I am on him.

His presence alone has brought a lightness to my body that wasn’t there five minutes earlier, even though part of me still has a hard time reconciling the fact that the violent psycho and the unexpectedly supportive husband are the same person.

Thiago palms the side of my neck, forcing my face back up towards his. His thumb brushes affectionately back and forth across my cheek, that same hot-blooded intensity still shining in his gaze. “And no more ditching your escort. I don’t ever want to get another panicked call telling me that you left Arturo behind and disappeared alone into the streets of London.”

Part of me wants to rail at him that I’m not a prisoner, but the urgent undertone in his voice makes me pause.

Softer, he admits, “For a moment, I thought he was calling to tell me that you’d run away again.”

My heart seizes. I reacted on autopilot when I heard my mum was in the hospital so I can’t regret the way I handled it, but I am remorseful that I didn’t even stop to consider how my actions might be perceived by him.

Reaching for his hand, I take it in mine and give it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “I won’t, I promise.”

He doesn’t clarify if what I’m promising is not to run from him again or not to go anywhere without my escort. I wish he’d ask.

“Good girl,” he praises, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss on my forehead.

Then he moves past me and walks up to the hospital bed. I turn to find my mum staring up at him with intrigued eyes. I’m ashamed to admit I’d temporarily forgotten she was there. That’s how all-consuming he is.

“Hello, Mrs. Noble. I’m—”

“A word of warning,” I interrupt as I move to the other side of the bed. “She’s high as a kite.”

His lips twitch in amusement.

I can’t believe they’re meeting under these circumstances. He looks down to find my mum wagging a finger up at him in reproach.

“You’re the one who’s in need of a warning, flirting with my daughter and looking at her like you just did. She’s married, you know.”

I cover my laugh with a cough. She must not recognize Thiago from our wedding announcement. I really do need to organize a brunch for them to meet, preferably at a time when she’s sober.

Thiago’s eyes lift slowly to mine, mirth shining in his golden irises. “Is she?” he asks unhurriedly, playing along.

“Recently, yes, and I doubt her husband would like another man kissing her the way you just did.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to correct her when he answers.

“I know for a fact he wouldn’t like that at all.” The humor slowly disappears, his gaze turning languid and possessive as it settles on me. My belly flips as unexpected warmth unfurls in my stomach at his heavy perusal. His words rumble thickly in his chest. “He’s a very lucky man to get to call her his.”

“Yes, he is,” my mum answers, taking my hand and squeezing it tightly. “I just hope he knows it.”

“He does.”

Thiago’s answer slips effortlessly past his lips. Heat flares across my skin at the possessive way he stares at me. A girl could believe she was the center of his universe if he kept looking at her like that for too much longer.

His gaze trails back down to my mum. “Are you being taken care of?”

“Oh yes, I have lovely doctors.”

“They told me what happened to you. Their theory of what really happened.”

I gulp, emotion clogging my throat. She’s never been confronted about this by someone other than Tristan or myself. I know she’s not likely to give any more away to him than she did to us, but his deep voice is so intimidating that it impacts her anyway.

She winces and looks down. There’s shame wafting off of her and it makes me so, so angry. My father should be ashamed of what he did, not her.

Thiago takes note of her reaction, understanding in a split second what he’s dealing with.

“It’s not my place to make you talk about things you’re not ready to discuss. That’s not why I’m here. I wanted you to know there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. A guard will be positioned at your door 24/7. He’ll make sure nobody comes in unless you expressly allow them to. He’ll stay until you’re discharged and will remain with you in your home until we can guarantee you won’t fall ever again. Alright?”

Thiago’s unexpected act of kindness and thoughtfulness does absolute numbers to the poor organ in my chest that I’ve been trying to protect from his assault, in vain. I can’t believe the extent he’s willing to go for her.

For the first time ever, there’s someone other than Tristan standing by my side and helping me through the lowest moments in my life and I want to throw myself in his arms to express my gratitude.

Her eyes blink slowly, sleep coming to pull her under. “Why are you helping me?” she asks, resting back against the pillows. Her eyes close. “I don’t even know you,” she adds foggily.

I assume she’s drifted off into drug-induced sleep but then her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she looks more lucid than she has in the last ten minutes as she waits expectantly for a response from him.

Thiago places a hand on her shoulder and speaks to her with a kind of evocative sincerity that echoes in every word.

“For your daughter,” he explains. “Because it fucking kills me when she’s sad.”