Chapter 18: One Bossy Proposal: An Enemies to Lovers Romance: Chapter 18

Icould cut out my own goddamned tongue.

As soon as the words left my mouth, Dakota shirked away from me, sobbing into Cheryl’s arms.

I am a supreme dumbass. A miserable, unthinking fuck.

That’s what happens when you run your mouth without thinking first.

Worm boy pissed me off, yeah, but he triggered something deeper.

Another time. Another place. Another heart broken and another clown begging for pain.

Only, that time I lashed out like a gorilla. I did serious damage to that cheating asshole, and if it wasn’t for that last-minute settlement, he might’ve ended my career.

Is that what I’m doing again?

Throwing hands at a man because I’m too afraid of being hurt again? And no, I don’t mean the knife the little prick pulled. At least this time, I’ll be covered legally since he tried to come at me with a weapon.

I wish it was just him.

Hearing Nevermore say the l-word detonated ten tons of raw, emotional violence in my gut.

It came down on my head like an avalanche in red.

I’m in a relationship with my employee.

Well, fuck, in a relationship. I’m sure she’ll have every reason to hate me now after this ironic malfunction.

I stood up for her, and then I turned around and did the same shit he did.

I’m not even sure I deserve her any more than the gibbering heap they just dragged off in handcuffs.

I’ve officially lost control over a woman.

Something I swore would never happen a second time.

Clearly, I couldn’t stand to watch him hurt her. But it turned me into that violent, bristling ball of pure rage I swore I wouldn’t become after a woman betrayed me once. After I watched everyone I love have their hearts shredded by tragedy.

I vowed to live like a calm, focused shell of a human being, and now I’m out like a hermit crab, snapping at everyone.

Worst of all, hurting the woman who drew me out in the first place.

“Okay, guys—show’s over. Nothing else to see here. So let’s grab some rides back to the office,” Anna says with a nervous look at me.

She’s a good team leader. The folks clustered around us listen and start moving.

Her eyes stay on me though, waiting for an explanation I don’t have.

“What are you looking at, Miss Patel?” I snap. “Your concern is noted. However, I would have done the same thing for you if some maniac accosted you with a knife. It was nothing.”

Nothing.

Right.

I’ve got to sort this out, but first I need to stop lying.

Anna purses her lips. “Bossman, I appreciate you’d try to stand up for me, but honestly? If you did it by telling someone I was and then that there’s no relationship, I’d resign ASAP. I wouldn’t even know how to handle coming in the next day.”

I get the sense that she isn’t done.

“But?” I urge after a silence.

“Well…” She looks at the ground. “I saw what you were like before he came charging in.”

I glance away from her, hating what’s coming next.

“…maybe you didn’t want everyone to find out this way, but I’d man up and apologize,” she says.

“Apologize for what?” I bite off.

She smiles nervously, glowing in the sun.

“There was nothing fake about how you two were acting during the shoot, and especially not after it. I’d bet every dollar I own she’d still be here crying if Cheryl hadn’t left with her…”

Fuck, that guts me.

The coolest girl I know couldn’t play it cool after my words machine gunned her heart.

This is why people shouldn’t mess with relationships.

They crawl up in your head and go ballistic, leaving nothing but smoking debris behind.

I also know damn well Anna’s right. I have to apologize to Dakota and soon. I’m just not sure if it’ll matter.

If Dakota told everyone I didn’t matter to her when I needed her, I might not forgive and forget either.

“Hey, um, Mr. Burns?” Anna meets my eyes.

“Yes?”

“I know you’re my boss. I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but I really hope you—umm—fix whatever it is you’ve done. She’s very talented. The wedding launch won’t be easy without her around, and then there’s the whole engagement interview we promised a couple publications. If people find out it’s all a sham now—”

The entire company loses credibility and it damages the line.

Goddamn, how deep did I dig my grave?

I put my foot in my mouth one time and risk losing Dakota and an entire product line.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it with a frustrated scowl.

Then again, I haven’t pulled the words together for a proper groveling yet. I have no idea what to say. There’s no easy way to make this better.

I glance at the screen.

WYATT flashes up at me.

Oh, shit. It’s the burner phone I bought him that he’s never used, and probably never would unless he’s in real trouble.

I flick the green icon.

“Wyatt? What’s happening?” I lash out, my heart having a fit in my chest.

“Is this Lincoln Burns?” a woman asks.

“Yes, speaking,” I say.

“My name is Jennifer Green. I’m a nurse with Seattle Memorial—”

“Nurse? Is Wyatt okay?”

“Your number is the only contact we found in his phone. He had no ID. The girl who made the nine-one-one call—”

“Nine-one-one? What the hell happened?” Sweat rolls down the back of my neck.

“I think you should come here immediately,” she says carefully.

“Okay, on my way. Where?”

“Intensive care.”

Dark scenarios flash through my brain, each more terrible than the last. Some screwball at knife point trying to jack his prosthetic again. A robbery over his coffee can cash. What if he went foraging and fell, or—

“Fuck!” I’m growling, running across the park, pulling up an Uber on the way.

“Wait, sir, before you hang up, could you tell me his last name?” The nurse is still on the line. “I don’t have a way to trace his family without it.”

“His name is Wyatt Emory.” I rattle off his date of birth and hang up, dragging a hand over my face.

What else can fuck me over today?

I step in the elevator and punch the button for the ninth floor.

My stomach lurches, ready to barf up lunch.

I have no idea what to expect or how bad he is. I always this might happen, but it doesn’t soften the reality one bit.

The elevator opens and I head to the nurses’ station. “I’m here to talk to Jennifer Green about Wyatt Emory,” I tell the man behind the computer.

He swivels around in his chair. “Jennifer, you’ve finally got someone here who might know something about your new intake.”

“Are you Mr. Burns?” A slender brunette comes to the counter.

“Yes, how is he?”

Her mouth forms a tight line. “Are you family?”

“Brothers.” It’s not a lie.

Once a Marine, always a Marine, and for us, it’s a brotherhood bound in blood.

She nods. “He’s not in good shape, I’m afraid. He hasn’t been conscious since he was brought in for the infection.”

“What infection?” I ask.

“He has severe pneumonia. Looks like the type that creeps along for weeks and takes a sudden turn for the worse if it goes untreated,” she says.

“Who called him in?”

“You can talk to her. She’s still hanging around outside his room.”

“Can he not have visitors?”

“It’s ICU. Only family goes in. Since she was the only person here, I offered to give her a few minutes, pretending not to notice if she went into his room. But she doesn’t want to see him. It’s a little odd. She rode here in the ambulance with him.”

“Have you called his ex-wife? His son should know.”

She shakes her head.

“No. We only pulled up his information before you got here. A former wife came up but I couldn’t find a contact.”

“I’ll find her. What room is he in?”

“Nine twenty-two, the very last door at the end of the hall. You’re welcome to visit, but he’s not conscious. I just want you to know.” She points to her right.

I nod. “Thank you.”

When I reach his door, I find a familiar face in worn flannel and scuffed jeans, one cheek smudged with dirt. Probably from her nonstop gardening.

“Meadow? I’m glad you came,” I say, shaking her hand. “Thanks for calling nine-one-one. You did the right thing.”

She nods. “I was so scared. When I couldn’t wake him up this morning…I thought he was gone. He was barely breathing. They told me on the phone how to check his vitals. I felt a pulse, but not much.” She shakes her head. “He even gave me flowers a little while ago…”

“I heard,” I mutter softly.

“He’s had that terrible cough forever, and it rained hard the other night. His tent sprang a leak and he insisted he was going to fix it, but the last time I saw him awake, he was white as a sheet.” She sighs.

Dammit, I know that frustration.

Why the hell didn’t I just drag his ass home with me a long time ago?

Because I was busy with Nevermore, of course, one more epic catastrophe hanging over me.

“He’s such a nice man. I hope he makes it through this,” Meadow says, looking at me sadly.

“He’s strong as a bull. He’ll pull through, I think. I’ve seen him survive far worse than pneumonia.” I’m putting on a brave face.

Deep down, I’m scared shitless that Wyatt’s extra lives are up.

“In the war, you mean?” she asks.

I nod firmly.

“He tells me stories sometimes…”

“Yeah? He doesn’t usually talk about it.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes he needs to, and my daddy was a soldier.”

I cock my head. She gives me the far-off look I’ve seen a hundred times. It says her father probably never made it home.

“I’m sorry. Did he die in action?”

There’s pain in her expression, despite her shy smile.

“He killed himself. The insurance doesn’t pay that way, so we lost everything. Mom couldn’t handle the streets well, so…she’s gone too.”

Wow, fuck.

This girl just summed up a tragic life in two sentences, and somehow she’s still smiling.

“I’m sorry, Meadow.”

“It’s okay. We all just put one foot in front of the other and keep on moving, right?”

I nod. Wiser words today.

“I’m going to go check on Wyatt. When I leave tonight, I can give you a ride back if you need it?”

“The nurse said I can sleep in the waiting room.” She rubs at her weary eyes. “I think I’ll take the offer. It’s more comfortable.”

I nod and push open the door to Wyatt’s room.

He’s not bleeding, but he looks as bad as he did that day in Iraq. The ventilator and tubes are plugged into him like a human battery, the color drained from his face.

The nurse said he looked rough, but now her words have emphasis.

I move to the bed, clasping his arm with one hand.

“Hey, it’s Burns. Wake up soon. You’re missing out on your next cinnamon roll,” I joke with a boulder building in my throat. It’s the only thing I can stand to say.

I’m only in the room for five or ten minutes. He’s virtually comatose. What he needs right now isn’t my company, dammit.

I go back to the nurses’ station after stopping to give Meadow a few encouraging words I wish I believed.

“Where’s Jennifer?” I ask the guy at the desk.

“She’s making her rounds right now. It could be a minute before she’s back. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just want to know if there’s anything that can be done for Wyatt that hasn’t already been tried?”

“You’re next of kin, right?”

“His brother,” I half lie.

He nods. “Let me pull up his chart for the doctor’s notes…”

“He’s got IVs, and he’s on a ventilator. There are some other things we could try, but Medicaid won’t pay for it, and I don’t even know if he’s got that.”

“He has VA insurance, but—fuck, I’ll pay for anything it doesn’t cover. Spare no expense.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to his doctor and find out more for you. Do you have an ID?”

I’m so goddamned done with this.

My friend is dying, and I’m caught in this red tape. But I’ve already taken out enough rage today for one lifetime, so I’m not going to hound this guy who’s just doing his job.

“I own Haughty But Nice. I’ll pay cash for whatever he needs. Send me the paperwork for a payment method, take my card, whatever you need. Just make sure he has the best care. I have to track down his son, but I’ll leave you my number. Call me for anything financial.”

He opens a drawer, pulls out a form, and hands it to me. “This is a guarantor’s form. Just get it back to us soon.”

I promise I will.

By the time I’m stumbling outside, drawing thick breaths, I’m wrecked with a hundred regrets about not doing more for Wyatt Emory when it mattered, even if I had to twist his arm.

All the regrets in my life are catching up, threatening to crush me under their weight.

Dakota Poe feels just as lost as Wyatt, and after this fucked up day, I wonder if I’ll ever find my way home.

The next day, I’m on my way back to the hospital with red eyes after a sleepless night, but I’ve finally found Olivia’s number.

I need Micha at the hospital. Money aside, it’s all I can do for him.

Maybe Wyatt will fight for his son, because he’s sure as hell not fighting for me.

I punch the number. It rings three times.

“Hello?” A woman picks up, sounding annoyed.

“Is this Olivia?”

“Lincoln—” She hesitates.

“Still recognize my voice, huh?”

“How could I forget it? You annoyed the hell out of me for years.” She sighs. “So, what? Is he finally dead or…?”

It takes all of my willpower not to punch the seat of the car.

This woman is a piece of fucking work. My grip on the phone tightens until my fingers hurt.

“Do you give a shit?”

“Somebody must, I suppose, or you wouldn’t be calling.”

Goddamn her.

“He isn’t dead, but he could be soon. Our feelings are mutual, but this isn’t about us. Wyatt’s son deserves one last chance to see his father alive, don’t you think?” I hold my breath, trying to be diplomatic.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I think my son has seen enough of his father’s drinking and crazy outbursts.”

“He didn’t start drinking like a distillery until you abandoned him,” I snarl.

“Oh, really? And how do you know? Because I seem to remember that you weren’t the one living with him when you have like five mansions to choose from.”

“Fuck you,” I bite off, shaking in my seat. “I lived with Wyatt when neither one of us had a single goddamned wall to call our own.”

“Before or after the war? Because it’s not the same. People change, Lincoln. You sound pretty batshit yourself. No offense.”

She’s trying to rile me up.

I’m silent for a second, drawing in a breath that feels like fire.

“You knew he needed help. You abandoned him before he was even back in the States for strange dick. He told me everything.”

“Everything, huh?” She yawns loudly.

“He needed you, Olivia. He tried to work shit out—everything—and he went above and beyond. He even told me about the kid that wasn’t his—the kid you got knocked up with he offered to adopt.”

Low blow, but it gets her attention.

She falls so silent I have to look at my phone to see if she’s still there.

“That’s your fucking business, Burns. None of it! He couldn’t even handle me or Micha. His stupid ass was constantly crying and the bills…

…they’re the reason I miscarried, you fucking asshole.”

I look at the floor, remembering how totally fucked up the whole situation was.

She’s right about one thing, though.

Everyone suffered.

“Olivia, if he dies alone, that’s on your hands,” I growl. “And believe me, if I have to wait a decade, I’ll tell Micha about his old man. I’ll also be sure to let him know kept him away when he was on his deathbed.”

I hate that I have to play that card. It kills me, but what alternative do I have?

“You just—you don’t even I begged him to get checked into treatment when counseling wasn’t cutting it. He wouldn’t.” She inhales sharply, sobbing quietly now. “I’m sorry he ended up on the street, but it was either that or let him drag us down. I him not to enlist in the first place. He wanted to because his stupid dad and his stupid grandfather served. He chose his battle, his life. He lost. I picked mine, and I sure as don’t need your judgment. But your opinion of me is none of my business, just like my life isn’t yours.”

“His battle was defending his country—right or wrong—and trying like hell to come home to his family. Yours was what? To ride dick and leave? You would’ve been out the door without so much as a Dear fucking John if he wasn’t discharged early. Don’t lie to me.”

Again, that gaping silence.

Again, I know I’m right, and I hate it.

“Doesn’t matter,” she hisses. “I to give my son a normal childhood that didn’t involve a mental patient swearing and drinking and punching walls.”

“He’s not a maniac,” I bite off.

“

you mean. That was true, once.”

“Are you wishing him dead?” I ask darkly.

“No. I’ll admit that he was sane before the war. He came home a different person. I might be a bitch for leaving him, for messing around, but damn. What can I say? I value sanity in a partner?”

“You should have stood by him. He wouldn’t have lost his mind if he had more support,” I snarl, sure to the bone that’s true.

“Umm—I don’t know if you know this, but it’s not my job to fix a broken grown-ass man with one leg.”

“He loved you, bitch. If you cared about him at all, you should have made sure he got help instead of taking off.”

Again, that killing silence.

“What’s done is done. Also, Doctor Dubuque isn’t a lunatic and he’s a good role model for my son, so I can’t say I regret anything. So go to hell.”

No remorse.

Did the witch ever care about Wyatt at all?

My jaw tightens, remembering why that question stabs me so harshly today.

“Are you bringing Micha to see him or what?” I demand, the only question that matters.

“I don’t know. That’s asking a lot. I don’t really want to tell my new husband we’re road-tripping to Seattle to visit my ex. Micha has a few good memories of his father—before he came back batshit crazy—and he has a few bad ones too. He’s not at a good age to deal with all that.” Olivia pauses and sighs. “How bad off is he?”

“He might have a fifty-fifty chance of survival at best. I’m not sure he’ll pull through.” I’ve seen him like this before. She hasn’t.

Last time, he only came out the other side for her, for his family. That won’t be a reason to fight this time. I have to hope Micha is, if he can hear his son somewhere through his coma-fog.

“Well, I’ll think about it. I just don’t want my son exposed to that homeless freak and his problems…”

Can she piss me off more?

“What problems? He’s not going to be drinking in a hospital room when he can’t even open his damn eyes. He’s comatose. You’re acting like you’re taking the kid to see him in prison, but it’s a ”

“I’ll talk to Doc about it. I’m not sure.”

I can’t believe she calls her husband Doc. Like the entire world needs to be reminded she hooked herself an MD every five seconds.

“Think fast. If ‘Doc’ doesn’t give you permission, understand that I will have every carnivorous attorney I know forcing a visitation issue. I’ll call in every corporate favor I’ve ever been owed. I’ll hire a PI to find out what hospital Doctor Dubuque works for, and if I don’t know who owns it, I’ll buy out the main fucking stake.” I inhale sharply. “You, Olivia, will regret the day you were born if you don’t get that kid in here to see Wyatt. This could be their last chance. I’m sorry shit didn’t work out for you and Wyatt—actually, I’m not. It was mostly your fault. He loved you too much, the poor idiot. Now, it’s time for you to grow the hell up.”

There’s a chiming sound.

She hung up on me.

Predictable.

I mash the phone back into my pocket and let my head thunk against the window.

She doesn’t care if Wyatt lives or dies. She has no guilt for leaving him after he lost his leg and his life.

It’s hard to believe they were ever happy. When he wasn’t on duty, they were inseparable.

She cried the day we deployed.

Olivia and I never got along, but the day we left, she begged me to bring him home safe.

Whatever she is now, I loathe her.

About as much as I hate the way I haven’t had time to deliver Dakota’s well-deserved apology. I’ve been scrambling to take care of Wyatt.

Maybe it’s better this way.

If this is where love always leads, fuck everything about it.

If things ever got so bad that Dakota didn’t care if I lived or died, if I hurt her, I wouldn’t want to keep existing.

a voice in my head hisses.

Regrettably true. I’ve just got to find the nicest way possible to let her down.

This can only end in a storm of tears and anguish. What’s the point in causing us both more grief?

Louis pulls up to the hospital a minute later and lets me out.

Soon, I’m parked in the chair beside Wyatt’s bed, my pulse hammering so thick the noise engulfs my ears.

“Micha’s coming to see you. You’d better wake up to see him. Will you do that for me, man?”

No response.

I take a deep breath and lean back into the chair.

“I talked to Olivia today to get the kiddo to come. No fucking clue what you ever saw in her.” I clear my scratchy throat. “I know you two loved each other once. When the divorce first hit and you took it so hard, I thought you were overreacting. But now—shit.”

Total silence.

.

“I finally understand. If I woke up with Dakota in my arms every morning and she just up and told me one day she didn’t want it anymore—you’d have to make room in that bed. I’d lose my mind. I couldn’t run my company. I couldn’t function.”

I lurch to my feet, moving to the window, looking out at Seattle.

It’s a clear, vibrant day that already looks like summer. It contrasts sharply with the darkness swirling in my soul.

I don’t know why I’m here.

I’m just talking to myself.

This shouldn’t be so hard.

“She’s pissed at me, Wyatt,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Nevermore, I mean. It’s my fault. I deserve it and I haven’t figured out how to apologize yet. I don’t even know if I should.”

I pause, hanging my head.

“After seeing what you’ve been through, should I risk it?” I whisper. “My plan was to let her down gently, but what’s the point if it’ll just bust her up again? The best thing I can do is stay the hell away. She’ll get over it in time. I’m just one more asshole who tried to break her heart.”