Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Nineteen
Hunter
Beingan international law firm keeps us on top of the competition. Unfortunately, it also means long hours spent in the office. Days consumed by meetings in the conference room, negotiating with clients who are often on the other side of the world. For more than twenty-four hours, I’ve been working on a merger. Finally, I’ve closed on a deal that will bring millions to my client. For me, it will bring me closer to becoming a full-time partner. Being part of Everhart & Everhart is far from what everyone believes. Fitz checks all my moves and fixes anything I fuck up. That’s how it’ll be until I prove I can hold my own.
Checking my watch, I notice there’s not much time to waste. We have reservations, and I need to see my woman. Before I do anything else, I grab my phone to call her, but it’s dead. Why didn’t I notice this? Fuck, I haven’t talked to my girl all day. How is she dealing with her birthday? I wish Hazel was in town.
Calm the fuck down, Everhart.She’s okay. We agreed to communicate with each other, if she needed me, she could’ve just contacted the office. Her dark days are over.
You’re right, I shouldn’t worry so much.We’ve been in a good place for several days. Hazel has said they can last for months.
Shutting down my laptop, I carry my stuff from the conference room to my office. I put away my things and lock my door. If I hurry, we should be able to make it for the seven-thirty reservations I have at Le Bernardin. Jensen should have picked up the cake I ordered. We also have a reservation at the Four Seasons. We are spending the night, and hopefully the rest of the week making love. Not losing time, I go into Fitz’s office to use his shower and take a suit out of his collection. For the first time, I realize the convenience of his office. In record time I’m already driving down Park Ave, my phone charging as I go.
Casper, the doorman, holds my keys and tells me she arrived about thirty minutes ago. He gives me access to the penthouse. Once I step into the elevator, my phone starts buzzing. One text after another appears. Willow asking if I’m coming for lunch. How long has my phone been dead? Another is checking if we are seeing each other today. Finally, the last one freezes my heart.
Willow: I told you not to play with me. It hurts so much. I can’t bear it. Goodbye, Hunter.
Why did she text this?
The doors of the elevator open. Everything is quiet. I see the balcony doors are standing ajar. A chilly breeze taking over the place.
“Willow, baby, where are you?” I call out while looking around, going toward her bedroom. My heart thumps wildly.
The trail of clothes begins with her shoes, continues with her pants, and the white blouse is next to a box inside the bathroom.
“Willow!” I yell, staring at the red-terracotta prints, a razor, and bloodstains all over the bathroom. As I start looking around, I find a trail of copper drops coming from the hallway. How did I miss this? My heart pounds against my chest. I rush, following the trail like cookie crumbs left behind by a child who wanted to be found in the dark forest. The cold air hits my face as I step outside. It keeps me from losing my shit.
The fear increases when I see her lying on the floor, pale with streaks of dark, red blood covering her. I find her broken, alone, with wounds drawn on every part of her skin. My chest explodes. My legs become jelly and my entire body trembles. Anxiety creeps into my mind. Finding the memories I wish I can forget. Burning my insides as I see her lifeless, broken body.
I take her in my arms. Pressing what’s left of the woman I love and who left me. “I tried everything to keep you. What else did you want from me?” I scream at her, at God, at anyone who can hear it. “Don’t take her away from me!”
The strength I have helps me carry her inside the house. Looking at what’s left of her breaks my heart, and I cry.
I cry for the loss of a caring and misunderstood woman.
I cry for myself.
I cry for her family.
I cry for the future we will never have.
I feel like fire is burning my insides.
“Why did you leave me?” I whisper in her ear, kissing her cold body.
My stomach twists, my body shakes, and I’m on the verge of breaking down. Until that beat I like to listen to at night throbs weakly against my chest. She’s still with me.
Acting immediately, I rush to her room, wrapping her in a blanket. The nearest hospital is less than half a mile from here. Deciding it’s faster for me to take her there, I rush out of the building. As I see the traffic, I decide to go by foot.
“Sir, is everything okay?” the doorman asks.
“No, call Mr. Beesley.”
My legs find the strength and speed to carry her down Park Avenue. The pedestrians move aside as I continue to yell for them to move out of the way. “Emergency, coming through.” A block later I have two guys pushing the crowd in front of me.
“Where to, man?”
“Lenox,” I say, not stopping, urging Willow to stay with me, to keep fighting.
Entering the ER, a team of nurses are already waiting with a stretcher. Maybe someone sped to the hospital announcing our arrival.
“Good luck, man,” one of them says, patting my shoulder.
“Leave your names with the nurses at reception, please. Tell them it’s for Hunter Everhart,” I tell all of them as I set Willow on the stretcher.
“What happened?” The thundering round of questions begins. Date of birth, where did I find her. My relationship with her. I lie and say she’s my wife. They push her to a small room and start working on her. Willow’s hand is weak, but she doesn’t let me go.
“And you just happened to find her like this?” I don’t know who asks the question, but they look at each other and one of them leaves. “Where?”
“On the balcony, unconscious. I thought I’d lost her,” I mumble, kissing the top of her head. “We had a date. She waited for me at her grandfather’s home.”
I hear self-inflicted wounds, a few need stitches while others only need cleaning. They ask if I found anything out of the ordinary.
Are they fucking kidding me? “Do you think this is ordinary?”
“How long have you been married?” One of the nurses narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.
“Almost two weeks, spur of the moment,” I say, narrating our fake wedding. Dropping on one knee and proposing with candy. Going on our honeymoon here, in the heart of New York. I just don’t disclose that it was all pretend.
“What can you tell me about the old scars?” One of them asks as she starts an IV on her left arm.
Exhaling harder, I shake my head. There’s nothing I can say. We haven’t been having sex for long. I wasn’t comfortable asking about them. Today is a fucking disaster. She trusted me to make it special, the best. The one time she was happy about her birthday, and I failed her.
“I understand you haven’t known each other for long, but has she communicated any suicidal thoughts to you?”
Everything shifts as I repeat the question inside my head.
“Never.” I’m stoic. The voice isn’t my own. I want to run away, but I look down at the woman I brought in, and I can’t.
They continue to talk. Insisting on learning about her mental health. I have zero answers for them. It frustrates me to not have them. My questions are different from theirs. What now? This is bigger than me. I’m already broken. She broke the pieces of my heart into smaller ones. I thought I’d lost her.
Running a hand through my hair, I berate myself for not listening to my brothers. Willow can’t make it through with just my help. She needs a professional to navigate her through whatever goes on inside her head. I don’t understand what she needs. We’ve talked for hours at night. She will write a book on my back about what’s bothering her, unloading. I tried my best to make today special. Her birthday was a sensitive day for her. I’ve tried. The flowers I sent her every hour weren’t enough. Did she not like them? Did she not receive them?
The sound of a whimper resonates inside the room. I squeeze her hand.
“You’re going to be okay, baby.” The words sound weak as they leave my mouth. I don’t know if either one of us can get past what happened today.
I blame myself for not pushing her to tell me what’s inside her head.
How selfish of me!
I didn’t care enough to dig deeper into her problems. A woman rolling a small cart with a laptop on top greets me. “Does she have an insurance card with her?”
How the hell would I know? We’ve never discussed those things during our time together. Wait while I go and pick up my husband of the year award. “No.”
“How would you like to pay?”
Pulling out my wallet, I hand her my credit card. “Make sure you bill me. I’ll give you the rest of her information later.”
Because I have no fucking idea what her social security number is or her basic medical history.
Once they finish, I notice she’s wearing a hospital gown and they cover her with a flimsy blanket. They want her to stay for the next twenty-four hours while they run a psychiatric evaluation. All at once everyone leaves.
“Press this button if you need anything else.” The last nurse stops, pointing at the wall next to me.
Instead of turning, I make my requests. Willow needs to be comfortable if she’s going to be subjected to questions I know she prefers to avoid.
“Yes. A private room and a warm blanket.” She leaves, and in a matter of minutes, we are moved to a private suite with better bedding.
“Do you need us to bring food?” a new nurse asks. “We have concierge service for these rooms.”
I shake my head. My stomach is full of concern.
“Gorgeous, wake up for me.” Willow lifts her lids slowly. The agony in her eyes breaks me apart.
Sitting on the bed, I take her hand and bend closer to her ear. “Are you hungry?” She shakes her head. “Willow, I need you to help us make you feel better. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, curling herself against my body.
“Bring her apple juice and a grilled cheese sandwich.”
The nurse exits promptly. I leave to close the door and listen to her whimper again.
“What happened?” My voice is harsher than I intend, and I keep my distance. “I tried everything. The flowers, the Ring Pops—blue raspberry. I was taking you out for dinner. Why did you give up on me?”
Her lips quiver, and I feel like a fucking asshole for snapping at her when she’s in such a fragile state. “What flowers? Your assistant said you were having dinner with Jordan. I wasn’t giving up, I just . . .”
“I sent flowers. Fitz’s assistant was ordered to send them. I prepared the cards on Monday. I was in a meeting all day.”
My frustration is getting the best of me. It’s a façade covering the panic caused by almost losing her. “Why, Willow? Why are you doing this to us?”
“I thought I’d lost you. You’ve become my everything. I just had to let go of the feelings. They were poisoning me.”
She shatters, and I run to her, wrapping my arms around her. I can’t think. I crumble with her, trying to hold on to what we had the last few days. Each sob is a knife puncturing my heart. The rawness of her voice horrifies me. She’s shaking, trembling as she mumbles nonsense I can’t understand. And I feel like I’m breaking once again.
I want to run from her.
I want to save her.
I want her to save me.
I want to reach inside her and extract the pain and sadness that’s destroying her.
I want to go back to Saturday when the two of us couldn’t get enough of each other.
I want to be inside her and her inside me so we can heal each other.
But I know one moment won’t be enough to glue us together.
Tightening my hold, I try to assure her that she has me. Her face is buried in the crook of my neck. It takes a long time for her to calm. Her dinner arrives but she ignores it. The on-call psychologist tries to talk to us, but I request that he comes back later or tomorrow. Sometime around midnight, the small whimpers quiet down and her body relaxes. I watch her sleep for a long time. She looks peaceful, calm. I wish I could always see her like that. After today, that’s nearly impossible.
Some of us have wounds and scars so deep, old, and exposed they never fully close. Their souls bleed, leaving devastation along their paths. Choosing to stay and bleed with her or leave to save myself are the only choices I see, and I hate them. For tonight, I pretend we are that happy newlywed couple. Reality isn’t a choice for our broken souls. Not tonight.
