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THIRTY-FIVE

COURTNEY

Why the hell are hospitals so goddamn difficult?

“I just need to see my mom.” The words come out as nasally snorts because I’ve been doing this for almost an hour and every fucking person I talk to refuses to give me a crumb of information. “Catherine Nolan. She was brought in with a TBI and spleen laceration and?—”

“Courtney?”

I spin so fast, I almost trip over my feet. “Verna… hi…”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Verna, my favorite nurse from the pediatric cancer unit, engulfs me in a hug. “My goodness, you’re shaking.”

“My mom. She was in an accident and now… no one will tell where she is or how she is…”

“Come with me, sweetie,” she croons, manoeuvring me back to the desk without releasing me. “Hey, Kate, this is Courtney Nilsson, she was a volunteer on my ward before she went off to college. Do you think you could check how her momma is doing? As a favor? To me?”

Kate types something into the system and then waltzes off . “I need to go check on some forms.”

“Okay, Missy...” Brown eyes blink at me with a friendly smile before she checks the computer.

As Kate is returning,Verna rounds the desk and takes my hand. Her badge swinging is like a nervous tic as she leads me past another nurses’ station.

“Your momma’s stable. They moved her from recovery to the ICU not too long ago. There’s a no visitors note, but I’m sure it doesn’t apply to her daughter.”

My lungs are tight. My palms clammy. But for the first time in six hours—six hours of gut-punch waiting, of pacing and praying and promising things to the universe—I start to believe I might see my mom.

Until a too familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

“Where do you think you’re taking her?”

Martin.

The air freezes in my throat. My body nearly topples over my legs.

He’s standing there in one of his expensive suits, arms crossed, with a callous sneer on his face.

“Miss Nilsson’s going to see her mother,” Verna says, sharp but careful.

“No, I don’t think so.” Cold eyes narrow on mine. He takes a step forward, blocking the open doorway behind him. “No one goes in without my permission.”

“This is Mrs. Nolan’s daughter…”

“I know, and I’m Mr. Nolan, her husband,” he cuts in. “I have power of attorney, and I say she’s not welcome in my wife’s room.”

“She’s my mother, I don’t need your permission to see her,” I snap before I can stop myself.

He turns to Verna. “If you don’t escort her out right now, I’ll report you. You can explain to your supervisor why you brought an unwanted liability to disrupt my wife’s recovery.”

Verna hesitates as she turns to me. God, I can see her frustration in her face, but hospital politics are a special kind of cruel. Something Martin exceeds at with his rich-white-man confidence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Really, Courtney, I?—”

“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t be sorry.”

Verna wraps an arm around me as she guides me away, eyes lowered.

“Is your number the same?” I nod, incapable of speech. “I’ll keep an eye on how she’s doing and let you know if anything changes. Main thing is that your momma’s stable.”

I stumble outside and collapse onto the sun-bleached bench by the entrance.

I don’t know what to do as I dig for my phone.

Of course, it’s dead. It died while I was on the phone with Dad earlier and I don’t have a charger with me because I left my camera bag at the facility.

I just left when he told me Mom had been in an accident and was at the hospital.

I grabbed my backpack and headed straight for the airport .

Now all I have is a dead phone, my wallet, and a snack bag with a squashed muffin that Auguste snuck in there for later.

Fuck, I didn’t even tell him I was leaving. He has no idea, and it’s not like Dad will tell him for me.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this alone. This isolated.

I can’t call anyone, and I won’t leave. Going back in there will just cause a scene.

So I sit and wait. Silently unravel as time drags by and then the sun starts to set in slices behind the clouds.

Cold and exhausted I push to my feet, pacing the green outside the hospital until I spot Martin walk out. Cigarette in his mouth, ready to light, and his phone in his hand.

He’s so engrossed, he doesn’t see me standing there until I clear my throat.

“Shouldn’t you be gone?” He lights up with a long puff before he exhales slow, smoke curling around his smile.

“I just need to know my mom’s okay.”

“You don’t need to know anything,” he says, stepping toward me. His voice shifts—mocking at first, then venomous. “She was a wreck after your call. You broke her. Crying so much she couldn’t see straight. It’s why she crashed. You did this to her.”

My stomach twists, bile rising hot. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His hands shoot out as he flicks his cigarette and grabs my shoulders, hard enough to hurt.

“Catherine crashed because of you .”

“Get off me! You’re hurting me,” I snap, shoving at his chest. “Let go.”

“I told you you’re not welcome here.” His face is close, breath sour and furious.

“I’m not leaving.”

His grip tightens, shaking and shoving me away from the hospital entrance. “You’re a selfish little bitch. The worst thing your mother ever did was keep you and?—”

Martin doesn’t finish. The words are ripped from him with yip at the same time I’m yanked out of his hold and tucked behind a broad wall of man.

Auguste.

My tears break free as I choke on my ragged breaths. I’m frozen, watching him slam Martin against a pillar so fast the asshole is dazed .

“I warned you once,” Auguste growls, voice low and lethal, “and that’s all the fucking privilege you get from me.”

Martin’s on the tips of his toes, face darkening to a strangled shade of purple as Auguste shakes him violently up the wall by the collar of his expensive shirt.

“Sir!” A deep voice calls behind us. The hospital security comes up behind Auguste. “Step back. Now.”

Auguste doesn’t flinch. His forearm pins Martin to the concrete. “I’m going to fucking end you.”

Martin gurgles a laugh as another security guard comes out and Auguste drops him.

“Watch your back, Martin,” Auguste gesturing at his eyes and then back at the bastard.

“Sir, you’re going to need to leave or we’ll have to call the cops,” one of the guards says.

The other that is checking on Martin adds, “This is a hospital. Can’t have you disturbing the peace.”

Auguste turns to me and holds out his hand. The instant I take it he tugs me into his side and envelops me in his arms.

“C’mon, Princess,” he murmurs, taking me to the bench where my backpack is sitting. “Did he hurt you?”

I look up and his intense stare is roiling deep and dangerous. “He won’t let me see my mom.”

“What the fuck?” Auguste is unraveling himself from me, already moving towards the hospital entrance again where the two security guards are watching us.

“Don’t, Auguste.” With a hard tug of his hoodie, I bring his attention back to me. “He has power of attorney until she’s awake and… I don’t know that she wants me here.”

What if Martin is telling the truth? What if it is my fault she’s hurt?

“How did you know?” I wrap my arms around him as he picks up my backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

“I overheard your dad on the phone to you.”

“And you came… just like that?”

“Yup. Just like that, Princess. Marley set me up with a private jet and a ride waiting for me when I landed. I came straight here.”

Oh. “Thank you.”

“I want to be here. To care for you,” he says leading me to the parking lot.

He bundles me into the passenger seat of a sleek Mercedes. It’s nowhere near as warm and welcoming as his Lexus at home. Doesn’t smell like him until he gets in next to me.

Auguste’s hand finds mine, and I lean close, hugging his bicep as he drives away from the hospital. The ride is a blur with my quiet sobs and the sound of the indicator. He doesn’t tell me to stop crying. He doesn’t tell me to be strong. He allows me to fall apart.

At the hotel, Auguste moves fast. After he’s grabbed our bags, he allows the valet to take the car so he can check us in as quickly as possible and get us to his room.

A spacious suite, smelling faintly of bergamot and polished wood.

He doesn’t turn on the lights. Simply takes off my cardigan with short, sweet kisses to my temple.

When he’s done, Auguste cups my face in both hands.

“We’re going to fix this. We’ll find a way to get you in to see your mom. But first, you need to rest.”

I can only nod because I’m overwhelmed on so many levels. At this point my brain isn’t braining anymore. It’s all motions as Auguste draws me a bath and goes about undressing me.

When I’m in the warm water he disappears for a few minutes and when he returns, he kneels behind me and washes my hair. Each action is done with slow, deliberate care, like he was made to take care of me. As if that’s his only purpose in life.

Auguste is getting me out of the bath and into his clean t-shirt when the concierge knocks on the door.

When they leave, Auguste wheels the food cart over to my side of the bed.

“I got you some chamomile tea and some toast to line your stomach.”

“Thank you.”

“If you want something more, I’ll order it for you. Anything you want.” He empties out a pharmacy bag and pops a couple of ZzzQuil capsules into my palm. “Just to help you sleep. You were restless last night and after today… you need to just sleep, Court.”

With a nod, I take the liquid capsules and swallow them down with a sip of the hot tea while Auguste settles next to me on the bed, my plate of toast in his hand. After a few bites, I give up and we curl into each other.

Auguste’s arm wraps around me. My head finds its place on his chest, just above the steady, strong thud of a heart that keeps choosing me .

And I realize, as sleep slowly pulls me under, this man will always show up for me. And I won’t ever be able to un-love him for it.