Page 6 of Healed Hearts (Mended Hearts #2)

Chapter Five

Holden

“ O ne, two, three, four,” I count out loud, trying to get Julian to calm down. If I wasn’t freaking the fuck out, I’d be laughing. Cackling. Manically. Like I did last weekend. Two scores for Holden. Two separate occasions of awkward hand-shaking. Who does that? Me. I do that. Fucking facepalm.

Wren starts crying, clearly worried about her dad. To be honest, I’m worried too. This man is massive. If he falls out over a needle, there’s no way I’m getting him up off the floor.

As he starts to come back to reality, his brown eyes settle on mine. I can tell he’s actually seeing me and not just looking through me. I try to give him a little smile, to reassure him he’s okay, but then an awful, terrible thought hits me. He has a kid. A young kid. Did I help him cheat? Did he cheat on his wife with me?

I didn’t see a ring, but if he was going to hook up with someone, he probably wouldn’t wear one. My smile slides off my face as I drop my eyes and look at his hands. He pulls away from me abruptly, almost falling over, and for a second I worry he’s passed out, but then he’s sweeping Wren into his arms and whispering softly to her while she cries against his shoulder.

I give them a few minutes while everyone tries to compose themselves. By the time he gets Wren calmed and sits down, I feel raw and scooped out inside. I swallow hard and turn toward the sink to wash my hands again.

When I’ve collected myself enough to turn to face them, Julian is doing everything he possibly can to avoid looking in my direction. Which, yeah, I can’t blame him. I literally acted like I didn’t even know him after he gave me quite literally the best night I’ve ever had. He made me feel safe. Safe enough to fall asleep on him. But then, if he’s cheating, maybe it’s for the best that I pretend I don’t remember him.

“Are you ready?” I ask Wren, trying to find my smile again.

She nods, her tear-stained face turned toward me, her head resting against Julian’s chest.

“Okay. Be a brave girl for me, and I’ll get you lots of stickers, okay?”

She nods again, then turns away from me, tucking her face into Julian’s chest. I find a vein quickly enough, and she doesn’t even flinch when I insert the needle. Pulling on an old tactic, I try to keep her mind occupied. “How old are you?”

“I’m three and a half.”

“Wow! That’s so big!”

In no time at all, I’m finishing up and putting a Band-Aid over the spot where I did her blood draw.

“All done, sweetheart,” I whisper, and she turns back to me. I point at her bandage and tell her, “We match.”

A grin splits her face as her sleepy eyes—the same shade as her dad’s—flip between my scrubs and her Band-Aid. “You were so brave, Wren. Let me go get you stickers, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, giving me a slight nod.

I stand up, cleaning up my supplies, and grab the vial of blood I collected. I’ll go ahead and run this to the lab myself. It will give me time to get my head on straight, and it’ll give Julian and Wren a few more minutes to calm down.

I focus on taking deep breaths as I walk slowly toward the lab. I have no idea why this is having such an effect on me. Is it because the idea of Julian cheating shattered the image I had of him? Is it because the kindness and respect he showed me doesn’t much matter if it’s kindness and respect he should have been showing someone else?

I swallow hard as I round the corner to the lab. I feel like running. Like if I just move fast enough, I’ll be able to outrun the way my thoughts are pressing down on me. Instead, I take my time, dropping off her sample and heading back to the pediatric unit.

I pick up the box of stickers, and get her discharge papers together. By the time I walk in, Wren is watching YouTube on the phone again and Julian is staring off into space. He doesn’t even acknowledge me when I walk in, but Wren gives me a smile, her face lighting up with excitement when she sees the stickers in my hand.

I set the discharge papers down and kneel in front of Wren, holding the box of stickers out to her. She leans forward and peers into the container. “Daddy, look,” she says. I feel more than see Julian come back to awareness.

He lets out a rusty laugh that feels forced as hell and leans over. “Wow. Those are so cool. Which one do you want to pick?”

“She can pick as many as she wants,” I say, a smile forcing its way to my face. “She was a very brave girl.”

I lift my eyes to him, and he’s staring at me in that same intense way he was last weekend. It makes me feel funny inside, and I drag my eyes away again to look at Wren. Because nope, can’t look at him like that. “Did you hear that, baby girl?” he asks.

“Yes,” she giggles.

In the end, she chooses only three stickers, but I honestly would have sent the entire box home with her. After all the shit she went through, with what should have been a routine blood draw, she deserves it.

I stand, grabbing the paperwork off the sink, and wordlessly hold them out in front of me. Our eyes meet again as he stands up and takes the papers from me. It’s challenging to keep my expression neutral, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it.

He clears his throat, and I lowkey want to beg him to leave so I can get my shit together. The walls are cracking around my psyche, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep up the facade. Fuck, I’m so disappointed. In him, sure. But mostly in myself. I didn’t even think to ask if he was seeing anyone. All these rules and regulations I have about myself and my body, and I didn’t even think to check on that.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Here it comes. Surely he’s not going to confess his transgressions in front of his daughter? Who would do that? “I promise I’m not usually this much of a mess. I… hospitals are hard for me.”

I want to crack the joke that I could tell, if for no other reason than to get my equilibrium back, but there’s something in his voice and his posture that has me keeping that to myself. I nod at him slowly, not sure what else to do with that information, but not wanting to joke at his expense. Ro’s right. He always tells me normal people don’t get it when you laugh at trauma.

“Wren’s mom,” he starts, but his words cut off abruptly. There’s no way he’s going to do this right now. I open my mouth to tell him he does not need to apologize to me for what he did. That he needs to get out of here and apologize to Wren’s mother when he says, “There were a lot of needles before she died, and um, the gloves, for some reason… the, um, the gloves.”

A strange combination of soul-crushing relief and fucking agony rips through my body. He didn’t cheat on his wife. She’s dead. Oh my God, I’m the worst fucking person. I sway on my feet, thankful that the sink is directly behind me. I sag against it, hoping that I can keep myself upright. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” I force myself to say.

He’s taking deep breaths, like he’s trying to stave off a panic attack. “No, it’s… well, it’s not okay. But it mostly is. It was the gloves for some reason.” His breathing gets harsh again, and with it, you can physically see Wren’s panic rising.

“It’s okay,” I get out. “You’re alright. You don’t have to apologize.” Fuck, I’m such an asshole.

Wren lets out a little whimper and Julian jerks his attention to her, but he can’t seem to calm down. It breaks my heart. He’s all alone, and they’re clearly both freaking out. I place my hand on his arm—the one he has wrapped around Wren. “Julian, breathe for me again.”

Panicked deep brown eyes find mine as his entire body shudders. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”

He gives me a jerky nod, and I watch as he drags deep breaths in through his nose. “Good. That’s good,” I say softly when his breathing starts to regulate, when the panic starts to clear from his eyes.

He pulls away from me quickly and turns, clearly in a hurry to get the fuck out of here. “Someone will call you with the results,” I say right as he clears the door, moving so fast that I’m not even sure he heard me.

“Hold?” Beck says as we drive toward the house after work.

“Yeah?” I ask, turning my attention to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble.

“Roman and I are worried about you.” I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t need them to be worried about me. I’m fine. He ignores my silence and pushes on. “You’ve been off since last weekend. Are you sure everything was okay? I’m only going to say this once, and then if you tell me you’re fine, I promise I’ll drop it, okay? And I want you to keep in mind, this is not me treating you like a child. This is me caring about you because you’re my family.”

“Alright,” I respond, my stomach dropping a bit thinking about what he might say.

“When you first got home, I wasn’t too stressed. But now you’re acting strange, and I’m getting more worried by the day. I know Roman is too. But he didn’t see you the other night like I did. You came home half covered in dried cum, looking like an assault victim. I believed you when you said he was nice to you, Hold. But that, combined with your out of character behavior, is worrying me. Are you sure nothing happened you didn’t want?”

With each word he speaks, my stomach twists more and more. I don’t want them to be worried about me. I’ve been an assault victim many times, but last weekend was not one of them. The way Julian checked in with me over and over flashes through my mind, and warmth settles in my lower stomach. I press a hand to it. Fuck, I really hope I’m not getting sick. I’ve been feeling weird like this off and on all week. I clear my throat, trying to get my stomach to chill out. “I promise he didn’t do anything I didn’t want. He, um, he actually did the opposite. He checked in with me at every point and kept asking if what he was doing was okay.” Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “That’s strange, though, right? Who does that?”

I can feel Beck’s gaze on the side of my face, but I focus on the road in front of us. He doesn’t say anything for a long beat, and I cringe at the stupidity that just came out of my mouth. He sighs. “A lot of people do that, Hold.”

I jerk my attention to him. He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s staring straight ahead—his brows furrowed, lips turned into a frown, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Really?” I ask.

“Yes, Holden, really. The fact that you don’t know that honestly is not helping my worry here.”

I shrug. “I’ve had sex I wanted, but no one has ever checked in with me before.”

He sighs again, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “If you tell Roman I talked to you about our sex life, I’m never going to hear the end of it, but—”

I cut him off. “No. I do not need to hear about your sex life.” Damn, it’s bad enough that I have to hear it.

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Actually, I think you do. Checking in with each other? Normal, Hold. The first time I—” His voice cuts off, pink flooding his cheeks. I stare at the side of his face, a little shocked to see him blushing over this. He clears his throat. “Actually, no. Not going there. I’ll just say that we always check in with each other. No matter what.”

“Okay,” I whisper, unable to say anything else.

“Consent is important, Holden,” Beck says.

Irritation bubbles inside me. “Jesus Christ, Beckett. I know that.”

“If you know that, then why are you so shocked by the idea of someone asking you for it?” he snaps.

I stare at him with wide eyes. That’s… kind of a valid point, actually. Not that I’m going to admit that to him. I sink deeper into the seat. “You don’t have to snap at me, Beckett. I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m aware, Holden. I’m also aware you’re struggling.”

I roll my eyes. That’s really hitting a little too close to the truth for comfort. I don’t like how much he sees. How much he knows. “Yeah, you know everything, huh? All knowing Beck.”

He makes a frustrated sound in his throat. Join the club. “I see it, Holden. You can lie to Roman’s face all you want, but I see through your shit easier than he does.”

“Wow. Tell me how you really feel. What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, indignation burning in my stomach. Hurt too. All the hurt. I would never lie to Roman. Not intentionally anyway.

“I could be asking you that same question. Stop trying to act like I’m a dick because I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, fuck you, Beck. I’ve done fine taking care of myself my entire life, and I don’t need you to come in and act all high and mighty.” Honestly, where the fuck does he get off?

Beck scoffs. “Have you spent your entire life taking care of yourself? Because from where I’m sitting, you and Roman spent at least the last ten years taking care of each other , and now that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

His words hit a little too close to home. Roman doesn’t need me anymore. He has Beck, and that’s the way it should be. I’m not jealous of Beck. I’m not. I love him and I love Roman, and I’m so happy for them. I don’t want Beck and I don’t want Roman. I want… fuck . I think I want that for myself . What they have. The love and understanding and support. A person all to myself. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a teenager. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I figured I’d never get that lucky, so I gave up hoping.

Tears burn my eyes. It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m fine for a night. For some fun. But no one will want the fucked up guy with enough sexual trauma to make their therapist need a fucking therapist for anything long term. “Just leave me alone, Beck.”

He’s quiet for a minute, but then he sighs. It’s drawn out and sad, and it makes my heart clench. Why am I being this way? “I’m sorry, Hold. I worded that wrong. I didn’t mean you don’t still have Roman. Of course you do. You have me too. All you have to do is open up and let us in.”

Easy for him to say. Just open up and tell them how fucked up in the head you are, Hold. Easy-peasy. What a fucking joke. I stare out the window, my throat tight, trying to ignore him. By the time we pull into the driveway, tears are threatening to escape, so I quickly climb from the car and rush into the house. I stride past a waiting Roman, keeping my eyes downcast, and head into my room, shutting the door behind me.

Fuck this entire day.

I wake up when my alarm goes off, and I stare at the ceiling, thinking about yesterday—my interactions with Julian and Wren, and the argument, if you can call it that, I had with Beck.

Today’s going to be a better day. No sadness. No arguing with Beck. And if I’m really fucking lucky, no Julian.

I fling the blankets off and head to the bathroom to do my business. My eyeliner is smudged across my eyes since I didn’t wash it off last night, but it lowkey makes me look a little fierce. I’m kind of living for the punk rock look it’s giving me with my messy hair. I clean it up a bit, but don’t bother reapplying, and head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and breakfast.

I fucked up last night and got shitty with Beck. That’s not who I am or who I want to be. So I need to wipe yesterday from my mind and start fresh. After I apologize, of course. I don’t have many people in my life, and half of them I only have because of Beck.

Beck stumbles into the kitchen looking half-asleep and heads straight for the coffeepot. “Oh, I fucking love you,” he says a few minutes later as I’m flipping the pancakes on the stove.

“Aww. I love you too, Beckett.”

“Not you, CT, the coffee,” he says. Oh fuck yes, I’m CT again. I feel like I’m back on even ground with Beck. “Well, I love you too. But the coffee, Hold. The coffee.”

A laugh breaks free of my chest, and within seconds he’s laughing too. I set down the spatula and turn to him. “I’m sorry.”

He’s shaking his head before I’m even done speaking. “No, don’t do that. I pushed too hard. I’m sorry.” I stumble forward. I need physical contact. Fuck, I hate needing this. I hate it. But at least I have a safe way to get it now. The second I’m within reach, Beck wraps me in his arms and I sink into him, letting him infuse me with his warmth and kindness. “I’m so sorry, Hold. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”

His lips press into my hair. I want to stay right where I am. I need it. I feel so fucking off-kilter, but he’s apologizing to me , and he didn’t do anything wrong, and it’s making me feel all weird and squirmy inside, so I force myself to let go of him and give his exposed nipple a twist. He yelps, jumping away from me. “Don’t let it happen again,” I say, smirking at him.

He glares at me as he rubs his nipple, and Roman walks into the room. “Are you abusing my fiancé, Hold?”

“I would never,” I say at the exact same time that Beck says, “Yes.”

Roman chuckles. “I don’t know if I believe that, Hold. Seems like something you would do.” I shrug, neither confirming nor denying, and turn back to the stove to finish up cooking.

We eat breakfast together before Beck and I head out to go to work. Things feel normal—settled—none of the remnants of our argument last night to be found. Thank God.