Page 4 of Meesha & Connor (What Happens In Vegas #2)

“Mama, she literally asked the caterer if they could change the menu to something less ethnic.” I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder, juggling my coffee and badge as I power-walk toward Winter Bay Memorial.

The late March air bites at my cheeks, a harsh reminder that spring in Winter Bay is still more winter than anything else.

“That woman has some nerve.” Mama’s voice crackles through the line. “What’s wrong with our menu choices?”

“She’s worried Caribbean food might flare her blood pressure.” I sidestep a patch of ice, nearly losing my balance. “Vivienne acts like I’m going to serve nothing but scotch bonnet peppers and rum cake.”

“What did Connor say?”

“He told her to be respectful, because he was the one who requested Caribbean food to be served. He specifically requested your curry shrimp recipe.”

“Of course he did. The boy has taste.” Mom’s approval of Connor has never wavered, even when she thought we were too young to date.

“Every decision becomes a battle. The menu, the flowers, even the music.” I push through the hospital’s revolving door, the warmth hitting me immediately.

“Baby girl, say the word and I’ll change my flight. I can be there next week instead of next month.”

I smile despite my frustration. Mom’s solution to everything since I was little was to insert herself between me and any problem.

It was sweet when I was being bullied in third grade. It’s less helpful now that I’m almost twenty-seven.

“I’ve got this, Mama. Promise,” I say, approaching the elevator. “Besides, if you came early, I’d have to bail you out of jail for what you might do to her.”

“That woman needs to understand you’re going to be Connor’s wife, not her competition.”

I swallow hard at the word “wife.” Six weeks until I’m Mrs. Beauregard. The thought sends a ripple of anxiety, excitement and panic through my chest.

“Speaking of competition, how’s the weather in Ruby Coast?” I ask, changing the subject. “Better than Winter Bay, I’m guessing?”

“Eighty-five and sunny, baby girl. My hibiscus are blooming like crazy.” The pride in her voice is unmistakable.

She’d moved back to Ruby Coast seven years ago to care for Grandma, and even though Grandma passed away two years later, Mom chose to stay there, falling in love with the island rhythm all over again.

“I should go.” The elevator doors close, sealing me in. “My shift starts in ten minutes.”

“Alright, but remember—”

“I know, I know. Just say the word and you’ll be on the next flight.” I badge into the psychiatric ward, lowering my voice. “I love you, Mama.”

“Love you more, baby girl.”

I end the call and lean against the wall, exhaling slowly. Between Vivienne’s interference, Asia quitting, and my own guilty conscience, this wedding is becoming less dream and more nightmare with each passing day.

“Morning, Meesha!” Tara, the night shift nurse, looks up from her computer at the nurses’ station. “Ready for handover?”

I slip into professional mode, tucking personal worries away. “Hit me with it.”

“Mr. Goldstein had a rough night. Refused his meds until Dr. Lei spoke with him around 2 AM. Mrs. Lopez finally slept through the night without nightmares.” Tara scrolls through her notes.

“And we’ve got a new admission. Sixteen-year-old girl, Kayla Andrews.

Panic attack at school led to the discovery of self-harm.

She’s been asking for you specifically.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Me? Why?”

“Apparently, you helped her cousin last year. Created quite an impression.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket as Tara continues with her report. I ignore it until we finish the handover, then duck into the med room to check it.

Unknown Number:

Beautiful morning, isn’t it? Just like Vegas. I think about it constantly. Can’t wait to see you again. Soon.

My stomach drops as I read the message. I don’t recognize the number, but there’s only one person it could be. Dennis. I quickly delete the message.

How did he get my number? Then I remember when I let him use my phone to contact his friend. He must have texted himself from my phone.

Another text comes in before I can block the number.

We have unfinished business, Meesha. That kiss was just the beginning of our adventure together. I’ve never felt such an immediate connection with anyone.

I immediately block the number. But the thought of him somehow contacting Connor makes me nauseous. Taking a deep breath, I grip the edge of the counter and close my eyes for a moment.

“You okay in there?” Dr. Renick’s voice from the doorway makes me jump.

“Fine,” I say quickly, straightening up. “Just checking something.”

She gives me a curious look but doesn’t press. “Patient rounds in five.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Once she’s gone, I tuck my phone away and smooth down my scrubs. The hospital has always been my second home, the place where my personal problems fade into the background as I concentrate on helping others. Today would be no different.

With renewed determination, I review my patient list once more, mentally preparing for each encounter. Professional Meesha takes over, pushing Vegas, Dennis, and wedding drama temporarily aside. My patients deserve nothing less than my full attention.

After reviewing the rest of the patients, I start my rounds.

I coax Mr. Goldstein into taking his morning medication by discussing his favorite sitcom— I Love Lucy .

I sit with Mrs. Lopez while she picks at her breakfast, encouraging her to try a few more bites.

I check in on Mr. Washington, who’s being discharged today after six weeks with us.

By mid-morning, I finally make it to Room 214.

Sixteen-year-old Kayla sits cross-legged on her bed, dark circles under her eyes. Her thin arms show fading scratch marks, some old, some new.

“Hey, Kayla. I’m Meesha. I heard you were asking for me?”

She nods. “You helped my cousin Dani last year. She said you were the only one who didn’t make her feel crazy.”

I smile, remembering Dani. She was bright, creative, and struggled with severe anxiety. “How is she doing?”

“At college in California.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I did something stupid. Really stupid.”

I pull up a chair and sit beside her. “We all do stupid things sometimes.”

“Not like this.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I betrayed my twin sister in the worst possible way.”

I tilt my head, waiting for her to continue.

“I slept with her boyfriend.” The words come out in a rush. “Asher and I... it wasn’t planned. It just happened, and then it happened again. And then...” She trails off, her gaze fixed on her hands.

“And then?” I prompt.

“I had an abortion last week.” Her voice cracks. “Nobody knows. Not my sister, not my parents.”

“That’s a lot to carry alone, Kayla.”

She nods, tears streaming down her face. “I hurt my sister... she would never hurt me like this.”

I reach for her hand. “You made a mistake that hurt people you love. That doesn’t make you a terrible person.”

“I look at my sister every day knowing what I did. She smiles at me, tells me everything, trusts me completely. And all I can think of is how I betrayed her.”

“Is that why you’ve been hurting yourself?”

She looks down at the marks on her arms. “It feels like I deserve it.”

“No one deserves to be hurt, Kayla. Not even by themselves.”

“This secret is eating me alive.” She looks up at me, eyes desperate for answers. “Asher thinks we shouldn’t say anything, because it will make things worse.”

The statement echoes my own fears. What if telling Connor destroys everything we’ve built?

“I think,” I begin slowly, “that secrets have a way of coming out, eventually. And when they do, the damage is always worse than if we’d just been honest from the start.”

As I say the words, I realize I’m not just talking to Kayla anymore.

“So, I should tell my sister everything?” Her voice is small, frightened.

“I think you need to. Not just for her, but for yourself.”

“She’ll hate me forever.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

“Your sister will be hurt. Deeply hurt. I won’t lie about that. But carrying this secret is destroying you, Kayla.”

Kayla nods slowly. “I’m scared.”

“That’s okay.” I squeeze her hand. “One step at a time.”

I check my watch. Two more patients to see before lunch. As I walk toward the next room, I feel more centered than I have all morning.

For these precious moments, I’m not a bride with secrets. I’m just a nurse connecting with people when they need it most.

After checking in on my last patient of the day, I slump against the wall in the quiet medication room. My phone buzzes with a text from Connor.

Dinner tonight? I miss you.

My thumb hovers over the screen. Every day I’ve spent with him since Vegas has been clouded by my secret.

I stare at the organized medication chart on the wall. If only emotional decisions came with warning labels: May cause heartbreak. Side effects include losing the love of your life.

This isn’t who I am—this secretive, anxious person who jumps at text messages and avoids eye contact. The real Meesha faces problems head-on, with a smile or tears. The real Meesha doesn’t hide behind lies, even lies of omission.

I text Connor back.

Where are you? I need to see you. Important.

His response is immediate.

At the office until 5. Everything okay?

Will explain in person .

I grab my coat and head to the parking lot, rehearsing variations of my confession during the entire drive. “Connor, I made a terrible mistake in Vegas...” No, too dramatic. “I need to tell you something that happened...” Too vague.

I imagine the hurt, the confusion and the potential anger. Connor rarely gets angry, but when he does, it’s like a glacier.

But what’s the alternative? Live with this guilt forever? Let Dennis hold this power over me?

Connor’s real estate office sits in a renovated Victorian on Main Street, its blue trim freshly painted despite the winter. I park, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. My braids are still neat, but worry lines crease my forehead.

“You love him,” I whisper to myself. “That’s why you have to tell him.”

As I step out of the car, a memory of Connor holding my hand across a diner table, telling me he’d turned down offers from better hockey teams to stay in Winter Bay, flits through my mind.

“Some things I value more than opportunity,” he’d said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Some people, they are worth changing your plans for, eh?”

I’d known then that what we had was real. Ten years later, I have to believe it’s strong enough to survive this.

“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, straightening my shoulders. “Just tell him the truth.”

The receptionist smiles when I enter. “He’s finishing up with a client, but you can wait in his office, Meesha.”

I pace the length of Connor’s office, the confession now clear in my mind: “Connor, something happened in Vegas. It meant nothing, but you deserve to know. I kissed someone. It was a mistake I regretted immediately, and I’m so sorry...”

The door opens behind me, and I spin around, ready to unburden myself.

“Meesha! Ben oui!” Connor’s face lights up. “I was just about to call you.”

Words form on my lips, but before I can speak, a second figure appears in the doorway.

“Connor, I think I left my—”

My blood turns to ice. The room suddenly narrows, edges blurring as if I’m looking through a telescope.

Standing next to Connor is a face I’d hoped never to see again. The same blue-gray eyes, the same sharp jawline, the same mouth that had pressed against mine.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, suddenly bone dry. A high-pitched ringing starts in my ears, drowning out the beginning of Connor’s introduction. I grip the edge of his desk to steady myself, feeling light-headed as the floor seems to tilt beneath me.

“Meesha, this is Dennis Lawson, là, my newest client from Las Vegas.” Connor gestures between us. “Dennis just moved to Winter Bay from Las Vegas. He’s looking for residential property.”

Dennis extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t move. My heart hammers against my ribs so violently I’m certain Connor must hear it. My fingers tremble as Dennis takes my hand, holding it a fraction too long.

“Dennis, this is my fiancée, Meesha Williams.”

“Your fiancée,” Dennis repeats, gaze flicking meaningfully to my engagement ring before meeting my eyes again with unmistakable challenge. “How... fortunate to meet you.”

I take an instinctive step backward, bumping into Connor’s desk. The photo of us in Paris topples, and Connor catches it.

“?a va pas, toi?” Connor steps closer, concern etching his features. “You’re pale.”

I force my facial muscles into what I hope resembles a smile. “Just... tired. Long shift.” The words come out strained.

“Tu es certaine? You don’t look so good, me.”

I wonder if this is what it feels like when your world begins to collapse.