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He paused before he stepped out. “Do you want me to stop by before I start my shift?”
“Call me and I’ll let you know.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Go before you’re late.”
“Fine. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Ty turned and walked to the door, letting himself out while I indulged in the scotch. I smelled his cologne on me and though it was different from Oliver’s, it still reminded me of my husband. I didn’t want to hate him, but I couldn’t stop. I knew not showing up at the hospital before visiting hours were over must have hurt him.
Two weeks later, Oliver was transported to a rehab facility for more intensive physical therapy. He was stable but weakened from being in bed for several weeks. Once he regained some of his strength, he would come home. I had no idea what I would do then to escape him. The day after his birthday, I went to see him, and he looked at me with sad eyes. I think he knew something was different between us, but he didn’t want to ask.
I kept my hostility in check, speaking to him in low tones, mostly about business. He asked for a kiss, and I reluctantly gave him one on his cheek before I left, hurrying from his room before he questioned me about my distance. Oliver might have suspected but I couldn’t be sure.
He didn’t need me. He had plenty of visitors. Wilmer, Ivan and Dax visited and when I signed in one day, I noticed Lara’s name on the sheet. I felt my blood boiling, but I calmed myself in the bathroom before I saw him. Oliver couldn’t control who came to see him, but it was something I would be sure to add to my list of grievances, there were so many.
Now he was in rehab and my visits were few and far between. I was busy with a negotiation and chose to hide in Oliver’s office rather than face him. It was only a matter of time before I oozed some of the acid I’d been storing. That took place on the day he came home during the second week of November.
It was a Saturday and I set up transport along with twenty-four-hour care in our penthouse. I prepared the guest room down the hall from the master bedroom and had a crew come in, break down the bed to put in storage so we had room for the hospital bed Oliver would need for the time being. He needed one that could be lowered and raised.
I was working at the dining table when the concierge buzzed me to say the ambulance transport was downstairs. I told him to send them up feeling annoyed that the nurse I had contracted hadn’t arrived yet. I was in no mood to help Oliver. In fact, I had a vicious headache from looking at reports for the past few hours.
Trouble was barking as if he knew something was going on and I locked him in the bedroom so he wouldn’t get injured when Oliver was brought inside. A few minutes later, they were coming through the door with my husband. I hadn’t seen him in three days, but it looked like his pallor had improved since I last saw him. He smiled at me as they wheeled him to his room.
I waited until the flurry of activity subsided and Oliver was finally settled in his bed, before calling the nurse. My fingers drummed impatiently on the desk as I inquired about her whereabouts.
"She missed her train," the voice on the other end explained apologetically. "She's waiting for the next one."
I bit back a scathing retort. If I weren't dealing with Oliver's situation, I'd have fired her on the spot. The thought of it brought a fleeting moment of satisfaction.
"Ryleigh," Oliver's voice called out, shattering my peace.
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. "Not even home for ten minutes and he already wants something."
Plastering on a mask of forced politeness, I made my way to his room, leaning against the doorframe with feigned casualness. "What can I do for you?" I asked, my tone carefully neutral.
Oliver's eyes met mine, a mixture of wariness and determination in his gaze. "Can we talk?"
I shrugged, my nonchalance belying the tension coiling in my stomach. "I guess now is as good a time as any."
"Can you come in here?" he requested, gesturing weakly towards the room.
Reluctantly, I entered, choosing to settle into the oversized stuffed chair in the corner. The distance between us felt both too vast and not nearly enough.
"I'm here," I stated flatly, crossing my arms.
Oliver's brow furrowed as he studied me. "What's your problem?"
The question ignited a spark of rage within me. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I spat, leaning forward. "What's my problem?"
"Yes," he pressed, his voice rising slightly. "Are you angry at me for getting shot?"
I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "That's such a tiny part of why I feel the way I do."
Unable to contain my fury any longer, I surged to my feet and stormed out, ignoring Oliver's calls echoing behind me. In his office, I yanked open a drawer, my fingers closing around a familiar folder. With purposeful strides, I returned to his room, my heart pounding in my ears.
Without a word, I hurled the file onto his lap. Oliver's face drained of color as recognition dawned in his eyes. He looked up at me, his gaze narrowing accusatorily.
