Page 89 of The Broken Keys

Jaxon’s been her mentor. He’s rich enough to own a bunch of houses, like Guns said herflinghad. And his office is right next to Livianna’s.

Fucking hell.

It’s so damn obvious. She moved back to LA about the same time as he did. What was it? One week apart?

If my math is adding up, she’s been seeing him for well over two years. The thought makes my stomach churn.

If all this is true, Livianna’s probably in love with him. Myheart shatters, and I sink into oblivion. I lose my breath and try to get my head straight.

Her phone, the one with his messages, the one that says “My King” because that’s what she calls him, is in my pocket burning a hole in it.

I pull it out and stare at the screen. If only I could unlock it and check her messages to confirm what I already know to be fact.

All I can do is glare at those emergency room doors. How much do they really mean to one another? How long have I been fighting for a future that never existed because she was already his?

Then it circles back to me in a rush. The baby.

She’s pregnant with Jaxon Crowne’s kid.

And I’m standing outside while he’s in there with her, probably getting all the answers I can’t have because he’s the one with deep connections and can make things happen.

He’s herkingand I’m just the fool who didn’t see the crown until it was too late.

I shove Livianna’s phone back in my pocket and force my legs to move. Being out here on the sidewalk accomplishing nothing isn’t gonna help her.

I need to get inside and find out if any of this nightmare has a chance of ending without complete devastation. It’s highly unlikely, but I can dream.

The automatic doors slide open and I step back into the emergency room. The fluorescent lights are bright, and the antiseptic smell is strong.

Everything about this is wrong. It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where nothing makes sense anymore.

I scan the waiting area. Chairs and cheap couches, a television mounted in the corner playing some show nobody’s watching, and a fish tank to help visitors pretend their life isn’t about to collapse sit around the room. And people, so many waiting for news about their loved ones.

That’s when Jaxon’s voice cuts through.

“I need information about Bridget Parks. She was brought in from a car accident about an hour ago.” Jaxon’s tone is controlled, but there’s an edge underneath it. Desperation masked by authority.

I stop mid-stride and position myself near a pillar where I can see the reception desk without being readily visible. Sandra’s still there, her tired eyes now dealing with a man who commands rooms just by existing in them.

Bridget Parks. Of course he knows the alias, while I’m out here floundering like an idiot.

He’s Jaxon fucking Crowne. He’s the man who can make billion-dollar deals happen with a phone call. He probably has allies in every hospital in Los Angeles.

I grind on my molars, and take in a much needed breath of air because I’m about to lose my shit. If I don’t calm down, my hands will be around his throat for taking what has always been mine.

Sandra types into her computer, her expression shifting to something more professional. “Yes, Ms. Parks is here. She’s currently being evaluated by the trauma team. You can sit in the waiting area and someone will come update you as soon as they have information.”

“I need to see her now.” Jaxon leans forward, his palms flat on the counter. “I need to know the extent of her injuries.”

“I understand, sir, but the doctors are working on her right now. As soon as they have an update, someone will come find you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jaxon’s shoulders tense, then he stands straight.

He appears to be trying to maintain control, but the cracks are forming. The way his fingers curl against the counter. The tension in his spine.

He’s terrified. Just like me.

“Very well.” Jaxon’s words come out clipped. “Where do you want me to go?”