Straightening my shoulders and ready to go out and face the day, I make the mistake of looking in the mirror. What in the Chex mix has happened to me and how long have I looked like this? I give up.
I’m almost back to bed when the door opens and in walks a doctor and a nurse, if scrub colors are anything to go by.
“Mrs. Murphy?”
I whip my head to Liam who just shrugs.
I want to say,I’m Dr. Anderson. OrI’m Lorien Andersonor anything besides yes, but, at this point, I just want out of here. “Yes?”
“As if it were a question,” Mr. Murphy mumbles under his breath next to me.
“Your husband has been vocal”—he clears his throat and slides his eyes to Liam before returning his focus on me—“about taking you home.”
I bet he has.
“We’re comfortable discharging you, but we urge you to return if anything feels off. The swelling and bruising will get worse before it gets better. Cold compresses will help. But if you experience any changes, do not hesitate to request care.” The doctor looks at Liam and shakes his head, but speaks directly to him. “We trust you will treat her wellbeing with the same urgency you treated her care.”
One curt nod is all the doctor gets in return.
“I’ll be back with your discharge papers and a wheelchair,” the nurse offers before leaving on the doctor’s heels.
“What did you do?” I hiss.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asks, rubbing his thumb and forefinger across his brow.
“Does that make a difference?”
“Babe.” That does not sound like a term of endearment on his lips. “It’s nearly midnight. I haven’t secured your place. I don’t know where your car is. I have hours of work ahead of me, and you haven’t eaten. And I’m assuming you’re going to work tomorrow. Am I right?”
Oh. I scrunch my nose. “Probably.”
“How confident are you that you’re up for driving in your current state?”
An eye squint joins my nose scrunch, and I shake my head.
“So, what time do I need to be awake to drive you?”
Wait. What?
“I see it’s registering but let me lay it out for you. Once I get you home and you feel safe enough and tired enough to sleep, in between bouts of waking you up ‘in case’.” He forms air quotes and somehow my eyes are stuck on that thick black band on his finger. “I need to secure the house and the garage, make arrangements for your Accord. And”—he waits until my eyes find his— “find a way that this doesn’t happen again tomorrow. Or ever.”
I shiver.Again. Thwarted a break-in. Targeted.
I’ve had so much spinning out of control, I hadn’t thought of how I would feel back in my house knowing someone tried to break in. That the timing of everything is fishy.
It took most of what guts I had to stay in my house the night after move-in day. I bought a gun. No one knows that. Not even… I tilt my head staring at the man across from me, suck in a breath, and muster all the courage I have left. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
He holds my gaze, his ochre eyes looking straight through me, and nods. “Do you want the comfort of your own place or the security of mine?”
“Decide where we’re safest and we’ll go there. At least for tonight.”
He nods, extending his hand. “I’m going to go get the car and pull up at the exit. Or would you prefer I stay here and we go together?”
“Would you wait? Please? I’m sorry to ask.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of being scared.”
His eyes are tractor beams that suck me in. I’m falling into them, falling into him.
“What’s with the tears?” His tenor is soothing and downright kind.
