Page 73 of Chasing Clouds

He gives me a closed-mouth smile, glances once more at Reid, squeezes my arm, and then leaves.

Silence fills the room. It’s a little after ten at night and other than a small light that illuminates the whiteboard, it’s dark. On the board, it shows he was just checked on, so I know we’ll be alone for a while.

Dragging a chair next to his bed, I sit down and look over every inch of him. He’s so handsome, and I’m so overwhelmed with emotions at seeing him after the hours it took to get here, I give in to the tears that have been trying desperately to fall as I silently sob.

What would I do if something had really happened to him? If he had died? I try not to think morbidly like that, but after losing Clare, it’s something I think about constantly—losing someone I love. The pain from the first time was beyond anything I could have ever imagined, and I don’t think I could survive it twice.

Running my fingertips down his arm, I notice his skin is cool from not being tucked under the blanket, but it’s still warm. I tangle my fingers with his and lay my face on top of his hand. I listen to him breathe, listen to me breathe, and chant to myself on repeat that everything is okay.

“Stop crying, I’m fine,” he mumbles.

His voice startles me and my head shoots up to look at him. His eyes are still closed—he looks exactly the same.

“I can’t help it,” I tell him, quietly as to not add to the headache he probably has.

“Well, try.” He scrunches up his face with pain.

His voice is deep and raspy. It sounds angry, but then again, I probably would be too if I was hit by a car.

“You didn’t have to come here. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” He takes his hand out from under mine and lays it on his stomach. Watching him pull away from me pings my heart and leaves me slightly confused.

“Yes, I did,” I tell him.

“No, you didn’t,” he practically growls, and this has me feeling uncomfortable, out of place. Never in my mind did this scenario play out—that he genuinely wouldn’t want me here. I mean, I already missed him and was hoping I’d get to see him sometime soon, obviously not like this, but was he not thinking about seeing me?

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you would have come for me . . . wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as his eyes crack open and find mine. They’re slightly glazed, and I don’t know if that’s from the medicine or because of me. I really don’t understand why he’s so angry that I’m here. We didn’t leave things badly, at least I didn’t think so, and I’ve done everything the way he wanted us to.

Feeling uncomfortable, I lean back in my chair and away from him. He watches me, those green orbs glaring, the only movements him blinking and licking his dry lips. Minutes pass, and eventually his eyelids droop then he falls back to sleep.

Throughout the night, the nurses come in and wake him up. He doesn’t get sick again, but it’s clear he has one wicked headache. He also doesn’t speak to me again. He looks for me the minute he’s awake then proceeds to glare until he falls asleep once again. I don’t sleep at all, just sit there and wonder what I’ve done wrong.

Shortly after eight, the door opens and the doctor walks in with his nurse following. She smiles a little too brightly at Reid then narrows her eyes as she sees me next to him.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Armstrong.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. I stand and do so.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Camille, Reid’s wife.” The words slip out so effortlessly I don’t even realize I’m saying them. Next to me, Reid grunts, and all three of us turn to look at him. He’s scowling at me, and that’s when I notice he isn’t wearing his wedding ring. I don’t know why I thought he might still be. Maybe the hospital took it off because of the swelling? I know our arrangement is over and we haven’t talked as much as I would have liked over the last couple of weeks, but I find I am disappointed. Glancing back at his face, I get the impression he’s mad I said that, and now along with uncomfortable, I feel stupid, too.

Sensing the tension quickly escalating between the two of us, the doctor clears his throat. “All right then. Reid, do you want to speak privately, or is in front of your wife okay?”

“I’ll wait outside,” I answer for him, quickly heading for the door.

Both the nurse and the doctor look at me with surprise and then skepticism. Heat climbs into my cheeks as a wave of embarrassment takes over. It really didn’t occur to me that Reid wouldn’t want me here, and I’m starting to wonder how wrongly I might have perceived our time together. That last night, in Savannah, I was certain he felt something greater, just like I did. His body language, his facial expressions, how he made me feel like I was the only person in his world . . . I don’t understand.

I lean back against the wall and look down at my grandmother’s ring. I run my thumb over it, and a lump forms in my throat as I begrudgingly accept the fact that it’s time to take it off, too. It wasn’t a real marriage. The two months are essentially over, and so are we.

The door opens and they both exit. The nurse wrinkles her nose at me as she walks away, and the doctor only makes brief eye contact after he’s done signing a bunch of papers.

“We’re discharging him. He knows what needs to happen next, just make sure you wake him up every two hours for the next twenty-four hours, okay?”

“I will,” I tell him.

He nods and then wanders off.