Hard Beat(80)

Now I know I should walk away while I can. Grab my bag and go the f*ck back to my reality where the possibility of being hit by opposition fire seems ten times more appealing than having my heart toyed with by a woman like Beaux and an angry husband in a hospital room that I don’t even belong in.

But I can’t. Not until I know she’s going to be okay. Call me a *, but I can’t turn off my feelings for her. I just can’t.

Instead, I shove up out of the chair, needing a change of scenery, some fresh air for a bit instead of this depressing waiting room with artificial light and waning hope. On the elevator ride down, I tell myself that I need to let this go, but I know for sanity’s sake that I need to make sure she’s okay before I can go back to the life I knew without her.

The minute I exit the doors of the hospital, I feel like I can finally breathe again, clear my thoughts, and am dialing my phone instantly. The phone is picked up on the third ring.

“Everything okay?”

“What do you know about Beaux, Rafe?”

“What do you mean, what do I know? Are you not in Germany with her?” Rafe asks, confused about where I’m coming from.

“I’m here. I want to know about her background. What do you know about her?”

“What? Whoa? What’s her status? What aren’t you telling me, here?”

I clench my fist at my side as my feet eat up the sidewalk outside of the facility. I need to slow down, know it’s important to tread lightly considering Rafe is my friend but also my boss who might look down on coworkers who sleep together. Especially when my stability is already being closely watched after Stella’s death.

The last thing I need is for him to see that as misplaced grief over Stella, and that I fell for Beaux with misguided feelings.

After a deep breath, I relay what the nurse told me about Beaux’s status. “But when I arrived, her husband was here. She never mentioned having a husband, Rafe. She just referred to a bad situation at home…” My voice trails off, and I let him infer what he will, hoping it’s what I want.

“And your point is what, Tanner?”

“My point is that my gut instinct is zinging here that something’s off, and I wanted to know if you knew she was married.” I’m toeing the edge of mistruth with my friend, hoping he doesn’t see right through me.

He blows out an audible sigh that hangs on the connection while I wait him out to hear the answer. “Man, I’m her employer… I can’t give out that information.”

I harden my jaw in frustration because I knew this was going to be his answer. “Throw me a bone here, Rafe,” I groan into the phone, sick and tired of being railroaded. “How about if I ask this way instead: Does her job application have something written in the spot that says maiden name?”

“Damn it, Tanner.” He sighs, and I can tell he’s conflicted over professional versus personal obligations. Silence stretches for a moment before he continues. “But if you were concerned for her safety, for instance…”

“Yes. I might be,” I tell him without hesitation. I’ll take any out I can to get information to validate my feelings or justify hers if there is any such thing.

“That’s not really a question I can ask in an interview because it implies that I can discriminate if she is or isn’t married, but I did ask her if being away for extended periods of time for work would cause any problems. She said no and didn’t elaborate.”

“What about a wedding ring?” I ask, unable to give the topic up.

“Kind of hard to see when the interview was done over the phone. She was already freelancing. All I had were her bio with her picture, her portfolio, and an urging from the bosses to hire her.”

“You’re not giving me shit to go off… Can’t you look at her file, see what it says?” I hang my head back, my feet stopping as I come to the edge of the grounds lined with huge trees.

“I can’t. It’d flag HR, and they’d want to know why I’m looking at her info. Personal data is kept under lock and key around here since you guys are in the public eye.”

“Guess I shouldn’t expect anything less from you, should I? You used to break rules with me left and right to get what we needed. I guess when you slipped on that suit, you gave up your personality too.”

I end the call without another word and lean back against a short retaining wall behind me, not caring at all that I just hung up on my boss. My finger slides across the screen to those damn photographs again. When I pull up the one of the two of us together, I just stare at it as frustration builds inside me because there is no way in hell that moment was fake, that the happiness in our eyes and the smiles on our lips were not authentic. It takes all I have to tear my eyes from my phone and at the same time not throw it away from me in anger.

Instead, I sit there for a moment with my face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth since the heat here is so different than in the Middle East.

My phone rings again and I’m immediately pissed. I don’t want to speak to anyone, but when I look down and see it’s Rylee, I have to answer it.

“Hey, Bubs.” Shit, I sound like a dejected puppy dog.

“How are you feeling?” she asks with concern in her voice. It’s only been twelve hours or so since we talked last, since I reassured her and my mom and dad that I was completely fine, just a little worse for wear, but I know she’s a worrywart and is going to call me often. And in a sense I’m okay with that because everyone loves to know that they are loved. On the other hand, I’m not home much, and so I’m not used to her being in my business.