When I Was Theirs

55. Jared

55

Jared

“ H ere.”

I blink, and the words on the page waver. “What?”

The nurse I spoke to earlier smiles, gesturing to my face. She holds out the box of tissues. “You’re looking a little damp, hon.”

Clearing my throat, I take a couple. “Thank you.”

“If you want to clean up,” she says gently, “there’s a restroom down the hall.”

Nodding, I fold up the letter and slide it carefully back into my pocket. “Thanks.”

I think I’m ready.

I scrub my hands, slowly washing away the traces of Emmy’s blood before walking back out with my heart in my throat. My legs move faster at the sight of a doctor, crumpled and tired-looking in a crisp white coat. “How is she?”

A genuine smile. “Emilia is doing well. We were concerned about damage to her larynx, possibly her throat area, but no surgery needed. She’s in a room down the hall, if you’d like to see her.”

My legs stop working. He’s not fast enough to catch me as I land heavily on my ass in the middle of the hospital hallway. “She’s going to be alright?”

Another chance. A chance to put things right.

“She is. She’s a little disoriented, and there are some other potential long-term impacts to consider, but we believe she’s out of any physical danger. Her parents are on their way.”

Her parents?

My head jerks up. “I’d like to see her now.”

The doctor leads me down the hall, tapping on a door and poking his head around. When he turns back to me, his mouth is pulled down. Not quite a frown. But certainly not a smile. “She has some significant facial injuries. Just to prepare you.”

My pulse thuds audibly in my ears as I step through.

“Her next of kin should be here soon. And the police will want to speak with her when she wakes up. I’ll give you some space.”

I barely hear him as I step into the room.

She looks small. Fragile. Broken. Deceptively so.

A noise sounds in the back of my throat as I step up to the side of the bed.

She’s still here. She fought.

That fucker is lying in the morgue, but she’s still breathing.

“Em,” I breathe finally. A hard blue plastic chair is next to her, and I settle myself into it. Searching her battered face. Her eyelids are swollen beyond recognition, blue bruising surrounding them that I know is only going to get worse before it heals. Her right cheekbone is swollen too, her scars barely standing out among the patchwork of pain across her skin.

My eyes travel over the black marks dusting her throat like a collar. They look huge against her pale skin.

Fingerprints.

I wish Arron Matthews wasn’t already dead.

“Emmy.” Her hair is a nest of tangled brown rope against the white pillow, and I carefully push a strand back that hangs over her eyes, careful not to touch the skin. “Hey, baby.”

A croak. My cheeks feel wet.

“I’m sorry.” My hand slips down past the blue hospital gown until my fingers brush hers. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Even her hand is bruised.

Em’s breathing is steady, the soft rise and fall of her chest a rhythm that I focus on as I sit there and wait. And I talk to her.

I tell her everything. Everything in my heart. The pain. The grief.

And how I feel about her.

“I need you to wake up, Em.” My index finger softly strokes her pinky. “I swear to you that I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

I’ll spend the rest of my life watching over you, even if you don’t want me .

Just wake up.

Hours later, my voice is hoarse.

“I think Geraldine is broken.” She doesn’t move. “You reckon if I fix her, she won’t curse me? I still dream about that doll, you know.”

Nothing.

“I dream about you too,” I admit roughly. “You seem to have invaded every part of my life, Em. Not that I’m complaining.”

I watch her breathe. “It’s my birthday next week. I don’t even know when yours is. What should I get you?”

“It’s June twelfth.”

Twisting to look at the doorway, I lock eyes with the woman hovering, her hand pressed to her chest.

Em.

An older version, but close to identical. Except this version of Emmy is unscarred, pristine in a cream silk wrap dress and expensive handbag. She has her daughter’s eyes, though.

She looks me over with curiosity, not hiding her assessment. “Who are you?”

“Jared.” My tone isn’t exactly friendly. “I’m…,”

“Hers.” The quiet word takes me by surprise as Emmy’s mother moves her eyes to her daughter, and inhales sharply.

Behind her, I can hear a deeper voice. Demanding to speak to a doctor.

When Emmy’s mom flinches, I get to my feet, my eyes moving between her and the door. “That’s her father.”

She nods. She glances over her shoulder before stepping inside, nudging the door closed behind her. She doesn’t stop until she’s opposite me, her hands lifting and hovering as she takes in Emmy’s face.

“Oh, Emilia.” Her voice shakes. “Sweetheart.”

But she flinches back as the door bangs open.

“Who the hell are you?”

I take my time turning to look.

Em’s dad is an imposing, tall man. Taller than me, if I had to guess. Broad, twice as wide as his wife. Neatly trimmed gray hair, clean-shaven and glaring as if I’m the one who put her in this bed. “She’s not accepting visitors. Please leave.”

My hands tighten on Emmy’s bedrail. “Did she tell you that? Because unless she does, I’m not going anywhere.”

His face purples. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but this is a family matter.”

He doesn’t miss when I shift to stand between him and Emmy, my arms crossing. “It’s funny, because I know you.”

Em’s father assesses me again, dismissing me. “We’ve never met.”

“Maybe not. But I know an abusive bastard when I see one.”

Emmy’s mother sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t say anything as her husband steps up to me, pushing into my space.

I don’t move. “Don’t try to intimidate me. It won’t work. You haven’t even looked at her. Take a good look at what you’ve done.”

Glowering, he doesn’t move. “I wasn’t here. Had no idea where Emilia was, since she ran away and left her mother heartbroken.”

“Because you left her with a fucking monster !” My voice rises in fury to match his, our words bouncing off the walls. “Because instead of protecting her, you protected him . Throwing money at her for every fucking injury instead of keeping her safe. How much would you have given if he’d murdered her? How much is your daughter’s life worth?”

All the rage inside me comes pouring out. “You had one fucking job, you son of a bitch. And you failed her in every way that matters.”

It doesn’t even register. “I’m calling security. This is ridiculous.”

“You don’t deserve to call yourself a father.” I get in his way when he attempts to push past me. “Try to go near her when she hasn’t given you permission and I will throw you out of this room. I hope you try it. I’m not as much of an easy target as your wife and daughter.”

He eyes me, clearly assessing how serious I am. “You have no idea what being a father looks like.”

“Shows how much you fucking know. Back off. Now .”

I turn just enough to face Em’s mother, keeping his ruddy, apoplectic face in my line of sight. “You’re welcome to wait here. But he stays outside until Emilia says he can come in.”

“I’m her next of kin,” he says tightly. “You can’t keep me out.”

“No, you’re not.” The quiet words from behind us have his mouth falling open as he turns to his wife. She draws herself upright, glancing down at Emmy before her lips press together. “I’m her named contact, not you. Please wait outside for me, George.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, and away. “I don’t want to upset her anymore. Please.”

Nodding, I look at him. At his seething face. “You heard her.”

It’s only as the door bangs that I realize what she meant. As I look down, following her line of sight. My heart turns over in my chest.

“Em?”