Chapter 3
The beep of the hospital monitor is like a ticking time bomb. With every chirp, it grows impossibly louder. With every moment that passes without a word, my anxiety grows more and more intense.
What the hell happened tonight? How did we even get here? One moment I’m in Gareth’s arms, wrapping my brain around everything that’s about to change between us. The next, I’m on the floor and he’s right beside me, blood pouring out of the side of his head.
My face crumples as I stare at the red stain seeping through the bandage around Gareth’s forehead. He looks so weak in the hospital bed. So broken. So frail. Nothing like the powerful man who promised to claim me in ways no man has ever claimed me before.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I swallow the knot in my throat to answer. “Freya, hi,” I croak, my voice raw and worn out.
“How are you?” she asks.
I wince as the phone nudges against the bulge on my cheekbone. “I’m fine I suppose. The right side of my face is purple, but I barely feel it. Maybe I’m still in shock.”
“Well, thank goodness for small favours,” she replies, her tone soft. “Any change in Gareth?”
“No. He still hasn’t woken up.” I bite my lip to hold back the sob that wants to rip from my throat every time I think of that fact. “They said it could be hours or days…Whatever the hell that means.”
“It’s going to be fine,” she states pragmatically. Freya is always good in a crisis. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“No,” I grumble, running a finger along Gareth’s IV’d hand. “They won’t let you back here, and I don’t want to leave his side.”
“I’ll tell them I’m his sister or something.”
I half smile at the thought. “I already told them I’m his wife. Let’s keep the lies to a minimum so I don’t get kicked out. Knowing you’re in the waiting room is comfort enough.”
She pauses for a moment before asking, “What if the press gets wind of you calling yourself Gareth’s wife?”
I groan and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I hadn’t thought about that, but I honestly don’t care. He wasn’t going to sit back here alone. Good God, Freya…It’s…Gareth. We’ve barely gotten started. If he doesn’t come back from this, I’m going to—”
Freya cuts off my voice just as it begins to tremble. “There’s no need to worry about the what-ifs. They are pointless and not reality. Gareth is going to be just fine.”
Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a group of people arguing down the hall. I catch sight of long blonde hair as it blasts past the door, then reappears in the small window that looks into the room.
It’s Gareth’s sister, Vi. She’s still dressed in her red gown from earlier, but her top is covered in a suit jacket now. She opens the door and glances at Gareth with a gasp just as their brothers—Camden, Tanner, and Booker—appear behind her.
“I’ll have to call you back, Freya,” I state and hang up as my watery eyes take in Gareth’s siblings shuffling into the room.
You could hear a pin drop as they all stare gravely at their oldest brother lying unconscious.
They are clearly shaken over the sight. I can’t say I blame them.
He lost a ton of blood, so he’s white as a ghost with a horrible bruise down one side of his face, not to mention he’s hooked up to a monitor. It’s a scary image.
Footsteps sound off behind them, and my gaze lands on an older man who’s just entered the room. He pushes past everyone to stand on the opposite side of Gareth’s bed. He’s straight across from where I’m standing, but he’s so focused on Gareth, he doesn’t appear to notice me.
I take a moment to look him up and down. He’s over six feet tall and has the body of an athlete, though a bit softer than it was in its prime, I’m sure. The shape of his eyes are exactly like Gareth’s, and it takes me all of two seconds to realise I’m staring at Vaughn Harris—Gareth’s father.
“How did you get here?” I ask, my voice surprising me. He wasn’t at the awards ceremony, so how can he be here already? It’s only been a few hours since the attack.
He blinks rapidly and looks at me through narrowed eyes. He briefly flicks his gaze down at the casual clothing that Freya brought for me earlier. It’s the look of a drill sergeant inspecting a uniform. Not friendly.
If this is how he reacts to someone in clean clothes, I shudder to think what his reaction would be if I were still in my dress that was covered in blood.
“Who are you?” he asks, his tone clipped.
I swallow down the knot in my throat. “I’m Sloan.”
His lip curls up. “Why are you here with my son?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad,” Vi warns, stepping forward to stand at the foot of the bed. “Sloan is with Gareth. I told you that on the phone, remember?”
“I don’t care,” he barks, his eyes focusing on the bruise on my face. “I don’t know her, and the nurse just told me she’s claiming to be my son’s wife. I’m entitled to ask her some questions.”
I wince. “I…had to tell them that, or they wouldn’t let me come back here to be with him. He was all alone. Vi was stuck in traffic—”
“Very well then. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here claiming to be married to my son? Who are you to him really?”
His question gives me a huge gut check I wasn’t expecting.
So much of what Gareth and I have had has been in private.
In his home. In complete secret. We’ve kept so much from each other, but I feel like I know him.
I’m more to him than a stylist or a casual fuck, but we never labelled what we are to each other.
Maybe in the bedroom, yes. But right now, we’re still in a grey zone.
I step away from the bed and murmur, “I’m…nobody.”
“Right,” Vaughn states, confirming what I fear might be true after all of this is over.
I know none of what happened tonight is my fault, but I am the reason Gareth was distracted when he walked into his house. If I hadn’t sent him into an emotional tailspin, who knows where we’d be right now. I’ve clearly done more harm than good in his life as of late.
Vi’s eyes find mine and she mouths a silent apology, then walks over to speak quietly with her father. Gareth’s brothers still seem to be in shock as they move in closer to him.
I suddenly feel very out of place.
This is his family. People that he knows and trusts. I’m an outsider and unwelcome. I don’t belong here.
As I consider leaving, the older, white-haired doctor whom I spoke to earlier strides into the room with an iPad clutched in his hands. He slides past Gareth’s brothers and introduces himself to Vaughn.
“Mr. Harris, hello. I’m Dr. Howard.”
“Tell me what’s going on with my son.”
Dr. Howard eyes me with a frown before replying, “As I told his wife, we’re monitoring Gareth closely at this point. Severe concussions like this can lift in hours or days.”
“A severe concussion?” Vaughn’s granite features morph into shock.
The doctor looks even more puzzled by the fact that I hadn’t relayed this information to Vaughn already.
“Yes, but he’s stable and there’s no swelling in his brain, which is a very good sign.
A trauma to the temple can be quite dangerous, though, so we’re monitoring him to ensure no brain bleeds form overnight. ”
Vaughn narrows his eyes at Dr. Howard, then turns to Vi as he states, “Right. We’re taking him home.”
“What?” Vi and I both exclaim in unison.
“I have a private jet here. We’re going to get him to a London hospital. We need to get out of here.” Vaughn looks around the room, his hands balling into fists by his sides. I notice a sheen of sweat on his forehead that I hadn’t seen before. He’s nervous.
Dr. Howard holds a hand out. “Mr. Harris, I assure you he’s getting the best medical care here.”
Vaughn doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t care what he’s getting. We’re getting him out of Manchester tonight.”
“Travel is not advised in his condition,” the doctor replies warily.
“It’s a quick trip. Just get me the forms to sign. We’re taking him home.”
“Dad,” Vi says, stepping up to Vaughn and lifting her hands that are hidden in the long sleeves of Tanner’s jacket. “This isn’t necessary. I think we should listen to the doctor.”
“Vilma!” Vaughn nearly roars. “My decision is final.”
Vi cowers like a whipped puppy beneath her father’s harsh command.
Booker rubs his hand along her back as she turns her face away from Vaughn.
I look over at Camden and Tanner to find they are also frozen in fear.
Or maybe it’s just shock? I can’t tell. Regardless, they are all acting like PTSD victims who have been triggered. What is with this family?
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Vaughn snaps at Dr. Howard, who flinches.
“We’ll need to arrange an ambulance transport and a nurse to fly with us.
Better yet, a doctor. Perhaps I know someone.
” Vaughn pulls his phone out and softly mumbles to himself as he attempts to make arrangements for his unconscious son.
Booker’s eyes find mine as he cradles his sister against his chest. They all suddenly look so much younger than they did earlier this evening at the gala.
Booker is clearly petrified; Camden and Tanner are paralysed; and Vi is a sobbing mess.
They remind me of my panicked little Sopapilla at the hospital right before the nurses would come in to start a line on her.
Meanwhile, Vaughn is on his phone sounding like Hitler calling in his troops.
It’s then that I see all the overwhelming moments I had leading up to Gareth.
Getting pregnant. Getting married. Sophia’s cancer diagnosis and having to hold her down for doctors to treat her.
Being forced to move to England and pushed into a job I’m not passionate about.
Being told how to dress my daughter by Callum’s mother, Margaret.
The cheating, the divorce, the joint custody.
It all comes bearing down on me like the weight of a lifetime’s worth of submission.