Chapter 26 The Hollow Chest
THE HOLLOW CHEST
EMERY
I know what it feels like to have my heart ripped out.
Literally. I know the agony of recovery, the uselessness of painkillers, the fear it’ll never heal, never feel the same.
But this time, the pain is unbearable. This time, the ache is deeper, stronger, unyielding in its assault on every fiber of my being.
He didn’t just rip out my heart, he stomped on it, crushed it under the heel of his cowardice.
He left? How could he leave? How could Quin let him fucking leave?
Anger stews in my gut as I rearrange meaningless documents in my former office.
My replacement, an older woman in her fifties sips on a delicate cup of tea, completely unaware of the turmoil boiling inside me.
God, she’s clueless. Can’t she see that I’m drowning right beside her?
Or maybe I’ve mastered the art of disguise.
Maybe I’ve perfected the face of passive acceptance, knowing that my life, no matter how hard I try, is always wrapped in pretty little bows of chaos and unrest.
My phone rings for the seventh time in two hours. I don’t need to check the caller ID. It’s Quinton. It’s always Quinton.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he whispers, head hung low. “I tried, but…”
“But what?” I grind my teeth. “Where is he? Where did he go?”
He swallows. “I think he needs some space. Some time. He’ll come back… He’ll—”
I slam my hand hard on the stack of transition documents.
No!
Don’t you dare fucking cry. Not in front of Helen. Not in front of fucking anyone. Tears don’t solve problems. Tears don’t turn back time and fix every single thing that shattered along the way, leaving us broken and busted.
I knew the truth would destroy him. I knew that Damon couldn't handle it. I should’ve left him alone.
I should’ve pushed him away even further.
If I stood my ground, if I didn’t let him in, if I didn’t choose love over loyalty to his well-being, he wouldn’t know.
He would be fine. He’d get over me and move on.
But that’s not reality. That’s not the plot of this tragedy.
It’s fiction. Complete and utter bullshit.
My phone rings again, and this time, I can’t stifle the anger. “Fuck. Off!” I grab my phone and chuck it across poor Helen’s new office. She jerks in her seat, tea spilling on her crisp magenta blouse. She stares at me, aghast. And I stare back, mortified.
I blink rapidly at Helen who looks at me like I’ve lost every single one of my marbles. And maybe I have. Maybe this is the last fucking straw.
“Oh my God. I’m—”
A cough sounds from behind me, and I whip my head around to find Amir leaning against the door. His unreadable gaze flicks from me to Helen to my cracked phone on the floor.
“We have a meeting, remember?” He casually strolls into the office, picks up my phone, and holds it out. “Ready?”
I frown at him. “We don’t have a—”
“After you, Miss Jones.” He nods toward the exit, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”
I sigh, inwardly wincing as I hear Helen mumbling something like God help her as we leave.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, unable to look anywhere but at my feet as Amir guides us to his office. “I don’t know what came over me. That was incredibly unprofessional and…”
I close my stupid mouth as Amir opens the door to his office and ushers me inside. God, how embarrassing. Is he going to call security on me?
When the door shuts behind us, he cocks his head, and a slow, amused grin spreads on his face. “That was…kind of attractive.”
My jaw sets. “Amir—”
He chuckles. “Calm down. I’m not hitting on you, Emery, just stating an objective fact.
It’s not every day that you see a woman who’s usually quite pulled together completely lose her shit.
” He nods to a potted plant on his desk.
“If you still feel like throwing something, I’m not particularly attached to that succulent. ”
I glower at him. “I’m going to leave now.”
He perks a brow, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Or…” His gaze flicks to the loveseat tucked against the back wall. “Or you can sit down, take a breath, and tell me what’s going on.” He glances back at me. “Your choice.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “I choose to leave.”
He sighs. “Why are women so difficult?” Amir pushes himself off the desk, glaring down at me as he strides forward. “Either you sit and talk to me, Emery, as a friend, or I send you down to HR and you can explain to them why our interim CFO is suddenly terrified of her predecessor.”
“I’m sure Helen is—”
Amir points to the loveseat. “Sit.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” I huff, flapping my arms as I aggressively fling myself onto the soft cushions. “There. I’m sitting. Happy?”
Amir rolls his eyes and strides toward the bar. “Would you like something to drink?” He quickly fixes himself a cocktail and turns around holding a tea bag. “Peppermint, perhaps?”
I tip my jaw at him. “I’m fine.”
Despite declining a beverage, Amir starts up the coffee machine and places a mug under the hot water dispenser, tossing the tea bag inside. I glower at him in sulking silence for a couple of minutes and when the mug is full, he carries it to me.
“Here. Drink.” He holds out the mug. I refuse to look at him. Asshole. “It helps with nausea. Take it.”
“I don’t feel nauseous,” I bite back, arms crossed. “I’m fine.”
“Needs to cool down, anyway.” Amir sets the tea on the coffee table in front of me before taking a seat to my left. He takes a small sip of his old-fashioned and leans back against the loveseat, shifting to face me. “Well? What happened?”
I expel a labored breath, burying my face in my hands. “Nothing. I’m fine. Everything is fine, okay? I just want to leave. I want to—”
“I heard about Damon.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
Amir gives me a casual shrug. “Quinton called.”
I dig my nails into my palms. “Of course, he did.
“He’s worried about you, Emery. He said you haven’t been home in a couple of days.”
I swallow, spine tightening. I know this isn’t Quinton’s fault. I know that I’m being unfair. Irrational. Emotional. But I can’t be there, in that house, when it feels so fucking empty.
“He said you missed your OB appointment yesterday,” Amir adds, his concerned gaze flitting across my face. “You’re pregnant.”
“About four months now.” My voice is distant, lifeless.
He blinks, and I know he’s doing the math. Creating a timeline. His face pales slightly as he connects the dots. “You were pregnant when—”
“When I was shot? Yes.”
Amir’s kept his distance since that night.
Since he and Quin found me lying in a pool of my own blood.
He sent flowers. A card. Told me my job would be waiting for me when I was ready.
But he didn’t bring up anything else. Not the fact that we invited him in.
Not the fact that he accepted. None of that matters now. It’s water under a crumbling bridge.
He swallows, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus…”
“I’m fine.” I place a hand over my stomach. “We’re fine.”
“Is that why Damon left?” Amir asks hesitantly. “Because he’s not the father?”
A chill passes over me. “I don’t know who the father is. I don’t want a test. I don’t want to know.”
“I see…” A charged beat. “Then, why? He… You all seemed rather…happy. At least from what I’ve seen.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I shake my head. “I can’t tell you,” I whisper, defeat washing over me. “It’s… It’s so complicated. It’s…” I glance at Amir. “I know you think talking about it will help, but I literally can’t.” Not without revealing Damon’s crimes.
“Even if you can’t talk to me, you should talk to someone. Quin… He told me about your condition.” Is nothing private anymore? “If you keep it bottled up, the stress, it can…”
“I’m well aware of the risk associated with high stress,” I snap. “But thank you for your concern.”
He fishes a business card out of his breast pocket and holds it before me. “Here.”
I eye the card warily. “Amir, I can’t—”
“My sister is a tenured professor of psychology at Columbia.” He wiggles the card. “She doesn’t have a practice anymore, but I can guarantee you she is discreet. Anything you tell her, she’ll keep private.” His brown eyes meet mine, knowing and honest. “Anything.”
Slowly, I take the card and read the print. Dr. Safia Hadid, Behavioral Psychologist. “How many sisters do you have?”
“One.”
I frown at him. “This is the same sister that accompanied you to the presidential fundraiser?” Amir nods. My frown deepens. “She didn’t look old enough to be tenured.”
“She’s a bit of a genius. Finished her PhD at twenty-two. I’d like to say that she got her brains from our dad’s side of the family, but I’d be lying.” I lift a brow. “Different mothers,” he elaborates. “My father’s on his fourth wife. I think this current one is an actress.”
I tilt my head, fiddling with the business card. “Like father, like son.”
Amir playfully scowls at me. “I’ll let that one slide since you’re clearly in distress, but be nice to me, Emery, I’m still your boss.” His pocket vibrates, and he pulls out my cracked phone. He reads the caller ID. “It’s—”
“Quin, I know.” I sigh, holding out my hand. “I’ll take it.”
Amir stands up, polishing off his cocktail. “Call Safia. She’ll be able to help you.”
I give him a small nod, and he exits the office, leaving me to deal with the repercussions of my childlike behavior. I flick my nails anxiously as I draw in a sharp breath, wincing as I answer the call.
“Hello?”
“You promised me, Emery.” Quin’s voice is deep, guttural. “You promised that you’d take this seriously. You can’t miss appointments, not when—”
“I know,” I cut him off, shoulders slumping with regret. “I’ve already rebooked it for Friday.” I stare at Safia’s card, my chest pounding with longing. Help me. Please. Help us. “Will you…” God, I’ve been unfair to him. “Will you come with me?”
Quin sighs, and I can hear the relief in his tone. “Of course I’ll go with you, darling. You never need to ask. I’ll be there. Every time.”
My lip quivers as the floodgates open, crashing down on me with grief and sorrow. “I miss him, Quin. I…”
“I know, darling. I do too.”
“He should be there.” My voice catches in the back of my throat. “He should be there when we…”
“I’ll try and talk to him again,” he says. “I’ll go to his condo and—”
"Why would he leave me?" I choke out, the pain of abandonment cutting deep into my heart. The tears come unbidden, unruly. "He said he would never leave."
“He’ll come back. I promise you, love, he will come back.”
There’s a veiled threat in his voice, and I can sense the mountains of rage bubbling beneath his stoic, confident exterior. Quin's loyalty to me is unwavering, but his patience with Damon's absence is wearing thin. Almost too thin.
I wipe away my tears, trying to regain my composure. “I’m sorry, Quin. I’m—”
“You’re allowed to be upset, Emery. You’re allowed to be angry. Never apologize for how you feel. Ever.” He’s silent for a moment. “I love you, my darling girl. No matter what, we'll get through this together."
This hollow chest is temporary. It has to be. I can’t live without a heart.
And Damon ran away with half.