35. Monica
35
MONICA
" Y ou really don't need to do all this," I say, watching Henry fuss with my discharge paperwork. He's been hovering like a helicopter since this morning, barely leaving my side except to grab fresh clothes for me.
"I absolutely do need to do all this." Henry doesn't even look up from the clipboard. His jaw is set in that stubborn way I'm starting to recognize. "The doctor said you need to stay off that ankle for at least two weeks."
"I know what the doctor said. I was there." I shift on the edge of the hospital bed, wincing as my bruised ribs protest.
Henry immediately abandons the paperwork and is at my side. "What hurts? Should I call the nurse back?"
"I'm fine. Just sore." I squeeze his hand. "Really."
His blue eyes search mine, looking for any sign I'm downplaying my pain. "The car is waiting downstairs. I've already had your prescriptions filled."
A nurse wheels in a wheelchair, and Henry helps me into it despite my protests that I can manage. His hands are gentle but firm on my waist, careful to avoid my injuries.
"Mrs. Blackwood, here are your discharge instructions." The nurse hands me a folder of papers. "And your crutches are in the car as requested, Mr. Blackwood."
It still gives me a little jolt hearing myself called that. Mrs. Blackwood. Fake wife to a man who's becoming increasingly real to me.
Outside, Henry helps me into the back of a sleek black SUV. He slides in beside me, immediately adjusting pillows behind my back and placing a blanket over my legs.
"Henry, I'm not an invalid."
"Humor me." He tucks the blanket around my legs. "I've never had someone I care about get hurt like this before."
The simple admission steals my breath more effectively than my bruised ribs. Someone I care about. The words hang between us.
"I've arranged for a nurse to check on you daily," he continues, "and I've cleared my schedule for the next week."
"You what? Henry, you can't put your life on hold?—"
"Watch me." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "I'm not leaving you alone, Monica. Besides," he adds with a hint of that smile that makes my stomach flip. "Who else is going to make sure you actually follow doctor's orders?"
The city blurs past the car window as we head toward our building. Henry takes my hand in his, giving me a gentle squeeze.
"We got him, Monica." Henry's voice pulls me from my thoughts "Leo, Aston, and I were there when they took Benjamin away."
I turn to face him, my heart suddenly racing. "What? When?"
"A few days ago." Henry's eyes are bright with satisfaction. "The police picked him up at his apartment in East Harlem. Three squad cars. They didn't take any chances."
The image of Benjamin being led away in handcuffs hits me like a physical force. After years of him making me feel powerless, the tables have finally turned.
"You should've seen his face," Henry continues, a hard edge to his voice I rarely hear. "All that smug confidence gone in an instant when they slapped those cuffs on him."
"You three went there? That was dangerous, Henry." Despite my words, gratitude warms me from the inside out.
He shrugs. "We stayed back. Leo called in some favors to make sure we'd know when they were making the arrest. The evidence was overwhelming once the police saw the brake line and matched it with the security footage from the parking lot."
"So it's really over?" My voice sounds small even to my own ears.
Henry shifts closer, his arm sliding around my shoulders. "The DA's office is going to throw the whole book at him. Attempted murder, stalking, harassment, property damage. He's going away for a very long time."
I lean into Henry's warmth, letting the reality sink in. Benjamin can't hurt me anymore. The relief is so intense it brings tears to my eyes.
"Hey," Henry says softly, brushing a tear from my cheek. "It's done. You're safe now."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. For the first time in what feels like forever, I believe it might be true.
The car pulls up to our building, and Henry's out before I can even reach for the door handle. He circles around and opens my door, leaning in with an outstretched hand.
"Easy does it," he says, helping me slide across the seat.
I grip his forearm, wincing as I put weight on my good leg. The crutches are awkward, and I'm already dreading the stairs and elevator.
"I got you," Henry murmurs, his arm steady around my waist. "One step at a time."
The doorman rushes to help, holding the door open wide. "Mrs. Blackwood! We heard what happened. Terrible business."
"Thanks, Frank." I manage a smile despite the pain shooting up my side.
We make slow progress through the lobby. Henry's patience never wavers, matching his pace to mine, stopping whenever I need a moment. The elevator ride is silent, but his hand never leaves the small of my back.
When the doors open, I'm surprised when Henry presses the button for his floor, not mine.
"My penthouse is downstairs," I remind him, confused.
"I think it's about time you move in fully with me," Henry says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. "At least while you heal. You shouldn't be alone right now."
My heart skips. We've maintained separate spaces since the beginning of our arrangement—my floor has been my sanctuary, my escape when things got overwhelming.
"I can manage?—"
"Monica." His voice is soft. "Please. Let me take care of you."
I look up at him, at the concern etched in the lines around his eyes, and something inside me surrenders.
"Okay."
Relief washes over his face. "We'll get whatever you need from downstairs later."
The elevator opens directly into his penthouse. It's familiar territory—I've been here countless times—but it feels different knowing I'll be staying.
"I want to be with you too," I admit quietly as he helps me to the couch. "I'm just not used to letting someone take care of me."
Henry kneels in front of me, carefully arranging pillows under my injured ankle. "Well, get used to it. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Henry helps me settle onto his plush couch, gently lifting my injured ankle onto a pillow. His touch is tender, almost reverent, as he tucks a blanket around my legs. When he sits beside me, there's a tension in his shoulders I haven't seen before.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically nervous.
"As comfortable as someone with a sprained ankle and bruised ribs can be." I try to smile, but something in his expression makes my heart flutter.
He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. "Monica, I need to tell you something."
"Okay..." My pulse quickens.
"This whole situation with Benjamin—" He stops, shaking his head. "No, that's not right. It started long before that." Henry takes my hand between both of his, his eyes fixed on our intertwined fingers. "When I first suggested this arrangement, I thought it would be simple. Convenient for both of us."
I hold my breath, afraid to interrupt whatever confession is coming.
"But nothing about being with you has been simple." His eyes meet mine, intense and vulnerable. "I've fallen in love with you, Monica. Completely. And these past few days, thinking I could have lost you..." His voice breaks. "It made me realize I can't pretend anymore. This isn't fake for me. It hasn't been for a long time."
The words hang in the air between us. Henry Blackwood loves me. Not as part of our arrangement. Not as a friend. He loves me.
"Say something," he whispers, uncertainty clouding his features.
"I..." My voice fails me as tears spring to my eyes. "I've been so scared to admit it, even to myself."
Hope flickers across his face. "Admit what?"
"That I've fallen for you too." The words rush out, bringing with them an overwhelming sense of relief. "I've been fighting it because I was terrified of being hurt again, of trusting someone again. But you're nothing like him. You've shown me that every day."
Henry's face transforms with joy. He cups my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "I love you, Monica West. And I'm not going to hide that anymore."