Round 47
ROUND FORTY-SEVEN
OLLIE
“He’s pissed Cliff is in there.” I fold my arms and command my feet to stay the fuck still. To remain in this room, away from the guy who tries so fucking hard not to show his temper. “He thinks she’s lying about them being together, and he’s locking it down.”
“If you were the fiancé and your missus went missing, only to show up with a new man three months later, wouldn’t you be pissed?”
“Sure, I would. After I wept at her fuckin’ feet, thankful she was okay.
After I spent a good long while begging her to remember me.
After I gave her anything she asked for, any answer, any morsel of information she needed to help her feel better.
After that, I’d get real fuckin’ pissy about her new man standing over her, asking questions, his hand on her shoulder.
But I would say so. Clearly.” I glance to the right, studying the side of Ramone’s face.
“Him being mad isn’t the issue. It’s completely normal.
Him pretending he’s not is a giant red flag to me. It’s sneaky and fake.”
He peeks left and sizes me up. His eyes narrowed. His jaw gritting. “Is it possible you’re looking for reasons to hate him?”
“Yes.” Releasing a long, grunting breath, I bring my focus back to the interview room. “I want him to be a piece of shit. I want him to fuck up so she can send him on his way and not feel bad about it.”
“You were the one who instigated the interview on the news.” He goes back to watching the glass, too. “You were trying to help her find her home again. Three months ago, you were doing everything you could to make this right. Now he’s here, and you don’t wanna let her go.”
“No shit! I can’t let her go. Just thinking about it feels about as good as tearing my arm off and feeding it to a wood chipper.”
“And yet,” he rumbles, shifting on his feet. “When she asked you what she should do, you said she should talk to him.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do!” I drag my hands over my face, groaning as exhaustion beats in my brain like a drum.
The movement of my arms startles the cat, her claws digging into my shoulder because she’s afraid of falling.
But I’m at the end of my rope, and her nails piercing my skin is a step too far.
I scoop her off my shoulder and place her on the floor, careful with her tiny body wrapped in my palm.
Gentle, despite the fire burning in my veins.
Straightening out again, I stare at the back of Rose’s head.
Her long ponytail, dangling over the back of her chair.
Her narrow shoulders, hunched as she folds in on herself.
“As her doctor, I act with impartiality. With neutrality. I swore to cause no harm. To heal,” I groan.
“The right choice is for me to help my patient reconnect with the people who love her. It’s to do whatever needs to be done to help her regain her independence and identity.
And he—” I stab a finger toward the window.
“He has the information she needs. But as a human being?” I drop my hands, closing my eyes for a beat before the fuckers start watering.
“As the man who wants to keep her for the rest of my life, I’m scared I’m gonna fuck all this up.
I’m gonna say something I shouldn’t. She’s going to look to me for guidance, and my selfishness might win out over what’s right. Is that love at all?”
Exhaling a long, tired sigh, I open my eyes again and look past Rose to the fucker opposite her.
“To love someone is to put their needs above my own. Which means, me wanting her should not—does not—trump the decisions she made before we met, and if he’s telling the truth, then he was her choice.
For seven fucking years, she chose him. She agreed to marry him.
She made plans to make a family with him. ”
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t fucking puke.
“So there’s what I want,” I grit out. “And there’s what’s right. And I’m terrified of what I’ll say when she asks me what I think. If I tell her to stay, I’m robbing her of what the woman before Plainview chose. And if I tell her to go…”
“You’re fucked,” he finishes for me, his jaw gritting in my peripherals. “Basically.”
“Basically. But if it turns out he’s a piece of shit…”
He chuckles, shaking his head. But his laughter lacks any hint of humor. “Guess we’ll keep an eye on him and hope he screws up, then, huh?”