Chapter Six
TYLER
As I sit at my desk, I look out the panoramic windows of my office overlooking the harbor that has the sparkle of the city in its reflection.
The finalization of the campaign event for the mayor calls for a late night, all the while finalizing my own little contracts Mitchell won’t know about.
Small businesses deserve our investment just as much as the big ones.
Tonight, I’m focusing on two—Leo’s second restaurant and a florist who wants to open her own shop. Specifically, the florist I’ve been getting my mother’s bouquets from for the last few years.
Originally, I met her on the streets in Boston, selling her bouquets she made at home all by herself. I became a regular and finally talked her into opening her own floral shop. Now, her shop will have its grand opening next week.
She was ecstatic when I told her my one stipulation. Don’t forget me when you become a famous wedding florist.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I look at my watch and see it’s already nine. I’ve been here since seven-thirty this morning. My father happened to get delayed on his trip again, leaving the work to fall on me to get done for all the other contracts we have in the works.
Escape has always been in the back of my mind, but Mitchell is powerful. While his threats seem like loose words, I’m not ready to test that theory.
I do enjoy the flexibility it gives me in my life, and I can’t complain about the money either. It’ll never be an issue for any of us.
That’s one thing I’ll give my sorry bastard father, he makes us work for our money. We’re no trust fund babies. Everything we have, we had to earn, and I can appreciate that more than anything.
When my time comes to take over the company, I plan to build a new empire. Our association won’t just be with rich bastards who get off on money and power.
We aren’t all the same, and I’m going to prove that. The blood in our veins, the name we carry and money in our accounts is what gives us a path in this life. Many think of it as an honor, but I think of it as a curse, yet somehow, here I am at the fucking top.
Mitchell made it clear becoming a part of this life wasn’t an option.
For that, I’ve made sure people understand my blade hurts much worse when the person on the other side of it doesn’t care about causing pain. He may be the boss, but I am the one they all fear. Which is why the days until I claim this company cannot come sooner.
Once I finish up the bulk of my work, I utilize this spare time to start searching hospital databases nearby for that little fire from the coffee shop.
I start with Mass Gen since it’s our biggest hospital, not taking any more than a few minutes before I’ve hacked into their system. I scour the employees' lists with no clue if she’s a nurse, a CNA, an x-ray tech, or hell, even a doctor.
The list of occupations in a hospital goes on, and I know I’ll be searching through thousands of names and faces before I find her. So I start with the first list, leisurely scrolling, despite my heart pounding in my chest, desperate to find her.
I lean back in my seat, passing by pictures of employees whose faces don’t mean a thing to me. While something in my heart tells me that Boston will bring us back together, I’m unfortunately an impatient man at times, and this is one of them.
I have to know her name.
Hearing my phone buzz on my desk, I’m taken out of my hunt and pick it up, finding a text message from Mitchell. I scroll through, finding hundreds from my family chat, most being Sam.
I open the message from my father, seeing it’s short, brief and to the point.
Don’t forget the hotel launch next Friday. Casual wear. Still business. It’s yours to handle. Make sure you bring a date. Meaning Shelby. Don’t fuck it up. Fix what you broke. We have a lot of eyes there.
I already know I’ll get a message from Shelby this week. I’ll do the same thing I always do; I won’t respond.
My parents like to believe a man looks more respectable with a good little spineless wife on his arm as an accessory to make me look powerful, but I don’t. I won’t bring a date, and I sure as shit won’t bring Shelby because people will talk. Those eyes my father has also have mouths.
My phone buzzes again as I get another message from my family, saying to meet at Martha’s.
Stopping everything I’m doing, I pack up my things so I can go be with them. I’ll finish whatever I need to do tomorrow.
I send a message and lock up my office.
I’m on my way.
SUNNY
The busy day in the hospital has me shocked when I see it’s already five. It was a no lunch kind of day, with throbbing feet and an achy back, but I’m truly enjoying the rush of it all.
Finally sitting at the nurse’s station, I take a sip of my water, ready to chart. I place my stethoscope on the desk and jolt as my name is called by the charge nurse.
“Sunny!” I hear Tara yell from her place by the ambulance bay. “You’re getting another one in A5. Motor Vehicle Accident running from her abusive partner. Twenty-five-year-old female coming by ambulance.”
My stomach churns and flips inside out. I just nod, yelling back, “Okay!”
I look at my computer but don’t actually see anything as I white knuckle the desk. While the world spins, my heart beats frantically against my sternum.
I left my life and memories in search for a freedom that is only confined to a prison. Yet they still follow me, no matter how fast I run to leave them behind. In the night they present as sinister smiles and my body being defiled. It makes me wonder how such an intense love has turned into pain.
Seeing that girl will be like seeing myself, and I’m not sure I’m ready to revisit that part of me just yet. Because I know despite what he did to her, she’ll still have love in her eyes for him, regardless of the hatred that’ll slowly take its place.
I don’t know if I’m ready for that. My wounds are still bleeding. They haven’t even had a chance to close yet. But as the ambulance pulls up and rolls the battered girl on a gurney, I realize I have no choice.
As soon as I see the broken and beaten face on the young girl, I can’t stop the images of a hard fist to my face and my stethoscope wrapped around my neck.
I bring a shaky hand to where that reminder of a scar stays on my neck now. He will forever have an imprint on me, no matter how hard I try to scrub myself raw of him.
Grabbing my stethoscope with shaky hands, I place it in my scrub pocket, and enter the room where the girl waits for me.
You are safe with me.
“Good afternoon, my name is Sunny, I’ll be your nurse for the next two to three hours. Can you tell me what brought you in today?” I ask, as I gently enter the room and write my name on the board.
It’s protocol to make sure the patients know their reasoning for being there, because it helps us assess their mentation.
Though she’s curled into herself with her knees drawn up, her grey eyes meet mine. Blood from the cut on her head drips down her face. She looks so small. So scared. And I understand the feeling.
I am so sorry this happened to you.
Her lip quivers. “I, I, I got in an accident.” She musters up and swallows hard, meeting my eyes. “He just got very angry. Because I wouldn’t take him back.” She licks her lips. “He crashed into my car.”
I approach the girl, squatting on the floor to get to her eye level. I take her scratched and bloodied hand in my own. My hand looked the same a mere month ago. She’s only a few years younger than me.
Parts of me remind me of you.
“Tell me everything,” I say with a gentle smile. “You’re safe here.” I try to remind her and myself.
We are both safe here.
Once I settle and get her stable with a plan of action, I run to the bathroom to release all the contents of my stomach.
What little is in there. I heave over and over until I can’t anymore.
Until my abs and back hurt, and my eyes sting as fresh tears spill down my cheeks.
Then I start crying, trying to place a shaky hand over my mouth, muffling the screams that want to escape.
From such a young age we are told that little boys bullying us is justified because it means they like us.
In turn as we grow up, we think the man who traps us in a corner and hurts us is somehow madly in love with us.
Then they blame us. Questions of why did you stay or why didn’t you leave sooner are the first thing to leave their mouths instead of why did he do this to you?
The reality of my situation comes crashing down on me. I’m running. No matter how good life will get here, I’ll always be running until I know Ryan is either dead or behind bars. And right now, I don’t know either of those things. Will I ever?
I’m a statistic now. He did that to me.
My panic attacks have simmered down and mostly only appear in the middle of the night as dreams of my stethoscope wrapped around my neck, or mental warfare he put me through before it all came down to physicality.
His mind games no longer worked, so he decided to use his fists instead.
I was screaming but nothing was being heard.
Will I ever be able to move past this?
He is gone. But then that voice whispers, but what if he finds you?
There are warrants for his arrest. I filed a restraining order but that’s just paper.
I flush the toilet with a kick of my shoe, rinse my mouth out and wash my hands.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I see my once sun-kissed skin now flush with anxiety and dread.
The purplish rings under my eyes seem more prominent under the fluorescent lights.
My lips are chapped and dry from the heaving and lack of water from the day.
How can he still be doing this to me?
I think about the girl sitting in the room here, and how there’s no way someone lets something like this happen except for the person who did it to her.
I’ve officially been in the city for one month.
During that time, I’ve spent most of it in Sam’s paint shop, reading books in the public library, or in my own or Sam’s apartment watching trash TV.
We decided to commemorate my monthaversary in the city by ordering take out and downing a bottle of wine while watching the Bachelorette. It’s our current weekly ritual on Monday nights. For such a short time, we’ve somehow grown so close.
Sam plays with her brown and pink streaked hair as she lounges on my couch. The crimped tendrils hang off the arm as she watches the TV upside down. I never thought I’d have anyone but myself sitting on this couch.
It’s no longer empty.
“So, we have an event on Friday. I know that’s not your scene, but I promise, it’s super low key.
It’s the grand opening of this cute, trendy hotel.
It’s going to be a little rooftop party.
Naturally,” She gestures with her wine glass, “my parents want me and Tyler to bring dates. He never does, just so he can make a statement. I tend to bring girls to piss them the fuck off. Will you come and be my date? This is just to get under my parent’s skin. ”
“I will gladly be your date to piss your parents off.” I raise my glass.
“Thank god.” Sam clinks her glass with mine.