“I know, I’m sorry,” she finally finds her voice behind me and the words scrape across my eardrums like the squeal of Styrofoam being twisted.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t say sorry.” I put my hand in the air, interrupting whatever incriminating thing she’s about to confess.
“As for me being a patient, I can leave this hospital at any time. In fact, I’ll be checking out today, thank you. I don’t need this attitude or negativity from a place that’s supposed to be helping me heal.” Galt’s mouth puckers tight like an asshole. With the shit he’s been spewing, I think it’s appropriate.
“I’ll be doing some more media appearances soon with my blade, too,” I continue. “They can really go one of two ways. I can sing the praises of your fantastic rehabilitation center and shine a light on the wonderful care I’ve received here,” I look back at Lauren, I hate the fear I can see in her eyes. “Or, if you want to pursue reprimanding Nurse Brickman here, I can shine an entirely different spotlight on your center. It’s up to you.”
I stroll across the floor and Galt’s mouth is gaping wide. If his lips looked was an asshole a couple seconds ago, then it just got fucked.
“Captain, I don’t see that there’s any reason you need to cut your rehabilitation short. I’m sure we can discuss this like civilized adults,” he pleads but doesn’t try to block the door as I approach.
“I’ve done all the talking I intend to do; the rest is up to you.” I stare straight into his little eyes and walk out the closet door.
“Captain Forrester, please, wait!” he calls but I continue on down the hall, leaving Lauren and her career dangling by a thread behind me.
Shit. How am I going to make up for this one?
29
Lauren
2014
This has been the longest day I’ve ever had. I’ve been riding a roller coaster of emotions for hours and it’s making me nauseous. It feels like this morning, in the supply closet with Mack, was weeks ago.
I’m starting to feel numb now. I’ve gone from dripping wet with desire to paralyzed with fear to utter disbelief as I watched Mack make good on his word and pack up his bags.
By the time he walked out the door, Dr. Galt was practically begging him to stay. Only Mack could get caught breaking rules and have people apologize to him for inconveniencing him with them in the first place.
That was about four hours ago. Ever since I’ve been trying to lay low and look busy, but I can’t stop agonizing over what Mack is doing. He hasn’t been answering my texts or calls. I have no idea where he went, or where he plans to stay.
It’s such a mess.
In twenty minutes I’ll be off for the night and hopefully we can figure it out together. A light tap on my shoulder makes me jump from my thoughts.
“I need to talk to you in my office, Ms. Taylor,” my chief gives me a scalding glance and jerks his head as he hands out his orders.
Damn it.
“Uh, sure,” I follow him as he marches down the corridor. My stomach feels like I ate lead for lunch. I’m so fired. There’s no way I’m not getting fired. Now what am I going to do? How am I going to look after Chris? Pay the mortgage? My thoughts spin around in a cyclone of panic as I approach Dr. Galt’s office.
He opens the door and storms into the room reserved for the chief of medical staff. I scurry in behind him.
“Sit down there, please,” he points to the chair in front of his imposing desk and doesn’t wait for me to respond before sitting down on the other side.
His desk looks comically large for him, is he sitting on a couple of phone books back there? I fight the smile trying to take over my lips, but he looks like a cartoon.
Be serious, I scold myself silently. What is going on with you? Maybe my mother was right all those years ago, when I was eleven and got caught dropping balloons full of ketchup on cars from the overpass with Mack. She said then that he was a bad influence on me. There’s just something about him that makes me relax and stop trying to make everything perfect. Something that makes being bad feel so damned good.
“You know I can’t let you leave for the day without addressing some issues.” Galt looks across his desk at me, snapping me back into the present.
“Yes, I understand.” My heart picks up the pace, pumping like a little drummer boy.
“I don’t think I need to explain to you the awkward position you’ve put me in here,” he rubs his thumb and forefinger over his wedding ring. For a second, I try to imagine the woman who decided that this man was the one for her. All I can picture are arranged marriages, mail-order brides and robot sex dolls. My money is on the sex doll.