“Hey! Hey you!” I yell when I reach the top of the concrete steps outside of Union Station. Joel is navigating the last step and falls on his arse when he turns to face me.
“Me?” He points at his chest and starts laughing.
“Yes, you! You drunken arsehole.” I jog down the steps until I am sharing his step, and he is staring up at me with the most ridiculous smile, still bloody from his altercation with the table. I drop to my haunches and poke my finger hard in his chest. “You don’t get to drop grenades like that and walk away. Oh, wait, that’s exactly what you do.” I mock, barely keeping a thin veil over my fury. He pulls himself to standing, and I do the same, although I’m not swaying so much—well, not on the outside at least. Inside, I’m a swirling turmoil of rage and unspoken emotions.
“Pot, kettle, Ms Jones. At least I told you I was leaving. I didn’t just cut and run, and if I recall correctly, I wanted you to come with me.” It’s an effort for him to point his finger at me, and I have to wonder how many of me he is seeing right now. Maybe this isn’t the time? Fucking maybe.
“Maybe? Oh, please. Don’t forget the big fat maybe you hung over my head. I wasn’t consulted in any aspect of that massive decision, Joel.”
“Hello, Miss Pot, let me introduce you to—” He bows introducing one imaginary metaphor to another, and I explode.
“Fuck you!” I spin and take one step, when his broken voice halts my footsteps.
“Oh, you did well and truly fuck me. You should’ve told me.” He cracks, crumples to the ground, and I’m instantly before him. His eyes are heavy with tears I don’t understand.
“Told you what?” I touch his jaw, lifting his head. I don’t understand any of this. What’s he talking about? He did this, not me.
“That you were pregnant.” Tears fall from his eyes, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry or anything so unbearably sad.
“You’d left.” I cup his heavy head in my hand, relishing the warmth and prickle of his stubble.
“Not that pregnancy, Regan, not Ruby. I meant you should’ve told me you were carrying my baby, before you killed it.” I’m bleeding all over again as pain rips through me with his accusation. I can’t gasp or cry out; all the air in my lungs is gone. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m stunned, bereft, fuming.
I thought he meant Ruby. How did he know? How fucking dare he?
“You fucking son of a bitch! You don’t get to judge me.” Snatching my hand as if his touch burns, I spit my venom through gritted teeth.
“You’re right. I don’t. I do, however, get to throw up and pass out.” He rolls onto his side and nods before slumping like a corpse on the ground.
“Hi, Shannon,” I whisper into my cell phone.
“Hey, girl, you know you’re on a date right?” Shannon’s bright tone makes me smile regardless of the lousy outcome of this evening.
“Heading home now actually.”
“And why is that?”
“Slight change of plan.” I stroke the thick golden strands on the head lying heavy in my lap. Joel didn’t fully pass out, and I managed to persuade a taxi driver to bring us back to my place. I probably should’ve sent him straight to the Emergency Room, but I think he’s done enough damage to his reputation for one evening. Besides, we clearly have some unfinished business that needs discussing.
“Are you okay?” Shannon’s concern interrupts my troubled thoughts.
“I’m fine. I can come and pick up Ruby if you want?” A change of subject is sneaky, but I honestly don’t know what I would tell her right now.
“She’s fast asleep. She crashed early, and I haven’t heard a peep. I think the twins wore her out, so don’t worry. I’ll drop her over in the morning, as planned.”
“Okay, thank you. Bye, hun.” I end the call.
“Stop the car!” Joel sits bolts upright and starts retching from his chest, his hand on his mouth. The taxi driver swerves at the first yell and pulls into a safe lay-by. Joel springs from the car and races to the verge. I have the back door open and am shivering from my toes to my nose. I forget to collect Harper’s coat in my rush and Joel’s jacket is a poor substitute for a frosty Chicago night.
“Cinderella didn’t have to put up with this shit. The worst she got was a vanishing pumpkin, a missing shoe and a bit of a walk home,” I grumble, rubbing my arms to get the circulation going and hopefully some heat.
“I’ll make sure you don’t end up walking, even if we have to dump Prince Charming right here,” the taxi driver informs me from his front seat. His comment makes me laugh, even if, by his expression, I don’t think he was joking.
“It’s tempting, but kinda’ goes against the grain, abandoning a soul in need. I’m a nurse, and he’s a doctor,” I clarify, just in case he thought that was a genuine option.
“You think he’d know better than to drink himself into a coma then.”
“You’d think?”
“Aaaand neither of you have ever been drunk.” Joel staggers back from the side of the road, wiping saliva and vomit from his face with his sleeve. Prince Charming really has nothing to worry about.
“Oh, it’s alive!” I snark.
“I’d rather not be.” He pauses and has that expression on his face that indicates he is checking if any movement is too much movement and is going to cause more vomiting. Satisfied for now that he’s got nothing left to decorate the highway with, he crawls in next to me in the back of the cab. This time he rolls the window down and hangs his head out like a dog, a big, dumb dog, that is, and promptly falls back to sleep.
“Thank you for helping me carry him in. I thought when he woke back there I wouldn’t need to drag his sorry arse up three flights of stairs.” I stretch my back out and look at Joel’s sorry state crumpled on my sofa.
“Not a problem. You gave me a great tip.” The taxi driver waves his fingers in a happy salute.
“He gave you a great tip. I’m a nurse, remember.” I motion to Joel’s unconscious body.
“Right, and he’s one lucky guy.”
“Feeling all kinds of lucky right now, pal.” Joel pipes up, eyes closed, barely breathing, and he still has ears like a hawk.
“It’s a shame drunk doesn’t mean mute,” I say flatly and show the taxi driver to the door. I peek my head around the door and watch Joel wriggle and try in vain to get comfortable on my tiny sofa. He puffs the cushion and smooshes his face, drawing in a deep and heavy sniff that makes him smile. He looks peaceful, content, and even if he will be so stiff tomorrow from trying to cram his oversized frame into the two-seater, sleeping like this, he does at least look happy. I decide to let him sleep it off, and I’m just about to change into something a little less grand and a lot more comfortable when he emits out a pained guttural cry that hurts my heart.
He jolts himself awake, his chest heaving with the sudden shock of whatever woke him. Tortured, violent eyes search the room, and for a moment, he looks like a wild animal until he sees me. Dropping his head in his hands, he takes a moment of slow, steady breaths before he looks back up, still pale, but calm enough to attempt a faint smile. I hold up my finger when he is about to speak and go to fetch him something from the kitchen. I walk over and sit carefully beside him.
“You need to sip this.” He eyes the glass of cloudy liquid with suspicion. Men might make the worst patients, but add Doctor to that mix and you get some idea of the tantrum potential. “It’s water, with some electrolytes. It will help with the killer hangover you’re going to have, not that you deserve any different.”
“I’m sorry.” He takes the glass and sips several times before he speaks.
“I doubt that.”
“No, really I am. I never meant to embarrass you and ruin your date.” His eyes are earnest, and his tone is convincingly contrite; shame it’s too little, too late.
“All evidence to the contrary, Dr Lincoln Prescott.”
“Oh, God, what did I do?” He drops his head into his free hand and groans. When he looks up, he looks lost, and it pulls at the strings all tangled around my heart.
“It wasn’t that bad, not for me, at least. I didn’t really know anyone there. Even the ones I see almost everyday wouldn’t have recognised me. I didn’t recognise me.” I give an easy smile and try to brush off the fuck-up that was our evening. There are worse things than feeding the gossipmongers.
“I did. You were stunning.” He levels me with a look so raw I feel it in my soul.
“Joel?”
“I’m sorry for what I said. I’m just so angry.” His knuckles whiten around the glass, and I take it from his hand and place it at my feet, fearful he’s going to smash it in his grip. Tension oozes from every pore, and I can’t work out if I’m scared or heartbroken. He looks devastated.
“Angry at me?”
“Yes and no. Mostly angry at myself. I get why you did it.” He pinches the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose and forces out ugly words through a tight, unforgiving jaw. “Fuck, Regan, I can just hear my tirade on unplanned pregnancies. What choice did you have? I was a fucking asshole, but I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong, and I’m so sorry.” He grabs my hands in his; his plea is frantic, for what, I’m not sure. “Guilt and regret cloak my existence, Regan. I haven’t slept in peace since the day you left. I live my nightmare each day, seeing you happy and knowing you have something I will never have. A just and personal hell I know I deserve.” He’s rambling, and I can’t work out if he’s still drunk. He’s lucid one minute and confusing the shit out of me the next.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t blame you.” His touch is so tender, his large palm warm on my cheek, and he traces my hairline with the thumb of his other hand. His eyes are hypnotic, his expression so deep in thought, it’s only as the words sink in that I’m rocked wide awake. “I can’t help wondering what would’ve happened if you had told me, and that haunts me, kills me.”
“I lost our baby, Joel.” I don’t know how he knows any of it, but he’s wrong.
“I saw the prescription, Regan.” He drags his hand through his hair, his tone resigned and filled with sorrow. There’s no fire or accusation from before, and I’m devastated all over again. Tears fill my eyes, and a tidal wave of sadness engulfs me. Joel pulls me onto his lap, scoops my legs across him, and wraps me in his arms.
I don’t know what to say.