Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 25

"You . . ." Confusion buzzed around Emerson's head for just one more second before all the dots lined up and connected with vivid, sickening clarity. "You told him?"

"I told him you were here," Hunter corrected, as if the semantics made some sort of a difference, and anger sailed through her, scalding her veins.

"How could you do this to me?" Her tone was high-pitched and d.a.m.n near hysterical, but oh, she didn't care. She'd trusted Hunter, she'd believed him when he'd said she'd be fine, and this, this was what she got for her leap of faith?

He took a step toward her bed, and she had to hand it to him. The puppy dog eyes were a nice f.u.c.king touch. "I want to help you," he said, but before she could let loose with where he could shove his "help," her father stepped in.

"Emerson. Everyone here has your best interests at heart. Whatever is making you ill, I'm certain we can take care of it. I can have whatever specialists we need down here within the hour, and I'll confer with them to hire the very best caregivers. You could even move back into the house if-"

"No." The word cracked from her mouth like gunfire, but she wasn't about to apologize for it. "Multiple sclerosis may be breaking my body, but I'm still perfectly capable of making my own decisions, including the ones pertaining to my healthcare. I don't need you"-she paused to jab a shaking finger at her father-"to strong-arm me into what you think is best, and I don't need you"-she pointed savagely at Hunter, dangerously close to losing what little cool she had left-"to try to fix me."

Her father's eyes flew wide. "Multiple sclerosis is your formal diagnosis? Are you certain?" After a few seconds, he took her glaring silence as the yes that it was. "Emerson, please, if you would just listen to reason-" he started, but she'd had enough.

"So you can tell me what to do and get the best possible spin on things while you're at it? Thanks, but I'm all set. I told you the other day I don't need your help. I haven't changed my mind."

Her icy stare at the curtain got the message across, and her father's mouth flattened into a grim line.

"I see. Then I suppose there's nothing more for us to talk about." He turned on the heels of his flawlessly polished loafers, nodding once at Hunter before leaving the curtain area.

After a breath, Hunter broke the deafening silence. "Look, I know-"

"Get out," she said, and his eyes widened like a pair of blue-gray saucers.

"What?" He blinked, and even though a dark, horrible part of her wanted to feel satisfied at the slash of hurt on his face, all she did was ache.

She'd shown him who she was, all her broken parts, and he'd betrayed her.

"Get out," Emerson repeated, manufacturing strength from G.o.d only knew where. "I don't want you here."

Hunter's startled expression gave way to something else. "You're mad, I know that."

"You know nothing," she spat, all the anger and fear and betrayal colliding in her chest to push the words right out of her. "You're so bound and determined to fix everything, but you don't get it, do you? This can't be fixed!" She slashed a hand through the air, the medical tape pulling at her skin as she gestured harshly at the dead weight of her legs. "I can't be fixed! Not by my father or any other doctors, not by you. Not by anyone! I'm broken, Hunter. I'm always going to be broken!"

Hunter flinched, his stare going dark beneath the overbright hospital fluorescents. "I care about you, Emerson. I know you're angry right now. Hurting." He sucked in an audible breath. "I didn't know how else to help you."

Her heart gave up a stupid, mutinous squeeze, and for a second, she nearly gave in to it. But then her legs seized in yet another all-too-painful round of This Is Your Life, and the hope behind her breastbone flickered out.

"You really want to help? Then get out, and don't come back. I've got enough damage on my own that I'm not going to recover from. I don't need you doing any more."

Hunter opened his mouth as if to argue. But then his eyes touched on the hospital bed, the IV tubes and monitors, and his shoulders fell.

"I hope you get some rest."

Only after his footsteps had faded completely did Emerson let herself cry. She thought her body had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.

She'd had no idea that in the end, her body would be completely outdone by her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Emerson rolled over in her hospital bed, wishing for all the world that she had a toothbrush. The light slipping in past the blinds told her she'd slept through the night, and although her legs were still pretty sore, she had more energy than she'd been able to muster in the last four days, easy, and her stomach seemed to have settled considerably.

Her heart? Still a train wreck, but nothing they could put in her IV was going to fix that.

Haven't you ever wondered what if . . .

No. No. She'd taken that leap of faith and it had blown up in her face. There was no more what if. Only what was.

G.o.d, what was hurt.

"Knock, knock." A familiar voice filtered in from the door, and Emerson sat up in surprise.

"Dr. Ortiz?"

The doctor poked his head past the entryway to her room. "Morning. I've got a minute before my shift starts downstairs, so I thought I'd bring you a peace offering."

Emerson waved him in, chuffing out a rusty laugh at the tray balanced in his well-muscled grasp. "Jell-O?"

"You have no idea how hard it is to snag the strawberry around here," Dr. Ortiz said, placing the tray on the rolling table beside her bed. "Anyway, I wanted to come see how you were doing. I feel bad that we had to keep you overnight. I know you didn't want to stay."

She let out a slow breath, busying herself by reaching for a spoon. "I understand. It was necessary, and I actually do feel a lot better today." She'd hated the decision, but in truth, she'd known it was the right one.

"I'm glad to hear that. Your vitals have improved a lot overnight. Once you get up and move around a bit, the neurologist on call should spring you."

Ah, at least there was one good thing. She had a lot to do once she got back on her feet, literally and figuratively. She was two sessions behind on that marketing webinar for Cross Creek, and . . .

d.a.m.n.

"Can I get you anything other than the Jell-O?" Dr. Ortiz asked, the concern in his black-coffee stare telling her she had a s.h.i.tty poker face.

"Yeah, I . . ." She swallowed. Recalibrated. Head up, eyes forward. "I'd love to get my hands on some toiletries. That, and I'll need to figure out how to get home once the on-call doctor decides I'm good to go."

"Oh, that's easy," Dr. Ortiz said, his running shoes squeaking on the floor as he turned toward the door. "Your mother left a bag for you at the nurses' station, and your father said he'd arrange a car service if you needed a ride. Actually, he may be in the waiting room down the hall."

Emerson's jaw unhinged. "My parents know I'm up here?"

"Of course." His brows knit together over his stare. "Haven't they been in to see you? The charge nurse said they were here most of the night."

"No," she managed, confusion m.u.f.fling her thoughts. "Are you sure they've been out there most of the night? My parents?"

Dr. Ortiz nodded. "I saw them briefly after I admitted you. We didn't discuss your health, obviously, but they didn't ask. All your father said was that you might be more comfortable in a private room if we had one and that they'd wait upstairs for you to rest. I'm sorry, I just a.s.sumed you knew they'd been here."

Emerson grabbed at a breath. Her parents trying to control things, she got. h.e.l.l, it was practically branded into the Montgomery DNA. But this felt odd, different somehow. They hadn't barged in, hadn't demanded that she listen to reason, hadn't insisted on a private room or pricey specialists. They hadn't even let her know they were there.

Her parents knew she had MS. She'd said so in the heat of the moment yesterday. She couldn't hide from the truth anymore, even if she wanted to.

And even though that truth scared the h.e.l.l out of her, she didn't.

"Could you . . . could you see if my father is out in the waiting room?" she asked Dr. Ortiz, her pulse knocking against her throat. "I'd like to talk to him."

"Sure."

The brief minute between Dr. Ortiz's departure and her father's appearance at her door told Emerson her father had been right there in the waiting room, and even though his expression was as cool and unreadable as ever, his rumpled dress shirt and the shadows smudged beneath his eyes registered louder than any words.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Her father stood, stock-still in the doorway. Once, she would have taken it as a sign of his detachment. But now that she'd checked her stalwart defenses and studied him closely, Emerson realized with a start that he wasn't unaffected at all.

He had plenty of emotion. He just didn't have a clue what to do with it.

Oh G.o.d.

"Better," she whispered, realization tightening her throat. "Is Mom here, too?"

"No." A tiny thread of emotion skated over his face. "She protested, quite loudly, in fact, but I sent her home for a bit of rest."

Emerson nodded, gesturing to the chair next to her bed. "Will you sit down?"

His light-brown brows rose. "Are you sure that's what you'd like?"

Her defenses gave up a last-pa.s.s effort to make her ratchet down on the truth. But the words were past overdue, and she'd exhausted herself by keeping them inside.

She was tired of hiding. This was her reality, her life with MS, and she needed to own it, once and for all.

"It is," Emerson said, her heart pumping faster at the words. "I have multiple sclerosis, and I need to talk to you about it."

Starting at the beginning, she told him about the last six months, from the first odd twinges in her legs to her move back to Millhaven to the crushing relapse that had brought her full circle to the hospital room where they sat. Her father asked questions-most of them clinical, because emotions or not, he was still a doctor-but she answered each one, owning the truth about her body and her situation.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she said. "But I knew you and Mom were already so disappointed in me for coming back to Millhaven and leaving my job at the Lightning-G.o.d, for even becoming a physical therapist in the first place. I was afraid that if I told you I have MS, you'd just jump in and try to control things. I didn't want you to think I wasn't good enough, like you did when I was younger."

Her father looked genuinely startled. "What . . . what on earth makes you think I found you lacking when you were younger?"

And now they were both startled. "Um, you and Mom had pretty high expectations. You pushed pretty hard."

"Because we knew you were smart enough to achieve whatever you wanted," he said, his voice growing softer as he continued with, "Not because we thought you weren't good enough to do so."

Although she hated the question on the tip of her tongue, she knew she had to ask it. "Even when I chose to be a physical therapist and not a surgeon?"

"Emerson." He placed a hand on her bed, obviously struggling for words. "I apologize for my part in this rift between us. I'll admit that when you chose physical therapy over becoming an MD, I was stung. I thought it was a mistake, and frankly, I wanted you to love medicine the way I do. But expressing my emotions has never been my strong suit, and I realize I can be quite . . . stubborn."

Emerson bit her lip. "I get it from you. I didn't help matters by pushing you and Mom away."

"I realize now we had a poor way of showing it, but your mother and I really did always want what was best for you."

"I know," she said, and G.o.d, she finally did. "But I love being a physical therapist, Dad. The same way you love being a surgeon." The thought of her job made her throat tighten, but if she was going to face this, she needed to face all of it. "I don't know how my diagnosis is going to change my practice. I have some things to work out there. But I do know that being a physical therapist is the only thing I'm ever going to want as a career."

"I understand." Her father paused before adding, "I understand and I'm proud of you."

Emerson blinked, tears p.r.i.c.king at her eyelids. "You are?"

"Of course. Your mother and I have always been proud of you. You're our daughter." He reached for her hand, letting his fingers close over hers. "It's going to take time for us to repair things, I know. We've got a lot of lost time to make up for. But I love you, Emerson."

"I love you, too, Dad."

After a minute that included a few Kleenex on Emerson's part, her father gave her a small smile.

"So am I to a.s.sume that Hunter will be driving you home later today?"

Just like that, the ache in her heart returned, twisting deep. "No. I, ah. No."

Her father's forehead creased, but thank G.o.d, he skipped the Q and A. "Alright. I'm happy to take care of that. If you'd like," he tacked on.

"I would. Thank you," Emerson said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Yes, Hunter might have thought he'd been helping her yesterday. But she'd believed him, she'd trusted him, and he'd gone behind her back to betray that. Plus, she had a debilitating illness, a permanent disease that was never going to let her go. There was a learning curve to taking care of herself that she hadn't even realized, let alone mastered. Expecting to have any kind of a relationship-with someone she'd told in no uncertain terms to b.u.t.t the h.e.l.l out of her life-was impossible.

Head up, eyes forward.

Moving on without Hunter was the only thing Emerson could do.

Hunter stood outside the hay barn, staring the d.a.m.ned thing down as if they were three steps away from a shootout. Although he'd volunteered for the most backbreaking tasks Cross Creek could spin up over the last twenty-four hours, the thought of setting even one toe in the barn made his gut want to head due south.

The last time he'd been here was with Emerson. And he was never going to bring her back here again.

I've got enough damage on my own that I'm not going to recover from . . . you can't fix this . . . you can't . . .

f.u.c.k. He needed more work.

"You want to do this, or should I just keep standing here looking pretty?"

Eli's voice reality-checked Hunter right in the sternum. "Yeah, sorry." He stepped inside the barn, forcing his boots over to the spot where Eli had parked his truck by the lead-in to the hayloft. The sunny smell of fresh-mown hay made his heart flex against his ribs, but he stuffed the emotion back. Letting his feelings rule his actions had wrecked the only thing he'd ever held sacred other than the farm. No f.u.c.king way was he going anywhere other than easy-does-it ever again.

Jesus, he missed Emerson.

"Okay, I can't stand the look on your face anymore. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" Although his tone was ever joking, the press of Eli's work-gloved hands over his hips said Hunter wouldn't get away with dodging the question, and dammit, he supposed his brothers were going to find out about this soon enough, anyway.

"Emerson and I broke up." The words left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Not that he could change them.

"Shut up," Eli said, his c.o.c.ky expression evaporating in less than a breath. "Are you serious?"

"Wish I wasn't." h.e.l.l, he wished for a lot of things.

Eli blew out a breath. "I thought you said she wasn't feeling well. Is that why she hasn't been by, because you guys called it quits?"

Hunter's pulse thrummed. Not knowing what else to do, he'd stuck to the food poisoning story she'd given Doc Sanders to explain yesterday's absence from the farm. "It's kind of a long story." And not one he could tell without betraying her trust even further. "Basically, she trusted me with something and I screwed it all up. I thought I was helping, but . . . I wasn't, so she told me to take off."

"And you did?" Eli's disbelief was loud and clear, but Hunter met it with a joyless laugh.