Chapter 70

Miles seems frantic, his eyes darting around. When he spots the reception desk, he storms forward.

Sitting in the waiting room, I call out to him, “Miles?”

Immediately he stops, spots me, and rushes to my side instead. Standing over me, he scans me with his eyes as if searching for anything out of the norm. His gaze immediately zeros in on the egg-shaped bruise swelling on my head.

Dropping into the open seat beside me, he cradles my cheek with one hand to both bring me closer and tilt my face slightly away so that he can more fully inspect the bruise.

“I could kill Amber,” Miles growls under his breath.

Whatever Amber did have planned for this, “I don’t think she meant for me to get hurt like this.” Miles and Amber have a friendship going back decades. I may not like Amber, but I don’t want to be the reason Miles loses one of his oldest friends.

“I don’t care what she intended to happen,” Miles says. He gently brushes my bruise. Even with his feather-light touch, I still wince. This seems to only upset him further. Lowering his hands away from me, he glances around. “Where is your husband?” he asks with clear distain.

“You know he’s not here,” I reply, dipping my chin down. I’m ashamed that Garnar isn’t here. After ten years of marriage, one might think he would care for me at least enough to make sure I’m alive. I’m still the mother of his children, after all.

What hurts isn’t that our feelings have faded from one another. It’s that, all respect seems to have also vanished, and it disappeared so quickly that it makes me wonder if he ever held any genuine feelings for me at all.

I hate that I wasted so many years of my life trying to make a life with someone who never even liked me to begin with.

Looking at Miles, I suspect me might bring up the topic of leaving Garnar one more time. Instead, he presses his lips hard together and exhales heavily through his nose.

“How are you getting home?” he asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Who is going to take care of you when you get there?”

I glance away from him. He doesn’t probe further, likely seeing the answer in my body language.

“Cynthia?”

“Out of town with a twenty-something named Giancarlo.”

Sneaking a peek up at Miles, I watch as his mind works, his eyes flickering this way and that, his brow pulling together.

“There’s nothing for it then,” he says. “You are coming home with me.”

As I sit there in shock, Miles bounces back onto his feet and goes in search of a nurse. “Excuse me! I need a wheelchair here.”

“I can walk,” I say belatedly, but he’s already halfway across the room. When he returns with a wheelchair, I tell him, “Miles. I swear I can walk.”

“Shh,” he says. “Prepare yourself. You are about to be pampered.”

I roll my eyes at him, but, as I start to stand, I realize how uncertain I feel on my own two feet, and am grateful for the assistance.

Secure in the wheelchair with Miles pushing me out to the parking lot, I glance over my shoulder and ask him, “How did you know I was here anyway?”

Miles’s jaw sets again and he frowns for a moment. “Amber told me.”

“She did?” That surprises me.

“She wanted to get to me first, to spin her story. She said you fell on your own and she had nothing to do with it. Of course, I immediately called Hugo and learned the truth.”

He called Hugo? Even though they hate each other?

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “I probably would have had to walk home.”

“Tomorrow you are changing your emergency contact info, alright? It doesn’t have to be me, though I will gladly accept. But it needs to be someone more worthy than your errant husband.”

“Okay,” I say, agreeing in full.

Miles helps me load into his sports car. On the way to his place, he drives carefully, obeying the speed limit and slowing significantly for even the slightest turn. The other car drivers are likely frustrated with him, but he doesn’t seem to car.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me. “Any nausea?”

“I’m okay,” I tell him, then consider. “I guess I’m a little tired.”

“You can’t go to sleep yet,” he says.

“Okay.” Concussions can do strange things to the body, this I know. If I fall asleep too soon, I might not wake back up again. I decide to trust Miles to keep track and let me know when it’s safe. My head hurts too much right now.

Miles drives me to an older district in town, where well-kept brick row houses line the streets.

“I’m renting,” he explains as he pulls up in front of one of the houses. Its three stories tall, with bright red bricks and white window panes. The front door is painted red, with a golden brass knocker.

It’s a beautiful old home in a historical neighborhood. “Why don’t you buy?”

Miles turns off the engine, then turns to look at me. Holding my gaze, he says, “When I settle down, I want my wife to help decide where we live.”

His… wife?

The thought zips through me like a shot of electricity. What kind of woman with Miles finally settle down with? Would she know how absolutely lucky she is?

Miles helps me out of the car, then, with his arm around my waist, holds most of my weight as we enter his house.

Inside, it’s just as gorgeous as outside. Shiny, wooden floors. Lace curtains over the windows. Oil paintings of distinguished men and women on the walls.

There is some disparity in the furniture however. Most of it, especially the wooden tables and fixtures look antique. The couches however just look comfortable. Plush leather, well worn. There’s also a massive television affixed to one wall with a gaming system under it.

When does he have the time?

Miles helps me to the couch and I absolutely sink into the cushions. God, it really is as comfortable as it looks.

“Relax,” he says. “I’ll get you a blanket.” When he returns with one, he wraps it around me. He even lifts my feet up onto the couch and tucks the blanket beneath them.

Never in my life have I felt this taken care of, not even when I had just entered my parents’ home. They cared for me, but weren’t exactly caretakers. Since I met them, they wanted me to be independent and self-sustaining. I don’t begrudge them that.

But this? Sometimes being the one taken care of is just as nice, I’m realizing.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks. “I’m not the best cook, but I won’t burn the place down. I can make you some soup.”

“You don’t have to go to any trouble,” I tell him.

Miles drops to one knee beside the couch and looks up at me.

“Esther. I was so scared when I heard the story from Hugo about what happened to you. Let me take care of you today, okay? You deserve it.”

My whole heart melts for him. What can I say but, “Soup sounds great.”

His smile brightens and it’s all worth it.

As he hurries away into the kitchen, I realize without any shadow of doubt, I do deserve better.

I need to push forward with my divorce.