So, with that, I pull up Emerson’s contact.
My hands are trembling as I hit the phone icon to call, and when it starts ringing, I want to throw up. All of the tears held back by shock have finally burst through the dam and start flowing across my face. By the time I hear his tired and scared sounding voice on the line, I’m sobbing.
“Maggie,” he says with concern, “I heard what happened. I’m on my way. Are you all right?”
I suck in a wet, shaky breath. He’s on his way to the club. He thinks I’m there.
“You need to come to the hospital,” I mutter as I wipe at my wet face.
“Hospital? Are you hurt?”
“No…I’m okay,” I whisper.
“They told me you were with someone. Is he okay? Are you at the hospital now?”
“Emerson.” I say his name to stop his questions. To prepare myself for the next, horrifying words that are about to come out of my mouth. There is no going back from this. There is no way for me to remove the terror I’m about to cause him. It’s easily the cruelest, most evil thing I’m about to do, to tell one of my closest friends that his son is hurt and his life is at risk. It’s deeply harrowing and god-awful.
“Maggie, what’s going on?”
I sob again, the pain in my chest unbearable.
“It’s Beau,” I mumble, my heart starting to splinter with those two words.
There’s silence on the line before he replies in a cold, lifeless response. “What about Beau?”
“I was with Beau. That’s who…”
“My Beau? Is he okay?” The frantic fear in his voice sends chills down my spine.
“They brought him in. I’m waiting for answers. I just…”
“Tell me he’s okay,” he demands, and I cry a little louder into the receiver. “Why was he there? Was he… What the fuck, Maggie?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, crying into my hand as I wish all of this away.
“I’m on my way,” he barks in a cold, emotionless declaration. A moment later, the line goes dead, and I stare down at my phone. I want to scream. I want to hurl my phone into the street for all of the things out of my control. My helpless, futile hands clutch hard to the unbreakable device as I squeeze it so hard, my bones start to ache.
I want to march into that hospital and find Beau, hold him, demand they fix him. But I can’t. I’m useless to him now. Two months ago, Beau meant almost nothing to me. I was fine without him. I felt useful. I had a purpose. Now…I’m sitting on the concrete of a hospital parking lot, feeling entirely worthless, because he’s in there and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help him. My entire identity has been completely altered by him, all of my worth reprogrammed for him.
And as long as he walks out of that hospital, I won’t regret a thing.
But if he doesn’t…
“Ma’am,” a soft voice says, pulling me from my pathetic mess of tears as I cry into this stupid satin gown I’m still wearing. When I look up into the eyes of the reception desk nurse, I take in a hopeful breath. I stand in a rush, waiting for her to speak.
For some reason, I’m bracing myself for her to utter the words that will end me. Just a simple, “I’m sorry,” out of her mouth, and I will shatter into a million pieces.
“They just put him in a triage room.”
I force in a breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means they’ve finished with him, and they’re monitoring him.”