Present
“Sister,” my brother barks through the phone. “Care to tell me why I had a call from none other than Marco Romano, telling me I needed to put a detail on you? What the hell is going on, Sloane?”
I inwardly sigh as I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder. Figures, the one time Marco decides to converse with my brother when it’s not regarding business, it would be to worry him over nothing.
“I’m fine. Marco seems to think he can come back into my life and start being an overprotective asshole. You don’t need to worry about it,” I mutter.
“Sloane,” Finn says with a sigh. “When you agreed to come back on the condition that you didn’t have a guard and you could live life the way you wanted, I agreed in a heartbeat because I missed you. But if something’s going on, then I need to know. I won’t compromise your safety, little sis.”
“You’re six minutes older than me,” I snark.
“Yup. Six minutes older. Which makes you my little sister. Now, tell me the truth, Sloane, are you in danger? Is something going on?”
Technically speaking, nothing is going on. And the note wasn’t physically threatening, though the pain it would cause if they all found out… no, that can’t happen.
“Everything’s fine, big brother. I promise. Now I’ve gotta get back to work, I’ll come see you sometime soon, okay?”
He sighs. “Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say before ending the call and leaning back against the couch in the break room. I’m fucking exhausted, and not only because I’m halfway through a twelve-hour shift, but because ever since that damn note arrived, my nerves have been going haywire and I can’t sleep. It’s not only the note itself that’s bothering me, but the fact that Marco read it, too. I know he won’t give up until he figures out who sent it and what it means, and that’s what’s worrying me. The man doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.
“Hey.” A voice interrupts my thoughts and my head snaps to the side to see Skye leaning against the door jam.
“Hey,” I murmur with a tired smile.
“You doing okay? You’ve been… off these last few weeks.”
And here I thought I was good at hiding shit.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Skye grins at me. “Trust me, you’re good at keeping that shit hidden, I’m just better at seeing what’s underneath than most people.”
I heave a sigh. “I left this city ten years ago because of a broken heart. Figures it only took a couple of weeks of being back for me to run into the one who broke it, here, of all places.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to gather myself. It’s not often I leave myself open… or vulnerable.
“Anyways, Marco—that’s his name—seems like he’s not backing down without a fight. But honestly, the fight is freaking exhausting. He hurt me, and now he’s back and it’s fucking with my head.”
Skye’s expression goes from understanding to pissed as I mutter those final words, as well as something that looks a lot like pain.
“Hurt you how?” she demands, and it dawns on me how my words may have been misconstrued.
“No, no. Not like you’re thinking,” I assure her with a shake of my head. “We were just young and dumb, and I thought we were forever. He ruined it. He would never lay a hand on me or purposely hurt me. I’m pretty sure he’d rather lose a limb than cause me physical pain, if I’m being honest. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Skye’s demeanor shifts once more as she lets out a sigh, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting, Sloane. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I don’t really have many people in my corner and I think you’re the same. I’m here if you ever need to talk.” She sends me a smile and I reflect it, about to return the sentiment, but her pager beeps before I can.
She rolls her eyes as she checks it. “Gotta go,” she calls before sending me a wave and rushing off to whoever paged her.
I check the time and see I’ve been in here longer than I thought. With a heavy sigh, I stand. Time to get back to work.
If I was an emotional person, I’d probably let out a sob of relief at the sight of my locker right now. Working as an ER nurse in New York Presbyterian is hard work. I’m exhausted, my feet are killing me, and all I want to do is go home, order takeout, and collapse in bed.
I open my locker and quickly change into my street clothes before grabbing my bag. I’m just about to close the door to my locker when something taped to the inside of the door grabs my attention. Tentatively, I pull the paper free from the door.
Fuck. It’s another goddamn note.
Sighing, I open the note and stare at the words written on the page. The same words that were written on the note last night stare back at me.
Is this some sort of fucking joke?
Who the hell is leaving these? And how did they get in here in the first place? My apartment building I can understand because the security—much to my brother’s chagrin—isn’t great, but for them to be able to sneak into the locker room and leave it? It makes no damn sense.
I worry my bottom lip as I stare at the paper. Finn will freak if I tell him what’s going on, but even I know that I need to tell someone about this.
Fuck. Marco already has questions about what he saw last night, and I just know he’s not going to leave it alone.
Guess I may as well use that to my advantage.
I fumble for my phone and pull up his contact, taking a deep breath before pressing call. The line only rings once before he answers.
“Sloane?” His voice is full of worry and I close my eyes, tipping my head forward to rest it against the cool metal for the locker.
“I need your help,” I whisper.
“Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
There’s nothing but silence for a moment before he responds.
“As a patient, or have you been working?” The worry in his tone clearly growing.
“Working,” I rush to answer, not wanting to send the man into cardiac arrest.
I hear a whoosh, and I know he’s letting out a breath of relief.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Can you meet me out front, or do you want me to come in and find you?”
“I’ll meet you out front,” I murmur.
“Okay, baby. See you soon.”
“Thank you,” I whisper before hanging up the phone.
I hope I don’t regret this.
