~~PEYTON~~
AXEL: *You okay?*
I just stare blankly at the screen, not knowing if I should lie.
Obviously, I’m not okay.
An IV drip is attached to the back of my hand.
It feels as if I’m being chained to a wall, movement restricted, and all I can do is lie on my other arm and play around with my phone.
It made sense.
I couldn’t keep anything down, not a drop of water, not since…
the argument.
The bile-inducing argument.
I vomited.
God, it was a lot of vomit.
I had doubled over right there and puked all over the stairs.
Just like that, I began to see stars, dizziness clouding everything.
I couldn’t even make out the shock on Olivia’s face as my puke dripped down the stairs.
Odin had rushed to my side, holding me still as my legs gave in.
Everything else was a blur, filled with Olivia’s annoying voice and Odin shouting into his phone, calling 911.
And then here I was, cooped up in this hospital bed.
The doctor, a kind-faced man with tired eyes, had said something about acute gastritis or acute gastroenteritis.
Both are confusing.
Probably a bacteria, or maybe something I’d eaten that just didn’t agree with me, especially with my system being so stressed.
My system.
Yeah, my entire system was screaming from the inside out, not just from whatever bug had decided to set up shop in my stomach, but from the raw, open wound Odin had carved.
And the stress with Olivia’s arrival.
And as if the day couldn’t get any worse, Olivia didn’t spare me the bad news even in my fragile state.
The sole reason she texted me that morning and had to come over was because of my dad.
He’s sick again, awaiting surgery.
Another surgery.
Fuck cancer.
And fuck him.
I told my dad to quit smoking.
He’d been smoking all his life, and what now?
I’m bearing the consequences.
He’s suffering, and I’m suffering because now that Odin’s broke, I’m going to have to sell my Lamborghini to cover his treatment and expenses.
I really need a job.
My phone buzzes again.
It’s Axel.
I should probably answer him.
But what do I even say?
“Hey, I’m great, just here in the hospital because my life is falling apart and I’m about to sell my most prized possession to pay for my father’s self-inflicted medical bills?” Yeah, no thanks.
I just stare at the screen, wishing I could disappear.
My head rolled to the side, hitting the stiff pillow and coming face to face with a nurse who just walked in, her footsteps soft. This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
She looks at me like I’m a fragile egg about to break.
“Are you… alright?”
I smile.
“Never been better.”
She saunters to the other side to check my IV, adjusts something on the stand.
I don’t miss the way she glances at me.
“You sure you’re feeling any better? You were clearly muttering to yourself a while back.”
I sigh, toss my phone aside, and lie flat on my back, suddenly noticing how white the ceiling is.
“I’ll be fine when I wake up, and please don’t allow any visitors, especially my husband.
He’s an asshole,” I add, my voice dropping, “And my mom, the woman with blonde hair and big eyes.
Don’t let her in, too.
I don’t want any visitors till I’m outta here.”
The nurse’s eyebrows rise slightly, but her expression remains gentle and professional.
“Understood, Mrs. Thorne. I’ll make sure your wishes are noted and respected. No more visitors.” She gives my IV a final check before she quietly slips out of the room.
After seeing I was fine, Olivia just decided Odin should head home with her to whip up some soup and then he’d bring it back to the hospital for me.
Seriously, to hell with their soup.
I inhaled slowly, deeply, trying to fill my lungs with something other than anger.
Maybe I’m overreacting, dramatic like Odin even.
Sleep.
That’s what I need.
Sleep, and then maybe, just maybe, I’d wake up with a clear head, a plan, and the strength to tackle this absolute mess.
And figure out how to deal with my life.
~~~~~~~~
~~ODIN~~
I’m sitting in my car, the engine off, just staring at my phone screen.
A small flask of broth sits by the passenger seat, already cooling.
Olivia insisted that she make it for Peyton, but all I can think about is the fight.
The underwear.
Axel.
My thumb hovers over Axel’s contact.
Should I call him?
Confront him?
Because why the fuck would he hook up with Peyton?
She’s my wife on paper.
How would I even say it?
“Stay away from Peyton, break up with her, find someone else your type, and I’ll forget this ever happened.” It sounds hypocritical even to me.
I clench my jaw.
This whole situation is a mess.
And Peyton…
seeing her collapse like that, puking all over the stairs, was jarring.
One minute we were screaming, the next she was a crumpled heap.
And then the hospital.
Stress.
Stress.
Yeah, I get that.
My own system feels like it’s short-circuiting.
The image of those damn panties keeps flashing in my mind, mocking me.
And Axel.
My brother.
How could he?
How could they?
A horn blares behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Right.
Supermarket parking lot.
Bought a few things for Peyton, but now I’m just sitting here, stewing.
I sigh, leaning my head back against the headrest.
I don’t want to see her, or we’ll end up arguing again, which might not be good for her health.
Maybe I should just drop off the broth and leave.
Deal with Axel later, when I have a clearer head.
When I’m not so furious I can barely see straight.
But the phone is still in my hand, Axel’s name still on the screen.
The urge to call him grows stronger.
“Damn it.” I twist the keys, turn on the engine, and when I’m about to switch gears, I catch something in the rearview mirror.
What the fuck is wrong with that driver?
Won’t he hit the brakes?
He’s approaching a parking space for God’s sake.
The red truck doesn’t slow down, not a bit, plowing directly into the rear of my car with a sickening crunch.
My head snaps back against the headrest, then forward, the phone flying from my hand to clatter on the dashboard.
The impact jolts my entire body, stealing the air from my lungs.
I whip my head back.
“Hey!!!”
But he wasn’t done yet.
He reversed and then started coming at me like a crazed bull, aiming for another hit.
This time, I know it’s fucking intentional.
Panic claws at my throat.
I brace myself, gripping the steering wheel.
My ear is ringing, my head spinning, my chest heaving.
The truck was a red blur in my rearview mirror, the sound of its engine roaring forward again.
He’s not stopping.
He is coming for me.