“I sure hope the other guy looks worse than you, pretty girl.” I’ve had the pleasure of seeing the curvy waitress at the diner in town judging by her slight apprehension when serving our whole group, I knew there was a leeriness in her bones. That changed one night months ago, when I came in off a long shift, not quite ready to be home and deal with the solitude, yet the clubhouse wasn’t what I was after either. Fallon and I talked for the thirty minutes I was there, but it was the soft smile she gave me, the brightening in her eyes that really fuckin’ sunk me.
“Afraid not. I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, but can we get this over with?” Fallon’s defenses are up, and my hackles are rising even more than they were the first time I saw her.
“Fallon, you have to know this is going to take time. The cops are going to be in before you know it, and they’re gonna pull video feeds to investigate.” I walk closer to her. Fallon’s shoulders droop even more, and her head tips down in defeat.
“It won’t help, Cole.” Christ, if I could take her pain away, I would.
“Why don’t you let me see if it will. If it doesn’t, we’ll do it your way. I’m going to see if I can get Monroe in here. She’s my daughter and doesn’t work here right now but will help out when there’s a need. I’m thinkin’ that time is now. Would that be okay?” Fallon’s injuries are right before my eyes, but her shallow breathing is telling me there’s much more beneath the surface.
“Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been here before. Pictures have been taken, statements made, and, Doc?” she questions.
“What’s that, Fallon?” I respond.
“Nothing ever changes. My husband has everyone in his pockets. I’m not sure why I thought a town four hours from home would change that fact.” Fuck, this shit is gonna be a headache, and not because of what happened tonight. Because she’s still married. That’s never easy.
“Alright, but that was in a town four hours away, Fallon. You have to know Diamondback has resources, and our cops here ain’t dirty.” If she knew just how much they were funded by Diamondback, she’d probably run the other way too, but in this case it’ll be helpful.
“I’ll try it, but you have to promise not to stand in my way if I’m ready to leave and your way doesn’t work, okay?” Her stunning green eyes meet mine. I can see the stress surrounding them.
“You’ve got it. Let me go call Monroe, unless you want a nurse here to help?” I ask.
“No thanks. Nurse Ratchet isn’t on my list of friendliest people.” She’s sitting up, not how she was brought in. I’m suspecting Fallon has a concussion, broken ribs, maybe some internal injuries that will show as soon as I can get her up to radiology.
“No worries. I’ll be right back. You want something for the pain while you’re waiting?” No one has so much started an IV on her.
“I’m okay.” I figured as much. She probably denied the use of anything in case she fell asleep and couldn’t leave the minute we released her. Instead of leaving the room, I lean on the counter, grab my phone, and make the phone call to Monroe. It’s time to get shit rolling.
Two
Fallon
I should have known Cole would be the first person in the emergency room to take care of me. He’s known to most people as Doc, but one night he granted me the permission to use his real name. If I weren’t married to Sir Douchebag of the Decade, I’d probably throw myself in front of a moving bus to get his attention. He’s talking to what I’m assuming is his daughter on the phone, Cole’s gray eyes never leaving mine. It’s like he can see right through my soul. The more salt than pepper throughout his hair, that’s long on top that has a curl to it, trimmed on the sides, gives him that roguish appeal with a whole lot of bad boy. In a perfect world I’d have access granted to me to run my fingers through it.
He’s ruggedly handsome in that silver fox way, the crinkles around his eyes and mouth only amplifying that he’s aging beyond gracefully. Cole is tall. Even at my five-foot-six-inch stature I have to look up at him. Broad shoulders, thick arms, tapered waist, and solid legs. There are good things that come out of a man who has to wear scrubs as a work uniform. I have no idea just how old Cole is, but I do know he has a grown daughter, doesn’t wear a ring on his finger—there’s no tan line around said ring either—and he’s never said a word about Monroe’s mom. Too bad there’s no way I’d allow myself to imagine what it would be like to have a man like him in my life. I’m still trying to deal with the hell that is Brad Davis. Clearly, divorcing him is out of the equation, which is what set him off. I hired an attorney on the other side of Texas, feeling safe and wanting to get this out of the way, praying since I’d be gone, he would quit looking for me or harassing my parents, that it was safe to proceed. I should have known better, and while he was trying to beat the ever-loving shit out of me, attempting to drag me to his vehicle, Brad made it quite clear he’d never allow the divorce to go through.