The Only Rule: The Casual Rule 3 by AC Netzel

Author:AC Netzel [Netzel, AC]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

We leave the hospital room. I take one last glance at her closed door and sigh. The next time I see her, I’ll be married. Married without her witnessing it. Married without the comfort of my mother smiling back at me in the church pews. Married.

The clicks of my heels against the white tile floor amplify as the sound ricochets off the narrow hallway walls. The high pitched giggles of two nurses deep in conversation down the corridor sound like nails running down a chalkboard. I stop and leer at them.

“Is there something I can help you with?” One nurse asks, still smiling with her coworker.

Yeah, shut the fuck up and fix my mother by Saturday.

Ben turns to me, frowning.

“No. Have a good night,” I say, continuing to move forward toward the steel elevator doors.

Click, click. Click, click. The echoes are louder and louder. I’m two seconds away from taking my shoes off and flinging them in the yellow bucket of filthy water near the custodial closet.

We reach the elevator and Ben presses the call button. I stand, arms crossed in front of my chest, tapping my foot.

“Are you all right?”

I fake a smile and nod. “I’m fine.”

He tilts his head slightly and studies me.

“Ben, I’m fine. Really,” I assure him. “I mean, it sucks. But like she said, our wedding will still be perfect.”

The elevator pings, the doors slide open, and we walk in. Fortunately, there’s only one other person inside, leaning against the back wall, staring at his cell phone. Ben and I stand in front while it descends to the first-floor lobby. This freaking elevator is moving so slow. Too slow. It’s three damn floors. I close my eyes to calm my shattered nerves when I hear it.

Nose whistles.

That irritating noise is grinding on my last nerve.

I have three options: I can stick my fingers up this guy’s tooting nostrils and end my misery. I can turn around and tell him to stop fucking breathing. Or I can ignore it.

Ben grabs my hand and holds it, snapping me out of my visions of a first–degree sinus cavity assault and whisks me back to the civilized world. I ignore the whistles and smile gratefully at Ben.

Once we’re out of the elevator, and away from the nose flutist, we exit the hospital and head toward the parking garage. The sky is dark, the wind picking up almost lifting my skirt up to my waist, giving the snout soloist walking a few steps behind us a show. We get in Ben’s SUV and head back to New York.

The car ride to Manhattan is silent. I usually take over the radio, but I’m not feeling it. I don’t feel much of anything. Ben reaches his hand over the console between us and takes mine in his, squeezing it gently.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

I smile, masking my disappointment and sadness. “Yeah. She’ll be fine, and that’s all that matters. My brothers have her covered with a tablet to watch the big day.

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