Chapter 385
[ 546 words ]
Chapter 385:
As he and Brenna left the room, Julian paused at the door. He looked from the silent, imposing figure of Jarrod at the window to the pale, quiet woman on the bed. He felt like an outsider who had just stumbled into the middle of a play where he didn’t know any of the lines. And he was beginning to suspect that nothing was what it seemed.
The click of the door closing echoed in the vast, silent room. The only sound was the faint hum of the medical equipment. Jarrod didn’t move from the window. His back was still to her, a rigid wall of muscle and self-recrimination. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken blame.
Caroline could feel his guilt radiating across the room. It was a palpable force, a cold, heavy blanket smothering the air. She couldn’t stand it. It was a pain he didn’t deserve to carry.
She pushed herself up with her good arm, intending to sit. The movement sent a sharp, searing pain through her injured forearm. A small gasp of air hissed through her teeth.
The sound was all it took.
Jarrod spun around, his face a mask of anguish. He crossed the room in three long strides, his left hand hovering over her as if he were afraid to touch her, while his right arm remained braced against his side, carefully protecting the healing injury. He gently pushed her back against the pillows. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them dark with exhaustion and fear.
She had never seen him look so broken.
𝖡𝘦 рa𝗋𝘵 𝗈𝘧 𝗈u𝗋 𝖼𝗼𝗆𝘮un𝗶ty 𝗼𝘯 𝗀𝖺lո𝘰𝘃𝖾𝗅s.с𝗈𝗺
“This is my fault,” he whispered, the words ragged. “I should never have left you alone. I should have handled her. I should have been there.”
He looked down at her bandaged arm, and a tremor ran through his body. Seeing him like this, so utterly undone by a lie she had created, was worse than the physical pain of the cut. Her plan had worked perfectly, but it had claimed an unintended victim. It had wounded him.
She reached up with her uninjured right hand and laid her palm against his rough, unshaven cheek. The stubble scraped against her skin.
“No, Jarrod,” she said softly. “It’s not your fault.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for a moment before capturing her hand in his. “If I had just come back sooner… If I had dealt with her myself…”
“And what?” she interrupted, her voice gaining a quiet strength. “Use your position to have a nurse fired? Threaten Dr. Finchley? That would have been an abuse of power, and you know it.”
She saw the truth of her words land in his eyes. He was a man bound by codes and regulations, a public figure whose every move was scrutinized. He couldn’t operate the way she could, in the shadows.
It was time. She had to pull the plug on his guilt.
“Jarrod. Look at me.” Her tone shifted, becoming serious, commanding.
He lifted his head, his tormented gaze meeting hers. She held it, refusing to let him look away.
“Melanie didn’t do this,” she said, each word spoken with slow, deliberate clarity. “She never touched me.”
She watched his pupils dilate, his expression shifting from guilt to utter, blank confusion.
“This wound,” she continued, her voice steady, “I did it to myself.”
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