Page 61 of Masked Secrets
I just need to find a phone or borrow a car to get us out of here. Scanning the area for a landline, I’m surprised to see one of the servers pull out a mobile phone and start texting. Rushing toward him, I say, “Hey, mate. Could I borrow your phone? I need to call my ride.” I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket, hoping he’ll hand over the phone quickly.
“Sure, man,” he agrees, pocketing the cash.
I call my driver, indicating that it’s urgent that he arrive ASAP. Handing the phone back to the server, I say, “Thanks. I’m glad you had a mobile. I didn’t think we could bring one tonight.”
“They made an exception for kitchen staff in case we ran out of ingredients or something.”
“Lucky for me.”
I quickly go back to Brooke, pick her up, and slip out the back door. We wait in the dark, shielded by a tall oleander bush.
It feels like an eternity before my driver pulls up. He stops, and I step from behind the bush. When he sees me holding Brooke, he hurries to open the door, and I slide in, laying her carefully on the seat.
“Hurry. Head to the hospital. There’s no time to lose. She has a head injury.”
“Yes, sir.”
He closes the door and runs back to the driver’s seat, taking off like a rocket.
I remove my jacket and roll it into a ball, gently placing it under Brooke’s head. Kneeling on the floor of the limo, I hold her in place as our driver expertly maneuvers the turns without causing Brooke too much further distress.
As we pull into the drive for the hospital’s emergency entrance, Brooke moans again, murmuring, “My head really hurts. Did someone try to kill me?”
“You’re safe now. We’re at the hospital. You’re going to be okay,”
She has to be. I’m not going to lose her.
“I know there’s something I need to tell you. I just can’t remember what it is right now,” she whispers.
“Just rest. We’ll talk later. First, we’re going to let the doctors look at you.”
“Okay. That’s probably a good idea,” she mumbles.
Air rushes in as the door to the back of the limo opens. I pick up Brooke and place her onto a waiting gurney. Two medics roll her into the emergency room.
I stop briefly to give my driver instructions that can’t wait. He nods and drives off to carry out my orders.
I hustle through the sliding glass doors to rejoin Brooke. At the desk, I ask where she is.
The receptionist says, “We can only allow relatives in the examination area. Are you related to her?”
I panic. I won’t let them keep me away from her. So, I say the only thing I can think of, “Umm. Yes. I’m her husband.” I swallow hard, not sure what made me take that leap, but it’s done.
“Of course, then. Go through the door on the left. The nurse at the desk will direct you to her.”
I don’t think twice and rush through the door. For tonight, if anyone asks, Brooke is my wife.
After numerous scans and tests,the doctor finally tells us that I was right. Brooke has a concussion. They want to keep her overnight for observation. He also warns that she may have some memory gaps for the next day or so, but he expects her to make a full recovery.
My shoulders finally relax. Tonight has been a rollercoaster of emotions. I’m exhausted mentally and physically. But that doesn’t matter because she’s going to be okay.
As the doctor is about to leave, he explains to Brooke, “They’ll transfer you to a room shortly. I’ll make sure to tell the staff that your husband is welcome to stay in the room with you tonight.”
Brooke scrunches her eyes, starting to say, “He’s ...”
I interrupt, squeezing her hand a little harder than necessary as I say, “Thank you, doctor. Have a good evening.”
She turns to me, a look of concern on her face. “Do I have amnesia? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember us getting married. I remember us doing other very pleasurable things. You’d think I’d remember my own wedding.” Tears start to well in her eyes.
