Page 203 of True Blue

I walked. And walked and walked around the block maybe twenty times.

I walked to that cafe where Indie and I had our first not-date, where I spilled my drink all over her and she told me I was like some bird I had never heard about and I wanted to drop to one knee right then and there and marry her.

I used to feel so comfortable in this city, my home. But ever since we arrived yesterday, I’ve felt unsettled and I think it’s because I keep looking over my shoulder for my mother to appear. She’s like the fucking boogeyman now, but I know she doesn’t leave her suburban dream home unless she wants to be seen.

I know where to find her, and I know that I’m going to have to straighten this out. I need to finally draw the line because that time in July she didn’t get the message.

Indie is off limits. Her career—her life—is off limits.

I let her harm Indie too many times to count throughout our relationship. While I sat on the sidelines and tried to keep the peace, because really I was scared of who I was, the man I could be without my mother running my entire life.

It’s a fucking miracle that Indie decided to give me a second chance. That she feels I earned it, and Indie is the smartest woman I know, so I’m not questioning her judgement. But I am never going to make her regret it.

Fuck… I don’t know how Indie is still standing after this. She’s been so strong, where I’ve been weak. Steadfast where I’ve been flaky. So, I need to handle this.

First, I need to make sure my girl is okay. I’m pacing outside the hospital when Indie and Lorraine walk out, Lorraine speaking in low, firm tones to Indie who nods, an empty look on her face that scares me.

“I fucked up,” Indie whispers when I get close enough to hear. “I fucked up.”

“You did not,” Lorraine says immediately. “They asked, you answered. Maybe a little too bluntly, but I think it’ll be okay, Dr. Miller.”

Indie flinches at the name and I watch in horror as her face collapses, before she buries it in her hands. Lorraine shoots me a worried look and nods to the street, “Get her back to the hotel. I’ll call later.”

I nod, already reaching for Indie.

She comes into my arms without hesitation and folds into my chest like her body is finally giving up. I order the rideshare with one hand and hold her with the other, her face tucked against my shoulder while she shakes.

On the ride back, I pull her halfway into my lap, one arm around her waist, the other hand gently pressing her head against my chest. She doesn’t speak. She just stares out the window with tears leaking silently down her cheeks. I can tell some of it is adrenaline, but I also know something bad happened in there.

When we get back to the hotel room, I ask if she’s hungry. She shakes her head, but I know she’s going to need the fuel so I send her to take a hot shower while I order all her safe favorites off the menu—french fries, lots of ketchup, grilled chicken salad, fruit, and a cup soup.

By the time she emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in her fluffy robe I made sure to pack, her eyes are red rimmed and I know she cried in the shower. She sits on the bed and I grab her hair brush, carefully brushing her damp hair for her as she nibbles on some french fries and sips the soup.

“Eat some of the chicken, baby,” she glances over her shoulder and looks like she wants to protest, so I pull out the big guns—I pout. “For me?”

My heart soars when her mouth quirks slightly. She takes her fork, stabs a piece of chicken, and bites into it. Pressing a kiss to her head, I continue brushing her hair with gentle hands.

When it’s done, I pull her hair over her shoulder, and press a long kiss to her neck.

She sniffles.

“They’re going to take my license,” she says, her voice wobbling.

The fear makes my blood run cold.

“They’re not taking anything without a fight,” I say quietly. Placing the brush down, I wrap my arms around her waist, pull her back against me on the bed. Her body is so pliable, like she doesn’t have any fight left in her, and I hate the way it makes my stomach twist. She’s surrendering. I press my mouth to her shoulder, “I have my testimony tomorrow. Stephanie and Danielle are calling in. Phoebe is giving a statement. Dunk has the estate documents and Nana’s records. Everyone is going to tell the truth, Indie.”

“The truth. I don’t think it will matter, Teddy,” Indie turns toward me, tears pooling in her eyes once more. I cradle her cheek in my hand and her eyes fall closed, her body shaking with sobs. “They decided before I even walked into that room, Teddy. They asked me about how I grew up, because of course someone who’s experienced poverty would scam an old woman out of her money. Of course I’m greedy and evil. Of course, I saw Ellie and smelled money…”

My entire body tenses and I freeze. “They said what?”

“They questioned me about how I grew up,” she whispers. “I’ve never felt so… nothing.”

My heart cracks at the “Indie…”

“If I can’t be a doctor…” Her face twists, the words coming out in a horrible, choking sound. “Then I’m nothing. I’m nothing if I’m not Dr. Miller⁠—”

“No!” I say again, firmer this time. Picking Indie up, I turn her around in my lap to face me. Her face is pinched with misery, sobs tearing through her.