Maxwell’s POV
I sat in the hallway outside Olivia’s room, my back against the wall, my head in my hands, and tried to think.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to figure out how the hell I was going to fix this.
But every thought led back to the same devastating conclusion: Olivia was going to abort our baby, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.
My chest felt like it was caving in. My hands were shaking. The fluorescent hospital lights buzzed overhead, a constant reminder that time was passing, that I was running out of chances, that everything was slipping through my fingers like sand.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take away the only part of us that would remain, the only proof that what we’d shared - even in its twisted, broken way - had been real.
I needed air. I needed to think. I needed to stop feeling like the walls were closing in.
I pushed myself to my feet and went to find the nurse who’d been hovering around me all evening.
She was at the nurses’ station, filling out paperwork, and when she saw me approaching, her face lit up with that same eager smile she’d been giving me for hours.
"Hi," she said brightly, her voice a little too cheerful for the late hour. "Do you need anything?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice rough from not using it. "I need to step outside for a bit. Get some air. But I need you to do something for me."
She leaned forward, nodding enthusiastically. "Of course. Anything."
I gestured toward Olivia’s room. "The woman in that room - if she tries to leave, I need you to call me immediately. And try to stall her. Make up some paperwork she needs to sign, tell her the doctor needs to see her one more time, whatever you have to do. Just keep her here until I get back."
The nurse’s smile didn’t waver. "I can do that."
I pulled out my business card and handed it to her, then reached for my checkbook. "How much do you want?"
She looked at the card, then back at me, and her smile turned into something more seductive.
"The phone number is fine," she said with a wink.
I stared at her for a moment, too exhausted and emotionally drained to even process what was happening.
Then I just nodded and walked away.
*******
I made it as far as the hospital entrance before that strange, gnawing feeling in my gut stopped me.
The parking lot stretched out before me, dark except for the scattered pools of light from the streetlamps. My car was out there somewhere, waiting. I could get in, drive away, clear my head.
But something kept me rooted to the spot.
A feeling - irrational, maybe, but impossible to ignore - that the moment I left, the moment I let Olivia out of my sight, she would disappear.
Again.
Just like she had twenty years ago after the accident. Just like she’d been doing her whole life, slipping away before I could make things right.
I couldn’t leave. Not completely.
So I compromised.
There was a bar just down the street - close enough that I could be back in ten minutes if something happened. Close enough that I wouldn’t feel like I’d completely abandoned my post.
I drove there in a haze, my mind spinning with thoughts I couldn’t quite catch and hold onto.
The bar was exactly what I needed: dim, quiet, mostly empty. I found a corner booth away from the few other patrons and flagged down a waiter.
"Whiskey," I said. "Neat. Make it a double."
He nodded and disappeared.
I sat there in the shadows, pressing my palms against my eyes, trying to organize the chaos in my head.
The drink arrived. I took a long swallow, letting the burn ground me.
And then I started thinking.
I was just beginning to get some clarity, just starting to sort through the mess in my head, when I felt someone slide into the booth beside me.
Too close.
I didn’t look up. "This seat’s taken."
"Doesn’t look taken to me," a female voice purred.
A hand landed on my arm, fingers trailing up toward my shoulder.
I shifted away slightly, still not looking at her. I was used to women like this. Normally I could handle it with indifference.
But tonight I didn’t have the patience.
"I’m not interested," I said flatly.
"You haven’t even looked at me yet," she said, her hand moving back to my arm, squeezing lightly. "How do you know you’re not interested?"
"Because I’m not." I pulled my arm away more forcefully this time. "Please leave."
But she didn’t. She pressed closer instead, her perfume cloying and overwhelming, her hand now on my thigh.
"Come on, handsome. You look like you could use some company. Some... distraction."
The last thing I needed was this. The very last thing.
I grabbed her wrist and physically moved her hand off my leg. "I said I’m not interested. Leave. Me. Alone."
She pouted, actually pouted, like that was supposed to be attractive.
"Don’t be like that. I just want to..."
"No." I cut her off, my voice hard enough that she actually flinched. "Whatever you want, the answer is no. Now get out of my booth."
I turned away from her completely, focusing on my drink, willing her to take the hint and disappear.
She huffed, clearly offended, but finally slid out of the booth.
"Your loss," she muttered.
I didn’t respond. Just took another drink and tried to recapture the thread of thought she’d interrupted.
But a minute later, she was back.
"I think you dropped this," she said, leaning over the table, giving me a view I absolutely did not ask for.
"I didn’t drop anything." I didn’t even look at what she was holding.
"Are you sure? Because it looked like..."
"I’m sure." My patience was completely gone now. "For the last time, leave me alone or I’ll have the bartender remove you."
Her expression turned ugly.
"Fine. Asshole."
She stormed off, and I heard her heels clicking angrily against the floor as she headed toward the exit.
Finally.
I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache building behind my eyes, and forced myself to focus.