Free Pressure (Valley Hospital Series Book 1) by Lillian Bryant Page B

smile long enough to appease him.
    He nods.
    “Thanks for your concern, but see that shitty, white, old VW Rabbit?” I point to my car that’s just two parking stalls down from where we’re standing. “That’s me. So I’m good, almost there.”
    He drops his hand from my shoulder. “Drive safely. I hope to see you around. Maybe… go have a drink or something sometime?” His smile is cute, but I’m not ready for cute smirks and strong hands.
    “Timing… it’s a bitch, Brent Taylor. Thank you, though, I’m flattered.” As I turn to walk to my car, I wave over my shoulder, my eyes fixed in front of me.
    “See ya around, Bailey Evans… I hope.” His laughter is light as I walk away.
    Once I’m in the front seat of my car, I let it all out. I’m crying like a freak, but it’s cathartic. I’m angry. I’m angry that Cole gets to go home with someone, and I’m sitting here, turning down Mr. Hot EMT guy and sobbing in my old beat up car, for what? I hate him. I hate that he made me weak. I hate that he ruined me for any other men. There’s no way they’ll ever make me feel like Cole did. I just know it. I start my car and attempt to catch my breath. I suck in a deep gulp of air, rest my head on the steering wheel, and let the music that’s softly pouring from my speakers calm me down. Each breath begins to get easier to take, and the panic attack fades. I wipe the tears from under my eyes.
    I’m not my mother. I’ve screwed up. I let lust rule my choices. I let a stupid addiction, the feel of him, wash over and claim me in its riptide. Swallowing the hurt down is a bitter pill as I look at myself in the rear-view mirror. My puffy eyes, my tear stained cheeks. Done. Be done, Bailey. I close my eyes and focus on the image of his hand touching her back. Anger, I can use it. I’d rather be angry than the weak mess I’ve allowed myself to become.
    The whole drive to my apartment is about ten minutes. I’m exhausted physically and mentally, so when my phone buzzes as I step out of my car, I almost don’t even look at it. Trace is notorious for sending me early morning boob shots of her running her skinny ass on the treadmill. Honestly, if it weren't for her, I’d be in smelly, hairy, spinster mode for at least another two months. The smell of my apartment is a welcome scent. The door shuts behind me, and I pull my phone from my pocket. I’m fully prepared to tell Trace to stop being such an overachiever, but when I open my lock screen and see Cole’s number, the pulse in my veins runs a jagged rhythm.
     
    Cole: Are you seeing him now?
     
    What the hell is he talking about? I debate on answering and decide against it when my phone buzzes in my hand.
     
    Cole: I have no right to ask, but it’s killing me. I need to know, Bailey. Have you moved on?
     
    Moved on? He can’t be serious. My jaw ticks as I type out my text.
     
    Me: It’s clear you have.
     
    His response is immediate.
     
    Cole: That’s the thing, I haven’t. I miss you too much.
     
    I want the words to be real, but I know what I saw, and I now know that he’s a liar… just like my dad.
     
    Me: Liar.
     
    It’s one word… but it’s the truth. I turn my phone off and head to the shower.
    I wish for the numbness to consume me. His text messages are a reality check. He does exist and he continues to slice me open. I turn the shower on to let the water become warm. Peeling off my scrubs at the end of a long shift is one of the best feelings in the world. I focused on that as I try to rid myself of the Cole effect. The heat of the water is like a balm. The ritual of washing my hair, the sweet scent of apples, and the clean cotton smell of my soap, it’s exactly what I need. I’d stay under the current for as long as I could, but my heart is worn out and my brain needs to sleep.
    I dry off quickly and comb through my hair, slipping on my favorite green and black paisley jammie pants and a soft tank top. My light blue down comforter