Truth or Lies? by A. Gomez (books to get back into reading TXT) 📕

“I can take care of myself,” I retorted. “But I understand,” I said sourly.

“Good girl.” He grinned and kissed me on the lips.

“I have to get back,” I said, feeling rejected. “Can I have my gun?”

He eyed me, not sure if he should comply, but he made his way to a piece of furniture that looked like a mini closet and opened the doors. Inside were his clothes, shoes and holster. He took my gun from his holster and handed it to me. He then walked to the nightstand next to the bed and opened the top drawer. He grabbed the magazine and handed that to me as well. I shoved the magazine in the front pocket of my jeans and tucked the gun under the waistband of my jeans on the small of my back. Probably not the best way to carry my firearm but it was the best I could do.

“So, you did have it with you this whole time,” I said.

He nodded, looking sheepish. “It was the only thing I had of you until you gave me this watch.” He twirled his wrist in the air, displaying his watch. “Now I can check to see how much time has passed since we last saw each other and think of you at the same time.”

I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck and taking his mouth with mine.

“I love you, Isabel Langley,” he whispered into my mouth.

“Babe,” I whispered. “How can I see you again before you go home?”

“Mmm, let me think about that one,” he answered, still kissing me.

There was a knock on the door. “Mr. Rockwall? Your door is locked, Mr. Rockwall? Is everything all right? Can you come to the door, sir?” It was the nurse, coming to either check on him or with his discharge papers.

I felt guilty leaving him alone, without anyone there to help him. I didn’t know the situation with his father other than they didn’t talk, but what about his mother? She should be here with him. Did he not call her? And he mentioned a sister; he could at least reach out to her if he felt he couldn’t call his mother.

I watched him walk to the door to let the nurse in, noticing it was a struggle for him, holding his side, not being able to stand up straight. I was instantly worried. I was about to leave my Greek god, knowing no one would be with him to help him. He opened the door and even that small task seemed difficult for him.

“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Rockwall! You are getting around like nobody’s business,” she said approvingly. “I’m so happy to see that you’re finally making an effort.” She placed a clipboard with papers on his bed and motioned for him to come sit or lay down. Her eyes flickered to me. “You must be the reason why he’s trying so hard now.” She was grinning at me as she asked, “Are you Isabel?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I answered, a little surprised. “Has Josh been talking about me?”

“Oh, my dear girl,” she exclaimed, taking his hand, patting the back of it. “This poor boy didn’t need an IV with fluids and medicine, he just needed you.” She started taking his vitals. “All I keep hearing is how beautiful you are and how he needs to get stronger for you and on and on…” She redirected her attention to taking his vitals.

I went to his side and whispered in his ear, “Even your nurse agrees you need me with you. Please reconsider and take me home with you.” I kissed his temple and squeezed his hand, saying good-bye.

He wouldn’t let me go, pulling me to his lips for one last good-bye kiss. “I love you, baby.”

I walked into my office and saw that it was empty. It wasn’t like Ben to not communicate with me. My mother and Belín were gone too. I didn’t put too much thought into it. I welcomed the alone time. As I sat at my desk to begin my work, the uncomfortable bulge on my backside reminded me I had my gun hidden on my person. I took it out and fished out the magazine as well. I sat and looked at it, thinking about Josh. How he kept this silly gun only so he could have something of mine. I ran my fingers down the handle, stopping at the bottom, rubbing my fingertips over my initials. I’d only had the gun for a year and had only held it a couple times. Not enough to cause my initials to become smooth and almost flush with the handle. Josh must have traced these initials so much that they looked worn and used. I smiled. His beautiful face was imbedded in my mind.

“Don’t shoot!” a loud voice boomed from my doorway.

“Gah!” I jolted out of my reverie.

It was Jake, an old friend from local law enforcement, his arms up in a playful defeat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He made his way to one of the chairs in front of my desk.

I got up to hug him hello. “It’s okay. I need to get busy and stop daydreaming.” I placed my gun in the top drawer of my desk and the magazine next to it.

“Daydreaming?” He sounded excited. “Is it about me?”

“You wish,” I replied sarcastically. “It’s about my gun. I haven’t handled this gun or fired it for a year and I think I need to practice.”

“Well, then, let me take you to our firing range. It’ll be like old times.”

“I would love that, Jake, but I’m supposed to leave for Dallas tonight.” I pouted. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” I confessed. “We used to have so much fun at your shooting range.”