Chapter 25 #25
Chapter 25
~ Shailyn ~
Dante's voice cut through the conversation like a knife. He moved to stand beside me, his hand sliding from my back to my waist, pulling me slightly closer to him in a possessive gesture.
"My wife's family matters are my responsibility," Dante said, his eyes locked on Dwayne. "Not yours, brother."
"Then why haven't you been handling them?" Dwayne shot back. "Shailyn's mother has been in the hospital for her entire life, and from what I'm hearing, the bills haven't been paid."
"That's none of your concern."
"It is when I see someone in need and have the means to help."
The tension between them was immediate and electric. I could practically see the anger radiating off Dante, I could feel his grip on my waist tightening almost painfully.
"Dante, please," I said quietly, putting my hand on his chest. "Let it go. If Dwayne wants to help, we should be grateful."
"Grateful?" Dante's head whipped around to stare at me. "You want me to be grateful that my brother is inserting himself into our family business? Into your family business?"
"I just want my mother taken care of," I said, my voice small. "And right now, I don't have the means to do that myself."
Something flickered across Dante's faceguilt, maybe, or frustration. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"I’ll pay it."
"I have already decided to pay it," Dwayne said.
"What is your goddamn problem, Dwayne?"
"Boys, enough." Tyler's voice came from the hallway. He was being wheeled in by his assistant, clearly drawn by the sound of another argument. "It's barely eight in the morning and you're already at each other's throats?"
I was also fed up with their constant bickering, very strange and confusing.
"I need to get dressed," I said, gently extracting myself from Dante's grip. "Aunt Patricia, wait here. I'll be right back."
I hurried upstairs, my mind spinning. Everything felt wrong somehow. Off-kilter. Why didn't Dante know about my mother's medical bills? Why hadn't he been paying them if he knew? And why was Dwayne so quick to offer help?
I threw on jeans and a sweater, pulled my hair into a quick ponytail, and was back downstairs in less than ten minutes.
Dante was waiting by the door, his expression still tight with barely suppressed anger. "I'll drive," he said. "I'm coming with you."
"You don't have to"
"I'm your husband," he said firmly. "Of course I'm coming."
…
We pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Dante killed the engine. But he didn't immediately get out of the car. He just sat there, staring at the hospital entrance, his hands still gripping the steering wheel.
"Dante?" I prompted. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah," he said, but he still didn't move. He looked... nervous. Uncomfortable. Like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"What's wrong?" I asked, reaching over to touch his arm.
He flinched slightly at the contact, then forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. Just... it's been a while since I've been to a hospital. They make me uncomfortable."
That seemed like an odd thing to say, but I didn't press. "We don't have to stay long if you don't want to."
"No, it's fine." He finally released the steering wheel and opened his door. "Let's go."
We got out of the car and started walking toward the entrance. Aunt Patricia had already gone ahead, eager to get back to my mother. Dante walked beside me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched in a way that suggested he really, really didn't want to be here.
As we approached the main entrance, he suddenly stopped.
"What room is she in?" he asked.
I turned to look at him, confused. "What?"
"Your mother," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "What room number? I don't... I don't remember."
The question hit me like cold water. I stared at him, trying to process what he'd just said.
"You don't remember?" I repeated slowly.
"Well, it's been a while since…"
"You don't remember my mother's room number?" My voice was getting louder now, disbelief creeping in. "How is that possible? You're my husband. You've been my husband for five years. How do you not know…"
"Jesus Christ, Shailyn, I don't have every detail memorized!" Dante snapped, his nervousness suddenly transforming into anger. "It's a fucking room number. I forgot. Is that such a crime?"
But it wasn't just a room number. It was my mother. The woman who'd been lying in a hospital bed for my entire life. The woman who'd supposedly been part of our lives for the past five years.
And he didn't even know what room she was in.
"When was the last time you visited her?" I asked quietly.
Dante's jaw clenched. "I don't know. Recently."
"How recently?"
"I don't fucking know, Shailyn! What is this, an interrogation?"
"I just want to know when my husband last visited my mother!"
"Why does it matter?" Dante's voice was rising now, attracting looks from other people entering and leaving the hospital. "She's in a coma or whatever. It's not like she knows if I'm there or not!"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually took a step back, staring at this man I was supposed to love, this man I'd supposedly spent five years of my life with.
And suddenly, it clicked.
"You've never visited her, have you?" I said, the realization settling over me like ice. "In five years of marriage, you came just once to see my mother, which was before we got married and you were barely even there."
"That's not…" Dante started.
"Oh really?" I pressed.
His face was red now, anger and what might have been shame warring for dominance. "This is ridiculous. I'm not standing here being interrogated like some criminal because I forgot a fucking room number!"
And just like that, the man I'd woken up thinking was my loving husband was back to being a stranger. An angry, volatile stranger who was yelling at me in a hospital parking lot.
Next thing I knew, his anger had fully taken over,