Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re turning this into my fault. I didn’t love you enough.”

Sam said, “Nina, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now!” Nina and Robert both snapped at him.

Robert said to her, “I just think you should know I had my reasons for not going through with it. A guy has only so much patience. And then it’s natural to start looking elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” She stared at him with new comprehension. Softly she said, “So there was someone else.”

“What do you think?”

“Do I know her?”

“It hardly makes a difference now.”

“It does to me. When did you meet her?”

He looked away. “A while ago.”

“How long?”

“Look, this is irrelevant—”

“For six months, we planned that wedding. Both of us. And you never bothered to tell me the minor detail that you were seeing another woman?”

“It’s clear to me you’re not rational at the moment. Until you are, I’m not discussing this.” Robert turned and left the room.

“Not rational?” she yelled. “I’m more rational now than I was six months ago!”

She was answered by the thud of the front door as it slammed shut.

Another woman, she thought. I never knew. I never even suspected.

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, she sank down on the bed. The pile of clothes tumbled onto the floor, but she didn’t even notice. Nor did she realize that she was crying, that the tears were dribbling down her cheeks and onto her shirt. She was both sick and numb at the same time, and oblivious to everything but her own pain.

She scarcely noticed that Sam had sat down beside her. “He’s not worth it, Nina,” he soothed quietly. “He’s not worth grieving over.”

Only when his hand closed warmly over hers did she look up. She found his gaze focused steadily on her face. “I’m not grieving,” she said.

Gently he brushed his fingers across her cheek, which was wet with tears. “I think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” She gave a sob and sagged against him, burying her face in his shirt. “I’m not,” she whispered against his chest.

Only vaguely did she sense his arms folding around her back, gathering her against him. Suddenly those arms were holding her close, wrapping tightly around her. He didn’t say a thing. As always, the laconic cop. But she felt his breath warming her hair, felt his lips brush the top of her head, and she heard the quickening of his heartbeat.

Just as she felt the quickening of her own.

It means nothing, she thought. He was being kind to her. Comforting her the way he would any hurt citizen. It was what she did every day in the ER. It was her job. It was his job.

Oh, but this felt so good.

It took a ruthless act of pure will to pull out of his arms. When she looked up, she found his expression calm, his green eyes unreadable. No passion, no desire. Just the public servant, in full control of his emotions.

Quickly she wiped away her tears. She felt stupid now, embarrassed by what he’d just witnessed between her and Robert. He knew it all, every humiliating detail, and she could scarcely bear to look him in the eye.

She stood up and began to gather the fallen clothes from the floor.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“I think you need to. The man you loved leaves you for another woman. That must hurt pretty bad.”

“Okay, I do need to talk about it!” She threw a handful of clothes on the bed and looked at him. “But not with some stone-faced cop who couldn’t care less!”

There was a long silence. Though he looked at her without a flicker of emotion, she sensed that she’d just delivered a body blow. And he was too proud to show it.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Oh God, Navarro, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Actually,” he said, “I think I did.”

“You’re just doing your job. And then I go and lash out at you.” Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she sat down beside him on the bed. “I was just taking it out on you. I’m so—so angry at myself for letting him make me feel guilty.”

“Why guilty?”

“That’s the crazy part about it! I don’t know why I should feel guilty! He makes it sound as if I neglected him. But I could never quit my job, even for him. I love my job.”

“He’s a doctor. He must’ve had long hours as well. Nights, weekends.”

“He worked a lot of weekends.”

“Did you complain?”

“Of course not. That’s his job.”

“Well?” He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh.” She sighed. “The old double standard.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t expect my wife to quit a job she loved, just to make dinner and wait on me every night.”

She stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “You wouldn’t?”

“That’s not love. That’s possession.”

“I think your wife’s a very lucky woman,” she said softly.

“I was only speaking theoretically.”