Chapter 39 Ghosts of the Past
**Kyle’s POV**
The medical report lay on my desk like a ticking bomb, its crisp pages rustling softly in the air–conditioned silence of my office. Taylor sat across from me, her usual confident posture replaced by something more fragile, more vulnerable. The late afternoon sun caught in her perfectly styled hair, creating a halo effect that reminded me of countless childhood memories.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the report.” I thought I could handle it on my own, like I always have.”
I leaned forward, studying the medical terminology that jumped out from the pages. Cardiomyopathy. Stress–induced complications. Risk of acute cardiac event. The clinical language painted a stark picture of a condition that had apparently shadowed Taylor for the past twenty years.
“Why now?” I asked, my voice rougher than intended. “After all this time, why tell me now?”
Taylor’s lower lip quivered – a tiny gesture that hit me like a physical blow. “Because I’m scared, Kyle.” Her voice cracked perfectly on my name. “The doctors say it’s getting worse. The stress of everything lately… of losing you…‘
She pulled out another document, this one yellowed with age. “Do you remember this?” Her hand shook as she slid it across my desk. A medical report from twenty years ago, when we were both children. When everything changed.
“Four years old,” I read aloud, the words tasting like ashes. “Severe cardiac trauma following physical assault…”
“They caught me trying to get help.” Taylor’s voice dropped to a haunted whisper. Her eyes took on that distant look I’d seen sometimes when she talked about our shared past. “In that warehouse. When I tried to find a way out, to save us both.”
–
The memory hit with unexpected force darkness, fear, the musty smell of concrete and despair. But something felt… off. Like trying to fit puzzle pieces that were almost, but not quite, the right shape.
“Tell me again,” I heard myself say. “What happened that night?”
Taylor’s eyes widened slightly – was it fear? Or just surprise at my request? “Kyle, you know I don’t like talking about—”
“Please.” The word came out harder than intended.
She dabbed at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief – had she been crying? When had that started? “We were so young, “she began, her voice taking on that practiced quality of someone who’d told a story many times. “They kept us in that awful place. You were so brave, even then. But I knew I had to do something.”
“So you tried to escape.” The words felt wrong somehow, but I couldn’t place why.
“For us.” A tear slid perfectly down her cheek. “I found that little maintenance door, remember? Squeezed through while they were changing guards. I almost made it to the street, but then-“Her voice broke artistically. “They caught me. The beating was… I don’t like to think about it.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, wincing slightly. “The doctors said the trauma caused permanent damage. My heart… it’s never been the same.”
“Taylor-“I started to reach for her, but she stood suddenly, swaying on her designer heels.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, but her face had gone pale. “I just need…” Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground, her body feeling impossibly light in my arms. Her pulse fluttered beneath my fingers like a trapped bird.
“I need to get you to a hospital.”
“No!” The word burst from her with unexpected force. She clutched at my shirt, her fingers leaving perfect wrinkles in the expensive fabric. “Please, I just… I just need you. Like before. Like when we were children, and you protected me.”
But I hadn’t protected her, had I? The thought nagged at the edges of my consciousness. In my memories of that warehouse, of those dark days, someone else had done the protecting…
‘Kyle?” Taylor’s voice pulled me back to the present. She looked up at me with those wide eyes that had captivated me for so long. “You won’t leave me again, will you? I don’t think my heart could take it.”
“I’ll call my medical team,” I said, already reaching for my phone. The best specialists-”
“No.” Her hand covered mine, stopping the motion. “I don’t need doctors. I don’t need specialists or treatments or…” Her voice caught perfectly. “I just need you. You’re the only medicine that’s ever helped.”
Something about the phrase tickled at my memory, but before I could grasp it, Taylor’s body went limp in my arms.
“Taylor?” I patted her cheek gently, then with more force when she didn’t respond. “Taylor!”
Her skin felt cool to the touch, her breathing shallow. Without further hesitation, I scooped her up and headed for the door.
“Linda!” My voice carried enough authority to bring my assistant running. “Call ahead to Metropolitan. Tell them we’re coming.
“1
The drive to the hospital passed in a blur of city lights and silent prayers. Taylor remained unconscious in my arms, looking small and vulnerable in a way that sparked every protective instinct I possessed. But something kept nagging at me – details that didn’t quite align, memories that shifted like sand when I tried to grasp them.
The pendant. The one I’d given my savior in that warehouse. It had become a symbol of everything I believed about Taylor, about our shared past. But when she wore it now…
“Mr. Branson?” A nurse’s voice cut through my thoughts. When had we arrived at the hospital? “We’ll take care of her now.”
I watched them wheel Taylor away, her hand slipping from mine like a ghost. The emergency room’s harsh fluorescent lights made everything feel surreal, like a dream I couldn’t quite wake from.
“Sir?” Another nurse appeared with forms to fill out. “We need some information about the patient.”
I answered mechanically, providing details I’d known since childhood. But when they asked about her medical history, about the previous cardiac incidents, I realized how little I actually knew. The story she’d just told me – about the warehouse, about her injury – why was I only hearing it now, after all these years?
Hours passed in that timeless way that only hospitals can create. I paced the waiting room, my thoughts circling like vultures. Something about Taylor’s story felt rehearsed, as if she’d practiced it in front of a mirror until every tear, every tremor was perfectly placed.
“Mr. Branson?” A doctor finally emerged, his expression carefully neutral. “Miss Matthews is awake. We’ve run several tests,
but…”
“But what?”
He glanced at his charts. “We can’t find any evidence of the chronic cardiac condition she described. Her heart appears perfectly healthy, though she is exhibiting signs of extreme stress and anxiety.”
The words took a moment to penetrate. “That’s impossible. She has documentation—”
“Perhaps.” The doctor’s tone was diplomatic. “But our tests show no indication of previous trauma or ongoing issues. Whatever caused today’s episode appears to be purely psychosomatic.”
Psychosomatic. The word echoed in my head as I made my way to Taylor’s room. She lay in the hospital bed looking fragile and pale – but was she really? Or was this another performance, like so many things were starting to seem?
“Kyle?” Her voice was weak, her hand reaching for mine. “You stayed.”
“Of course I stayed.” The words came automatically, even as doubt gnawed at my certainty.
“I was so scared.” Tears welled in her eyes. “When I felt my heart racing like that… just like before. Just like after the
warehouse…”
The warehouse. Again, that memory stirred something uncomfortable in my mind. A small hand holding mine in the darkness. A brave voice promising protection. But whose voice? Whose hand
“You need rest,” I said, unable to face these questions now. “The doctors want to keep you overnight for observation.”
“No!” She sat up too quickly, panic flashing across her face. “Imean… I’d rather go home. With you. Please, Kyle. I don’t feel safe here.”
I studied her face the perfect arrangement of fear and vulnerability, the precisely timed trembling of her lower lip. How had I never noticed before how choreographed it all seemed?
“The doctors say there’s nothing wrong with your heart.”
Something flickered behind her eyes – anger? Fear? – but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “They just don’t understand,” she whispered. “They don’t know what we went through. What I went through to protect you.”
But did she? That nagging doubt returned stronger than ever. The pendant that never sat right against her throat. The stories that never quite matched my memories. The convenient timing of this sudden health crisis…
“Kyle?” Her voice turned small, childlike. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
I looked at her – really looked at her – and for the first time in twenty years, I let myself question everything I thought I knew about Taylor Matthews.
“You should rest,” I said finally, unable to voice my growing doubts. “I’ll have the discharge papers prepared.”
“You’ll take me home?” Her eyes lit up with hope. “Stay with me?
The word ‘home‘ triggered another memory – Mia, pale and determined, telling me she knew what home meant. Mia, who never played games or manipulated emotions. Mia, who loved simply and honestly, asking nothing in return.
“Kyle?” Taylor’s voice pulled me back. “Promise you won’t leave me?”
I looked down at our joined hands, remembering how natural this had once felt. Now it just felt… orchestrated. Like everything else about Taylor.
“Get some rest,” I repeated, carefully extracting my hand from hers. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Her face crumpled in a perfect display of devastation. “But my heart-”
