Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson) novel Chapter 200

I flopped back onto the bed to read, but after some time, I realized I was holding the book upside down. A restless feeling started creeping up on me. I couldn't help but wonder about Bryant's condition. If it was because of that gunshot, it should have been me, not him.

With my thoughts in turmoil, I closed the book and decided to get some fresh air on the balcony. Then, there was a knock on the door, followed by Gary's voice, "Mrs. Ferguson."

My steps quickened as I opened the door. "Gary, how's Bryant? Is he okay?"

Gary said, "Mr. Bryant's got a fever."

I let out a sigh of relief, thinking it was just a cold, but then Gary added, "It's the gunshot wound from the other day. It got infected. Mr. Bryant won't let anyone touch him and refuses to take his medicine."

"You're getting a divorce, and I shouldn't even be here, but he's been calling out for you in his sleep," Gary confessed.

My heart squeezed at those words. "I'll go see Bryant."

It was the least I could do.

Bryant's cheeks flushed with an unnatural pink, his breathing steady, but his brows furrowed as if troubled by a weighty concern.

Gary pointed to the medicine on the nightstand. "The doctor just prescribed these. They should help with the fever and infection."

I nodded. "Okay."

Gary said respectfully, "I'll leave you two alone then. Call if you need anything."

Once Gary left, it was just Bryant and me. I reached out to feel his forehead. It was burning.

As I was about to pull my hand away, he caught it, murmuring in a low voice, "Honey, Jane... why do you want a divorce? Please, don't leave me."

Frustrated, I pried his hands off and stepped back, but then I noticed something that made my heart skip a beat.

On the inside of his wrist were several burns, a mix of fresh and old wounds stark against his otherwise flawless skin. Those were not accidents. With his status, no one but he would dare to inflict such harm.

I tried to clear my vision, pressing my fingers against the corners of my eyes to hold back the tears, and gently tapped his face again. "Bryant, your hands... how did they get like this?"

"Hmm?" He mumbled in response, barely awake.

I leaned closer. "How did you get that burn on your hand?"

In his semi-conscious state, his brows knitted together as if trying to recall, then relaxed. "I missed Jane... the pain goes away with the burn."