Mr. Beast_An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Elliot

  “Perfect. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Message incoming!”

  My phone lit up in my hand just before the call cut off. I was familiar with the road the apartment sat on. It was a nice enough area and I was thankful to have a place to stay, but I was sad to be moving out of Hayden’s place. I loved it here. The views. The luxuriousness of it all. The space to move about. And his library? Ugh, I would miss his library. It made me want to start a library of my own, and with the money he’d paid me over the past three months I could do that four times over.

  And still have enough to invest for retirement.

  I scooted myself up onto the bed and scrolled through my phone. I needed a moving company to help me out a bit. I wouldn’t be able to get all of these things into my car and across town. I found a local moving company that worked moving men into their final price, and I chose the smallest van necessary. I had a minimal amount of furniture that needed to be hauled from storage before the guys got to Hayden’s place. A bed, the frame, and a dresser. That was it. Besides the boxes of clothes and toiletries that surrounded me, that was all I had to my name.

  I was so busy with nursing school that it forced me to live minimally. Enough to make me feel like I was living a decent life but not enough to hold me back if I ever had to pack up and leave. In a way, I’d always lived my life like that. Minimally and with no regard for anything frilly or decadent. Hayden had most certainly turned that upside down and slammed it on its head, but it wouldn’t be hard to revert. I never did need money or anything like that.

  It didn’t rule me like it did some people.

  “Harper’s Movers, how may I direct your call?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for your smallest van and a team of two or three movers to help me out,” I said.

  “What’s your move-out date and what’s the address?”

  “It’s a bit complicated. Is it possible to have a team and a van put together by tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am. What’s the address?”

  “There’s three, actually. I’ve got some things in a shared apartment as well as a storage unit I need picked up.”

  “The extra address will jack up the price.”

  “I’m aware, and that’s okay. I just need my stuff moved as quickly as possible.”

  “Then give me those addresses and we’ll see what we can do for you!”

  I rattled off the addresses I needed them for and I was relieved when they said they could piece something together for tomorrow. The movers and the van would stop off by the storage unit at nine in the morning, which meant I had to call the storage lot owner and make sure he didn’t try to stop them from getting my things. Then, they would head to Hayden’s apartment and help me with all the boxes before driving everything across town to help me unload. I needed to make sure I had money to tip them for their efforts, but other than that I was set.

  One more phone call and a run to the bank, and everything would be in place.

  I stood up from my bed and walked over to the bedroom door. I couldn’t hear Hayden talking to himself or getting frustrated or wheeling around anywhere. In fact, I couldn’t hear anything at all. I opened the door and poked my head out into the hallway, and the eerie silence made me shiver.

  I wanted to call out for him to see if he was okay. But then I reminded myself that it wasn’t my job any longer.

  He could take care of himself.

  He made all of that perfectly clear after he smacked my hand like an incessant toddler.

  I walked into the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I didn’t have anything else to pack up, so the waiting game was all I had. I decided to make myself a cup of coffee, and in all that time there wasn’t a sound to be heard in the apartment. Hayden must’ve gone off somewhere. Possibly interviewing other nurses for him to torture through his recuperation. Part of me was worried he would hurt himself out there, but part of me didn’t care.

  Part of me couldn’t care if I was going to get out of here with my heart intact.

  At least I was going to try.

  But as the day passed, Hayden never returned. I tried calling his phone once nightfall began, but I never heard back from him. I ended up calling his mother to see if she had heard from him, and the first thing out of her mouth was an apology for how her son had acted.

  Then she informed me he was there at her house. Sitting and staring out the window into that backyard garden.

  At least he was safe.

  I took a stroll down the hallway and found myself in the library. I really was going to miss the solace of his books. I sat on the couch and blinked back tears, trying not to get overly emotional. I looked around the room and committed some of the titles of the books to memory before I decided to get up and go to sleep. I had a long day of moving in the morning and I needed to make sure I was alert.

  But something caught my eye.

  In the corner, on a small round table near the window, was a notebook and a pen. It had always been there, but with Hayden no longer in the apartment with me it somehow felt appropriate. I didn’t want to leave things like this between us. I didn’t want to leave without saying anything to him. I’d spent the past three months catering to him. Getting to know him. Living with him.

  That was intimate. Even if it wasn’t romantic.

  But the smallest part of me wanted him to know how I felt. Wanted him to know how he had tugged at my heart and entranced my mind and caught my stare. He deserved to know that, despite how he was treating me. He deserved to know that a woman could care for him even while he was in that wheelchair. That it didn’t make him any less of a man that could provide for someone.

  So I walked over to the table, pulled up a small chair from the corner, and began to write.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grace

  Hayden,

  I know you fired me, but I can’t leave things like this between us. We’ve weathered too much and you’re too special to me for me to leave without saying something to you. First, I want you to know that I’m not upset with you. I’m hurt— deeply— but I’m not angry. You harbor enough of that for the both of us. I know this has all been frustrating, but I do have something to admit to you.

  I do feel I was holding you back in your physical therapy.

  Not because I didn’t want you to recuperate, but because I was worried that you might not. I watched you risk your life and your health so you could walk again, and I wanted to make sure that became a reality for you. So I took it slower with your physical therapy. Tried to make sure we didn’t misstep. And in the end, I ended up doing you a disservice, and I’m sorry.

  I know you see that wheelchair as a symbol of emasculation, but it isn’t. That wheelchair doesn’t take away your ability to be strong, or to work, or to love. I watched you resent that chair for so many reasons other than the one true reason why I think you didn’t like it. And I think the real reason behind your anger towards it was the lack of control you had over your situation. Control I tried hard to give back to you without pushing you to a limit I wasn’t sure if you could handle.

  I’m sorry, Hayden. All I wanted was to give you what you told me you wanted.

  But don’t let that chair convince you that you are incapable of being loved. Because in the time spent with you, I saw myself loving you. I saw myself getting close to you. There were times when it was hard to keep my eyes off you and there were days when I would’ve embarrassed myself in front of the entire world to see you smile. Good women— real women— don’t see the chair, Hayden. They see you.

  I saw you.

  I could never be angry with you because of how I feel about you. I hate that I won’t be here to see you fully recover, but I do hope you get back whatever it is you’re looking for. I want that for you because I see how much you want it. Just keep in mind that it takes time. You came back from injuries that should’ve killed you, Hayden. Give your body time to cope the way you gave your mind time to cope.

>   I also want to thank you. Not simply for the job, but for the time you allowed me to spend with you. The cups of coffee you allowed me to share with you. The meals you choked down so you could let me cook for you. They are memories I will carry with me for a very long time. Possibly forever. Know that your mother and sister mean well. They came very close to losing the only other man in their family to the same thing that robbed your family of their patriarch. They’re going to be a little clingy for a very long time, and they’ve earned that right.

  But the right you’ve earned is releasing yourself from these shackles. I do hope you walk again. I do hope the aggressive physical therapy works. But if it doesn’t, don’t chain yourself down, Hayden. Don’t allow some company or cameras or a few glances from people force you into this hole you can’t get out of. Don’t give someone that kind of power over you. You’re a strong, intelligent man. Don’t give into the pressure.

  You made an impact on my life. You imprinted yourself into my memories. And in some ways, you carved out a new path in my life. I’m forever grateful for that. But don’t convince yourself you aren’t worth loving until you get out of that chair. Because it simply isn’t true. A man isn’t defined by how tall he walks. A man is defined by how tall he feels.

  Keep your head high and your mind open, and your mental state will always follow suit.

  I wish you all the best, Hayden.

  Love,

  Grace

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hayden

  Every morning, I read that note.

  Just like all the notes she left in the flowers, it hit me.

  Hard.

  It was sitting near the coffee pot when I got back from my mother’s. I wasn’t going to stick around and watch Grace leave. I knew how much this was hurting her and I wasn’t willing to make it any harder than it already was. Things between us were tense, my physical therapy had fallen to the wayside, and my mother mentioned me firing her every time I turned around.

  But I hoped she understood.

  Until I found that letter.

  I didn’t fire Grace because I didn’t care. I fired her because I knew we couldn’t be together with her as my nurse. She couldn’t be my caregiver and my lover, and it was more important for me to be able to explore the possibility of being with her than it was for her to take care of me. But I wanted— no, I needed— to be a whole man before that took place. And I knew she was holding back on me. Because she was scared. Worried. Feared for my recuperation just like I did. I fired her because I needed to focus on turning into the man she deserved, not the man she saw every morning struggling to make a damn pot of coffee.

  But she didn’t know that.

  She thought I’d fired her because I was upset with her. That she somehow didn’t do a good enough job. And it killed me inside. That note— and that realization— is what fueled me through my physical therapy. It was what kept me going, day in and day out, despite the fact that I hurt. Despite the fact that I was frustrated. Despite the fact that I was tired.

  “And breathe,” Zander said.

  “I am breathing.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re holding your breath exactly like I told you not to do. You want to walk?”

  “Of course I want to walk.”

  “Then breathe, Mr. Lowell.”

  “What does breathing have to do with me standing on my damn hip?”

  “Besides blood circulation, relaxation, keeping your muscles from tensing, and delivering oxygen to the area that needs more time to heal?”

  I shot my new male nurse a nasty look and he laughed.

  He fucking laughed.

  “Look, I get it. I tore my rotator cuff playing football in high school and the recuperation was a bitch. And I didn’t want to listen to my physical therapist either. But it elongated my recovery by months because I was stubborn. Don’t do that. Put your ego aside and listen, and in a few more weeks you’ll be walking unassisted.”

  “Weeks?” I asked.

  “Yep. That’s what happens when you fight the system, Mr. Lowell.”

  Zander was a good nurse. He also had no issues giving me my space. He was part-time, and came by in the mornings for three hours. He would check on me to make sure nothing had happened, we would start the day with my physical therapy, then he would check on my medication, possibly take some blood, and be on his way. Which left me with a lot of time to explore my freedom and a lot of time to think about Grace.

  I wondered how she was doing.

  I knew she’d taken her old job back. Working as a florist. And part of me wondered if I could get regular deliveries going to see her again. Maybe I could request who delivered the flowers and it would give me a chance to explain things. But I’d always find a way of talking myself out of it. Whether it was stumbling to get into the shower or a random episode of shooting pain that cascaded up my side, there was always something to remind me of the fact that I wasn’t quite whole again.

  Wasn’t quite me again.

  I passed the time standing unassisted at my desk and Skyping into work. Alicia was doing a fabulous job managing the project in the Caribbean and things were now back on track. The contracting company that attempted to contract out the work we hired them for had been replaced with a better, more substantiated company. They were getting ahead of the weather and sometimes even working through the nights to get done and meet timetables. I told Mike to make sure they were compensated fairly for their time because I wanted to build a rapport with them.

  I wanted to dominate the islands with my luxury hotels and I wanted to have a great team of contractors at my side to do it with.

  I had meetings with the investors where I stood over video and projected my strength and recuperation. And I saw my company’s stocks match the relief my investors were feeling. My company, after months of uncertainty, was finally back on the rise. Clients were reinstating their contracts and going forward with plans that were halted at the beginning of all this shit and I finally felt like things were settling into a good and decent rhythm.

  But there was still the issue of Grace.

  My physical therapy with Zander went from painful to tolerable. It went from my wheelchair to the floor. Then from the floor to the wall. Then from the wall to hanging onto his shoulders. After seven weeks of struggling to walk and stumbling around my apartment and projecting strength after crashing back down into my chair, I was walking unassisted. I still had a bit of a limp and standing on my tiptoes still hurt like a bitch, but I was there. I was putting on clothes without falling and cleaning myself up without help. I was even standing at the stove for two hours cooking without my hip throbbing in excruciating pain.

  I had finally done it.

  “Zander.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lowell?”

  “What are we doing after my physical therapy this morning?” I asked.

  “Blood draw, then nothing. Why?”

  “Am I cleared to drive?”

  “Not even kind of. I told you working on standing on your tiptoes would be the last thing we would work on. The strain on your hip alone from such a precision technique will take us at least another three weeks to work through.”

  “Then I’m going to need you to drive me somewhere,” I said.

  “Sounds fine to me. My next appointment isn’t until one. Where are we headed?”

  Zander helped me with my physical therapy, then I got washed up and dressed. I pulled out a crisp, clean suit, then began the process of picking out a button-down shirt. The pin-striped navy suit paired well with a steel gray shirt, and the black tie I’d picked out went with the shoes I ultimately dragged out of my closet. I smoothed my hands over my outfit then grabbed for my wallet and keys.

  Today I was going to see Grace.

  We pulled up to the flower shop and I got out. I drew in a deep breath, taking in the front of the small store. So this was where Grace had worked before coming to live with me. It suited her somehow. The floral arrangements in the windows
were beautiful and the wooden accents that decorated the front of the shop as well as the sign lended a natural beauty that reminded me of her. I opened the door and walked in, taking stock of the older woman behind the counter.

  She looked over at me with her kind hazel eyes, but I was looking around the shop.

  Looking for Grace.

  “Welcome to Emmy’s Flowers,” the woman said. “I’m Emilia.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Emilia.”

  “Is there anything specific you’re looking for today?”

  “A dozen of your most beautiful red and white roses,” I said.

  “Six of each?”

  “That would be perfect, thank you.”

  “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asked.

  “Someone I care for greatly who I also owe an apology to.”

  “Hence the white roses. A nice touch. I think she’ll like the suit, too. It looks fabulous on you.”

  “I try,” I said, grinning.

  “It might take me a few minutes to put it together. Are you okay waiting?”

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  “I’m a little short-staffed today,” the woman said. “The girl who usually helps me has the next couple of days off.”

  “Well I hope it isn’t anything too serious.”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that. Sundays and Mondays are her days off from this place.”

  “I’m sure she deserves them.”

  “That she does. I’m doing whatever I can to keep her around. She single-handedly helps me keep this place going,” she said.

  “Sounds like an incredible woman.”

  “She is. I lost her there for a while to another job, but I’m glad she’s back.”

  “Did the job not work out in her favor?”

  I felt my heart stop in my chest when Emilia’s face fell.

  “I think she might’ve gotten in a little over her head. Grace— the woman that works for me?— she’s always doing things with her whole heart. But I think that makes it easier for her to get hurt at times.”