by Amy Gamet
She smiled, lifting her head to kiss his cheek. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Greg’s hand slipped further across her back, holding her against him. They stayed like that for a long time, until he turned and kissed her collarbone, heat flaring to life in her abdomen. She bent her head to meet his, lips melding in a smoking hot kiss.
"I’m willing to try if you are," she said.
* * *
Greg woke up early, a habit he never got out of when he returned to the States. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Lisa, and headed downstairs to get to work.
The kitchen looked strange empty, and he took a minute while the coffee was brewing to imagine what the room could be like. Lisa wanted an island, and he fiddled with layouts in his head, moving cabinets and appliances around in his imagination.
It wasn’t going to work.
He furrowed his brow and went back in the dining room to grab a cup of coffee. Turning to the wall that separated the two spaces, he ran his hand down the surface and grinned. If Lisa wanted an island, he’d find a way to give it to her.
She’d already given him more than she could know. For the first time in a long time, he could imagine sharing a day with a woman, as well as the night. They were beginning to rely on each other, but the responsibility of caring for another person didn’t seem quite so overwhelming when that person was Lisa.
She appeared in the doorway. "Morning," she said.
"Coffee’s almost ready."
"Oh, thanks, but I’m running late. I have to get going."
He furrowed his brow. "Where are you off to this early?"
She shrugged. "I have some things to take care of."
"Things."
"Yes."
"Are you going to be gone long?"
"Probably, yes."
"What about the kitchen? You’re supposed to design it."
"Oh, I have been." She left the room and came back, holding out a piece of paper. "I was thinking we could get rid of the wall between the kitchen and dining room to make room for the island."
He grinned. "I was thinking the same thing. I have to see if it’s load-bearing, but it shouldn’t be a problem either way," he said.
She gestured to the window. "We’d get all the natural light from the dining room all the way to the kitchen table."
He pointed to the far wall. "Cabinetry all across there, appliances on either end?"
She smiled. "I like that."
I like you.
"I can run out this morning and pickup the cabinets from the warehouse store," he said.
She licked her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.
He took a step toward her. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine."
"You seem really…tense."
That wasn’t the right word at all. She was acting like she had the morning-after heebie-jeebies, which meant she was having second thoughts twelve hours too late, and he didn’t like the implications of that one bit.
He narrowed his eyes. "If this is about last night, it doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean, Lisa."
"It doesn’t?"
"No."
He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. He had to regroup. Figure out how he’d lost ground with her in his sleep. Had she changed her mind about him? Decided she’d made a mistake after all?
He poured another cup for himself, then turned back to find her staring into her cup and furrowed his brow. "What’s wrong?"
"I want last night to mean something."
"It did to me."
"Me, too."
"Then what’s the matter?"
She took a shaky breath in. "It’s new territory for me."
He crossed to her, letting her words sink in. "You’d never made love before."
She rolled her eyes, a telltale flush blooming on her cheeks. "I wasn’t a virgin, Greg."
"I know." He couldn’t believe this was happening. Lisa had never slept with someone she had feelings for. "But last night was the first time you made love."
Lisa nodded slowly, her eyes wide and glued to his.
His body awoke with primal satisfaction and the heady knowledge that he’d been the first one who mattered. He reached out with one hand, reaching around her jawbone and tilting her head back for him.
His kiss was slow and deliberate, his need for her overwhelming. He wanted to make love to her again and again, knowing everything he knew now.
I’ll never get enough.
He moaned in pleasure as he pressed himself against her. "You’re going to be later than you thought."
She slipped her hands under his shirt, lifting it up over his head. "I don’t care. I want you, right now."
He picked her up in his arms, turning and carrying her to the bedroom.
* * *
Greg stood up from his crouch on the floor and stretched his back. The wall between the kitchen and dining room was now gone, thanks to three pairs of extra hands and the fact that it wasn’t load-bearing. He’d hoped to get at least a few of the base cabinets installed today, but he was running behind schedule and considered holding off until tomorrow.
The sun was setting through the kitchen window and Lisa had yet to return, a fact that was beginning to worry him.
His cell phone rang and he saw it was his father. "Hey, Dad. How was your trip?"
"Good. Met a lot of new people, caught up with a few I’ve known too long."
"Mom said you got an award."
"That’s just for my charming smile."
Greg grinned.
"Listen," said his father, "I’m going to take the new catamaran out tonight. Can I interest you in coming along?
"Not now, Dad. Another time."
"You know you’re welcome to take her out whenever you want."
"I know. Thanks."
"I wanted to talk to you in person about this, but…well, Nora Owens over at UCLA can get you in."
Greg closed his eyes. "Mom told me, but I’m not doing it, Dad." Didn’t his father understand this wasn’t a possibility for him anymore, that no matter how much he wanted to be a doctor, it wasn’t something he could have?
"This is it, Greg. You last chance until next year to qualify for the program."
"I haven’t qualified for the program at all. You made a few phone calls. That’s not the same thing."
"You blew your MCATs out of the water. You and I both know you’d be a gifted doctor."
"Not going to happen."
"She can only hold the spot until Wednesday."
"It wouldn’t matter if it was Wednesday, a week from Wednesday, or a hundred years from now. I’m not going to medical school."
"She’ll give the spot away."
"So let her give it away. Better yet, call her now and tell her not to wait until Wednesday. I’m not going to change my mind."
"Not holding on to your weapon, you’re not."
Greg pinched the skin between his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing you can do today will change the past. Afghanistan is over and done with. For goodness’ sake, put down your weapon and come back to us, Greg. Live here, in the present. Plan for the future you always wanted instead of rolling over and giving up."
Giving up?
That was what his father really thought of him?
The words pierced Greg’s armor, wounding the tender flesh beneath. "I haven’t given up. I changed direction."
"You’re sailing a thirty foot yacht in a mud puddle because you’re afraid of the ocean, and it’s high time somebody told you to get your head back in the game."
Shock at his father’s words left Greg openmouthed. "It’s not that simple."
"Sure it is, son. You’re trying to make it so it never happened. What you need to do is go on with your life, in spite of the fact that it truly did."
Greg turned and saw Lisa standing in the doorway.
"I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll talk to you later."
"What was that all about
?" she asked.
"Thick-headedness." He ran a hand through his hair. "How was your day?"
"Good."
"I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me about it."
"I was helping a friend."
He couldn’t help but wonder who it was and what they needed, but he bit his tongue. She was really late.
"I need another pair of hands to bring some cabinets in."
She walked in. "Sure thing."
He went to the dining room and she followed. "Grab that end."
"Is the floor all done?"
"Sure is."
"Do you have to stain it or anything?"
"It’s all pre-finished. Ready? I’ll walk backwards."
Together they maneuvered the large box into the kitchen, then two more after that.
"This is the last one," he said, indicating a six-foot tall box.
"Saved the best for last, eh?" she winked, then moved to pick up an end.
When he got into the kitchen, they needed to turn. "Back up. Keep going. No, not that way, this way…"
Lisa let out a quick, deep gasp. "Oh, my gosh!"
He couldn’t see her over the pantry cupboard box. "What happened. You okay?"
"I think so. Oh, no. Uh oh, Greg…"
There was a panicked quality to her voice that instantly had him on high alert. "Put the box down slowly," he said.
"Ouch. Oh, okay, that hurts."
He suddenly knew what was wrong.
His stomach sank. A jagged pipe he’d sawed off and left in the open, its piercing point made far sharper for his efforts. He’d known he should cover it, realized it was dangerous, yet he’d backed Lisa right into its edge, sharp as glass.
Blood dripped down her arm from her shoulder in a thick trail. Panic shot through him, sweat breaking out on his forehead as adrenaline rushed into his veins. She was hurt, large splatters of blood on the floor, and it was all his fault.
Lieutenant! Lieutenant, drop your weapon!
"There’s so much blood," she said, touching her fingers to her shoulder and bringing them back to her face, red drops dripping from them. She swayed to one side, and Greg caught her with his hands, moving her clear of the pipe and leaning her against the wall.
He needed something to put pressure on the wound, and he raced to the dining room, the walls spinning around him like a dream sequence. He was crouching over Evan’s lifeless body, comprehension failing his every sense.
Sir, he’s dead, sir! He’s been shot, Lieutenant, and he’s dead!
Lisa’s voice punctuated his dream-state.
"I can’t stop it," she said.
He rounded the corner into the dining room, his feet constantly moving, though time stood nearly still. He grabbed a clean kitchen towel.
Running back, there was so much blood on Evan, so much blood on the floor and the ground and his friend.
Lisa.
Lisa was hurt.
Not Evan.
"Help me," she said.
He blotted the blood from the wound and checked it, closing the skin with his finger and putting pressure on the area with the towel. "Hold this," he commanded. "Push hard on it and don’t let go." He looked into her eyes. "Are you going to pass out?"
"No. I’m going to need stitches. I hate stitches."
From the amount of blood, he feared it was more serious than that. "We have to get you to the hospital quickly. You need a doctor, now." He debated if he should call an ambulance or drive her himself. The drive would be quicker, but she might pass out and let go of the towel. Decision made, he shook his head. "I’ll call 911."
* * *
The paramedics wouldn’t let Greg ride with Lisa, so he followed in his car, parking it quickly and walking through the front doors of the hospital.
Right into Melanie.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I had a doctor’s appointment. Why? Is something wrong?"
"Lisa has a bad cut on her shoulder. The ambulance just brought her in."
"Oh, my gosh. What happened?"
"I left a jagged piece of metal pipe hanging out of a wall."
She touched his arm. "I don’t understand."
"I’m working on the kitchen. I left this sharp pipe sticking out of the wall, and Lisa walked into it. I’ve got to find her in the emergency room."
"I’m coming, too."
They began walking. Greg shook his head. "I can’t believe I did that. How stupid can I be?"
"I’m sure you didn’t mean for her to get hurt."
"It’s still my fault."
It took them several minutes to find her. Greg held the curtain for Melanie, then walked in. Lisa looked pale under the fluorescent lights.
"Hey. How are you feeling?" he asked.
"They just got the bleeding stopped. I’m thinking about making a break for it."
Melanie sat down in a chair. "I know how much you hate stitches." She looked to Greg. "I was with her the first time, and it wasn’t pretty."
Lisa closed her eyes. "I was a model patient."
"You were a screaming banshee."
"I was little, and that needle was huge!"
"Lisa, I’m so sorry." Greg moved to the bed, guilt like thick mud, sucking at his feet. He took her hand. "I knew that pipe was there. I shouldn’t have left it that way."
She shook her head. "It was an accident."
"I’m the one who left it there, knowing it was dangerous, then backed you right into it."
The curtain opened and a woman in scrubs appeared with a suture tray.
Lisa made a noise and looked away. "I’d feel luckier if we could skip this part."
"I’m sorry, but one of you will have to leave," said the woman. "There isn’t enough room back here."
Greg caught the quick look Lisa shared with her sister, somehow understanding the women needed to be together.
"I’ll go," he said. "You stay with your sister."
"You sure?" asked Melanie.
He nodded. "I’ll be right outside. I need some fresh air."
Greg made his way through the emergency department, the bustle and the familiar smell bringing him back in time. He was a kid again, admiration shining in his eyes as he watched his father work, healing the sick, solving medical puzzles as he diagnosed his patients.
As Greg got older, it became a game they played during dinner—figure out what was wrong with Dad’s patients today. By the time Greg graduated from high school, he knew more differential diagnoses than most medical students.
A nurse ran past him and he turned his head to watch her go, wondering what emergency she was hurrying to address. Up the hall, a doctor untied his surgical mask and talked to a worried-looking couple.
Walking through the double doors back to the lobby, Greg took in the bright sunny day beyond the wall of windows. It struck him that the people on the other side of that glass were oblivious to the life-and-death nature of a regular day in the hospital, just as regular civilians in this country had no understanding of the challenges that faced its soldiers at war.
He’d been hiding his head in the sand, thinking if he didn’t see the tragedies with his own eyes, didn’t have to live them, they weren’t real. They couldn’t hurt him.
None of that was true.
What did that mean?
Lisa’s accident had been his fault today, but he hadn’t panicked. He’d helped her, just as the doctors and nurses around him were helping others.
He turned back and saw the activity through the small glass windows in the double doors, wondering for the first time since Afghanistan if it might be possible to pick up the pieces of his life, after all.
But like ridding a beach of sand, the idea was overwhelming.
Chapter 10
"Don’t look at her, look at me," said Melanie.
Lisa was sitting up in the hospital bed, the doctor sewing up her shoulder. Her skin was numb, but her brain was on high alert, drawing her a detailed picture of exactly what the
doctor was doing. "I hate this so much."
"I know," said Melanie. "Just try to relax."
"What were you doing at the hospital?"
"I had an ultrasound."
"Really?"
Melanie smiled and shook her head. "Want to see a picture?" She pulled out a small paper and handed it to Lisa.
"Aww…" Lisa crooned. "It looks like a pinto bean."
Melanie laughed. "I know. Hard to believe that’s my baby."
"Did Rafael come?"
Melanie glanced at the doctor, then shook her head. "I had some spotting. I wanted to make sure everything was okay before I worried him with it."
Fear settled over Lisa like frost. "And it is?"
"Yes. Everything’s fine."
Lisa exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and handed the picture back. "You should have called me. I would have come with you."
"Really?"
Lisa nodded. "Of course I would. For the same reason you’re sitting here with me."
Melanie smiled, her lips quickly reversing and forming a frown.
Lisa laughed. "Don’t cry!"
The moment was interrupted when Lisa felt the doctor tug hard on her skin and yelped. "What are you doing over there?"
"Sorry about that."
"Man, I hate this!"
"You’ve had stitches before?" asked the doctor.
Lisa nodded. "When I was a kid. I was washing a glass and the glass broke. Eighteen stitches."
"How old were you?"
"I’m not sure."
Melanie shifted in her seat. "She was nine. That was the summer I had to watch her every day for an hour while our parents changed shifts at the bakery."
Lisa furrowed her brow. "I thought Mrs. Held watched us."
"She usually did, but that year her husband had a stroke, and she couldn’t do it. Don’t you remember?"
"No."
Melanie picked up Lisa’s hand, her finger tracing the white scar that ran down Lisa’s index finger to her thumb. "You were cleaning that glass even though I’d told you not to. I told you to put it in the dishwasher, but you were determined to do it yourself. Then it broke and you cut yourself and I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. I called the bakery, but no one answered."
A memory was coming back to Lisa. "You pulled me in the wagon."