by Faye Byrd
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Do you see a tamed Rush Kaplan anywhere?” I spread my arms, motioning around the room. “I don’t see him at all, and that’s the problem. Whatever self-journey he’s decided to take, he’s done it alone when he needs his friends.”
His head bobs a couple of times. “Do you want his address?”
“Shit,” I mutter, internally chastising myself for not thinking of that first. “I have it, actually.”
He smirks then, his eyes raking over me in an entirely new way. “I just bet you do.” I open my mouth to let him have it, but before I can, he speaks again. “I’m sorry. That was a jerk thing to say. Rush would kick my ass for it, too.”
“Ace?” a feminine voice asks from his other side.
He turns, his eyes widening. “Rowan?” Leaning over, he wraps his arms around her for a hug. “Jesus Christ, it’s been ages.”
She glances past him to me. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all.” I wave her off with a smile. “Ace and I were just talking about a mutual friend.”
“See that table right there?” He motions to an empty high-top about ten feet away. “How about you grab a stool, and I’ll be right over with a pitcher? We have some catching up to do.”
She licks her lips, and I cough to cover a laugh as Ace nearly melts into a puddle. “Sure thing.”
He watches her until she slips onto the stool before finally tearing his eyes away. “Holy shit,” he says, looking back to me. “I haven’t seen that chick since high school.”
“An old girlfriend?”
He shrugs. “Eh, more like a summer fling, but it had potential. She moved away just before school restarted.”
“Looks like you have a second chance,” I say, since he can’t keep his eyes from straying. “No point wasting time with me.”
His gaze snaps to mine, and he grabs his chest, wounded. “You don’t pull any punches, huh?”
I take the last swig of my beer. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“Damn right you do.” He sticks out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Alyssa. When you do catch up with Rush, tell him I owe him an ass whoopin’ for disappearing like this.”
“I sure will.” I giggle, feeling better than I did before I came here. “After I give him my own earful, that is.”
“No fucking doubt.” He gives me a thumbs-up and moves toward the red-head with way more swagger than he had only a moment ago.
“Want another?” Niko appears, holding up a beer, ready to twist off the top. “On the house.”
“I’ll pass.” I shake my head. “I want to be up nice and early so I can catch Rush at home in the morning.”
“Yeah?” He lifts a surprised brow.
“Damn straight,” I answer. “I’ve grown bored of this game.”
“Hell yeah!” He fist pumps. “Send him my way when you’re done.”
“Will do.”
Sunday morning dawns cold and gray. Not exactly a promising visage, but I’m tired of waiting. Rush has issues, deep ones, but is treating everyone who’s close to you like crap a worthwhile component of self-improvement? Is doing this without us really the wisest move? I don’t think so, and apparently I’m the only friend with the balls to tell him.
My fingers tremble as I punch in the gate code, and my whole arm shakes as I press the numbers on the tinted pad outside the pool house and slide open the glass door. Expecting to find him naked and asleep, I gasp when I realize the bed is not only empty, but it’s also completely undisturbed. As I scan the room, other things leap out at me.
Or more precisely, the absence of other things.
Not a single personal item is anywhere in sight. The nightstands are polished and shiny, with no sign of Rush’s gold watch. The kitchen is pristine, the blender nowhere to be seen. I move to the bathroom, and it’s the same scenario. Spotless. I open a drawer. Empty. Feeling panicked, I rush back into the bedroom and open the wardrobe.
I almost drop to my knees when the truth hits me—though to be fair, it’s also broadcast from the open door. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”
I turn slowly, not sure what to expect, and my eyes widen when I realize who’s standing there. Rush’s mother is the only publicly recognizable member of the Kaplan family. She’s small in stature with dark hair she keeps knotted in a severe bun, which is in juxtaposition to her dainty facial features. Though small, her image is larger than life.
“Mrs. Kaplan, I’m so sorry. I—I wasn’t going thr—”
“Alexandria,” she says, interrupting me. “You must be Doctor Cole?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, sticking out my hand and charging toward her like a raging bull, both eager and embarrassed at the same time. “Alyssa.”
“Yes, of course.” She clasps her hands and moves to look around the room, avoiding my overture. “Rush has mentioned you.”
My arm drops to my side at his name. “Where is he?”
She swings around and looks at me curiously. “Did he not share his plans with you?”
“He didn’t.” My eyes fall to the floor under her superior gaze. “And I’m tired of being shut out.”
“I see,” she says curtly.
I lift my gaze, a spike of anger exploding through me. “Mrs. Kaplan, with all due respect, I’m already irritated with your son, and the attitude you’re giving me isn’t helping. I’d love to speak with you and get some insight, but I won’t be treated like dirt on someone’s shoe.”
“Oh, my.” She clutches her pearls—literally. “You are a feisty one. No wonder my son felt compelled to put himself through so much so quickly.”
“Through so much?” Panic flickers to life inside me. “What does that mean?”
“Calm down, dear,” she says, holding up her hands in a placating manner. “I only meant that he has taken on a monumental task, but with great risk comes great reward.”
I breathe deeply, working to chase away the panic even though she still hasn’t explained anything. “Where is he?” I ask again, because in truth, it’s the only answer I need.
“Have a seat.” She moves to the island and pulls a stool from under the bar before rounding it. “I’ll do my best to make tea.”
A smile ticks up at the corner of my lips as I bypass the bar, instead going around and ushering her back to the stool. “Let me get the tea and you have a seat.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, delighted.
I huff a laugh as I grab the teapot from the cabinet and fill it with water. “I actually made Rush breakfast here, so I’m familiar with where everything is.”
“I am not sure that information was necessary, dear,” she says, and I want to melt into a puddle and disappear.
“Oh, no! It’s not what you think.” But then I consider the real reason, and I can’t decide which is worse. I shake my head. “Never mind.”
I’ve always had the impression of Mrs. Kaplan as this incredibly chic lady who spends her days giving to the people of our community and posing for photo ops so the world is aware. If anyone is the face of Kaplan philanthropy, it’s her. The woman before me fits that profile exactly, but there’s also the Mrs. Kaplan Rush spoke of. The money she so freely gives is the same money that has turned her into a snob. She sees most people as beneath her, and it’s an incredibly sad revelation that’s painfully obvious with just this brief interaction.
“Will you tell me where he is?” I ask softly as I perch across from her.
“Perhaps.” She blows the hot tea and takes a dainty sip. “Although Rush is still angry with me, it’s been wonderful to see him so focused. He hasn’t shown this kind of dedication in years.”
“Dedication to what?” I ask, trying to be patient but feeling like a failure because of my frustrated tone.
“Why, to life in general.” She pushes her cup to the side and leans forward. “I am going to assume you’re familiar with his unfortunate past.” She pauses, waiting for a denial, and when it doesn’t come
, she continues. “After that terrible incident, the boy I raised disappeared. He became angry and resentful, dropping out of college mere months away from obtaining his masters, purchasing that death trap he rides, and either yelling at or ignoring me altogether. At first, I thought he just needed time to get past it, but months turned into years, and I’d practically given up hope.”
My heart aches for Rush. “I’m sorry any of you had to go through such an awful ordeal, Mrs. Kaplan, but it’s much easier to be angry with the living.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She sits up straighter. “I’m trying to come to terms with my part in the fiasco, from his view. It’s not easy to sit there and listen to him so easily assign blame.”
“So you’re talking through things now?” I ask, preferring not to assume. “I think that’s great.”
She takes a deep breath and levels me with a set of Rush-worthy hazel-blue eyes. “I’m attending therapy sessions at Rush’s request. It’s only been twice, once each for the past two weeks. He still goes to the other two alone.”
“Other two?” My eyebrows climb into my hairline. “He’s going to therapy three times a week?”
“You seem surprised.” She purses her lips and looks over me carefully. “How is it that the sole reason for everything my son is doing to improve himself has no idea the lengths he’s willing to go for her?”
I laugh off her suggestion. “Mrs. Kapl—”
“Alexandria,” she interrupts, her voice stern.
“Alexandria.” I acknowledge her with a tilt of my head. “The idea that Rush would seek therapy for me is very flattering, but I don’t believe that’s the case.” I take our cups and pour them out in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “He was aware of his demons well before I came along.”
“Aware, yes, but he didn’t have the motivation he has now.” She waves me off as I’m looking for the detergent. “Just leave it. Carlotta will take care of it.”
I shut the dishwasher and stand, propping my hip against the marble counter. “You think I’m his motivation.” It isn’t a question, but I crave her assurance. She’s seen and spoken with him, while I’ve been left almost completely in the dark.
She bursts out laughing. “Of course, dear.”
“Please. Tell me where he is.” It’s an insistent plea this time as my heart beats furiously inside my chest. “He doesn’t have to do this alone.”
She doesn’t answer me, instead standing and moving to the bedroom area of the studio space. I want to scream and yell and demand she tell me what I want to know, but it’s clear Alexandria Kaplan bends to no one.
The thundering of my heart drowns out everything else as she produces the sticky-note pad Rush once used to write the entrance codes. She’s silent as she scribbles something on the top sheet, and I want to run over and snatch it, but my feet are planted to the floor.
After what seems like forever, she finally glances at me and tosses the pen and pad to the nightstand, tearing off the top sheet. Every part of me is a shaky mess as she approaches and holds out her hand, offering me the small yellow slip of paper.
My mouth goes dry as I look down to see an address. “He lives here?”
“I will inform security to expect you.” She nods, her shoulders held high and her hands folded together in front of her.
“Thank you.”
“Go.”
I don’t have to be told twice, and I turn to race out the door. I drop the keys twice before I make it to my Honda, and if they weren’t a necessity, I wouldn’t have even bothered to pick them up. Obeying the speed limit is a non-starter, but I promise the universe I’ll drive ten miles below every day next week to make up for it if I don’t get ticketed today.
I run into the first round of security as soon as I enter the garage. My hands shake as I offer up my driver’s license, but it only takes him a minute before he hands it back with a smile. The second set of security comes just before the elevator, and he returns my license to step aside and allow me entrance, leaning in and pressing the seventeenth floor.
My mouth is dry and my palms are sweaty as the metal box brings me closer to the man who’s avoided me for the past six weeks. I’m slightly angry, but that feeling is overshadowed by worry. What has he put himself through, and why didn’t he tell me his plans before we last parted?
When the doors open, I’m cautious as I step into the hallway. For good reason; round three of security is just outside the doors. “Afternoon, ma’am. Can I assume you’re Miss Cole?”
“I am,” I answer, smiling nervously.
“Mrs. Kaplan called ahead, so I’m forced to let you through, but I hope you realize how this has put me in a tough position.”
I wipe my shaky palms against my jeans. “I’m not sure …”
“I work for Mr. Kaplan, Miss Cole,” he states, his posture rigid. “Ignoring Mrs. Kaplan’s wishes will get me fired, but so will allowing someone to Mr. Kaplan’s door that he doesn’t wish to see.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “I understand, sir, and I’m sorry, but I have to see him.” Without another word, I turn and walk away from the guard and toward my heart.
It only takes a minute to find his door, as there are only four on the penthouse floor. My whole body quakes as I stand before it and lift my hand. Releasing a deep breath, I deliver three solid raps. As the knocks echo through the apartment, movement stirs inside.
The sound of a dog barking is the first discernable noise as it draws closer and closer. Then I hear Rush. He’s shushing the barking animal as he approaches. I hold my breath as the knob turns and the door swings open to reveal his stunned face.
“Doc.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Surprise!
RUSH
One week turns into many as I put in the work so I can be good enough for the doc. It isn’t easy or fun or painless, but I never fucking expected it to be, which is why I chose to do this alone. Every day I don’t see her is another day to improve, to become a better man—for her—and I’m getting so fucking close.
Between therapy, dropping the hard drugs, buying my own place, adopting a disabled pet, and my current project at Kaplan Industries, I’ve grown the fuck up. Right now, I’m standing in the kitchen of my own home, cooking my own dinner. That’s a big improvement for me and one I’ve come to fucking enjoy. Google is an excellent learning tool, and there’s nothing like learning a new recipe and being able to savor the fruits of your labor.
Pouring the almost cooked pasta into the Alfredo, I shake the pan, coating the noodles in sauce and setting it back on the burner to simmer. Opening the oven, I slide in a pan of garlic bread and push the door closed just as three loud raps echo through the penthouse.
My replacement best friend takes off, charging through the living room as she barks at the door like a little nutcase. “Calm down, Blondie.”
She’s a light tan and white four–month-old English bulldog puppy with wheels that support the back half of her body. When I read about her in that magazine, I knew I had to have her, and she’s been by my side for just under a month now.
She calms, shaking her rear end, causing her little wheels to twist back and forth. “That’s a good girl.” I feed her a treat before settling my focus on the door.
I’m wary, hesitant, as there’s only a single soul this could be, and I’m not sure I’m ready to interact with her outside of our sessions. My anger has receded, but it hasn’t completely faded. It’s the same for my father. If my project needs upper management approval for anything, I send another person from the team. I hope to one day be better than this, but today isn’t that day.
With trepidation flooding through me, I slowly pull open the door. The person standing there sends my mind into a tailspin. It becomes a jumble of racing thoughts, and I’m unable to settle on a single one, but my body knows exactly what to do. Without conscious effort, I take one step forward and sweep her into my arms.
“Doc.” Soft honeysuckle inv
ades my senses as I suck in deep lungfuls of her unique scent. “Jesus fuck,” I whisper, closing my eyes and savoring the feel of her body against mine.
Small, anxious barks break into my reverie, and I come to my senses. Pulling back, I slowly release Alyssa, reluctant to let go. “How … how did you get up here?” I ask, my voice weak and uncaring. I only want to hold her and never let go.
Fuck the answers.
“Alexandria.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but it’s a huge fucking deal.
“My mother?” I ask, squatting to calm a barking Blondie. “Shh, girl. It’s okay. There’s someone I want you to meet.” I lift her and stand, careful to properly support her back section.
The doc’s eyes flick from me to Blondie several times before she tentatively reaches over and allows my girl to sniff her hand. “Yes, your mother.” She drops her eyes to the pup. “I went by the pool house.”
“Shit.” Guilt collects in my chest. “I’m so fucking sorry, doc. I wasn’t hiding from you.” She gnaws her bottom lip, obviously unsure whether she believes me or not. “Come in.” I step out of the way. “You’re just in time. I was making lunch.”
I set Blondie on the floor and lead the way to the kitchen, motioning to a bar stool. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” She’s distracted, taking in everything around us. “This is a nice place, and please don’t fire your security guard.”
I chuckle. “What?”
“I think he was concerned letting me in was going to get him fired,” she explains, fidgeting more than I’m used to seeing from her. As a matter of fact, she’s not one who usually fidgets at all.
Pulling the garlic bread from the oven, I grab two plates and toss a slice onto each. Then I split the Alfredo between them before sliding both across the bar. With a couple forks and the bottle of white wine I already had breathing, I move to the stool beside her and take a seat.
“I think a raise would be the more appropriate response,” I murmur, willing her to turn to me. She doesn’t disappoint. “I’m not sure if now is the exact right time, but you’re here, and I’m not willing to send you away.”