The Consummation: Josh and Kat Part III (The Club Book 7)

by Lauren Rowe

  An older gentleman with a young woman and toddler are seated across from me in the waiting room. The trio’s got the exact same features—same eyes, noses, dark hair. They’re like generational Russian nesting dolls—even a casual onlooker would know instantly the three of them are family.

  Family.

  The nurse asked me if I’m Kat’s family and I said no.

  I put my head in my hands.

  I’ve got the distinct feeling I’ve fucked up somehow, but I’m not sure how.

  Are you her family? Are you her husband?

  I really don’t think I was imagining the look of utter disappointment on Kat’s face at that moment.

  A tidal wave of loneliness rises up inside me—an all-too familiar emotion for me. My eyes water but I swallow hard and stuff it down like I always do. Fuck. This isn’t about me. This is about Colby and Kat and her family.

  What I need to do is make myself useful, however I can.

  I bow my head, close my eyes, and clasp my hands.

  Dear Heavenly Father...

  I take a deep breath.

  Dear Heavenly Father...

  I lift my head and open my eyes.

  Fuck me.

  The only prayer that’s coming into my mind is so full of motherfucking expletives, I can’t imagine it would help Colby at all.

  Chapter 9

  Josh

  For the past hour, Kat’s been in Colby’s hospital room with her family while I’ve been sitting out here in this waiting room, listening to “Hold Back the River” by James Bay on my phone, trying my damnedest not to cry or, worse, catch Spanish Influenza from the cocksucker who sat down two seats away from me in an almost-empty waiting room and proceeded to cough up his goddamned lung.

  From what I’ve gathered, Typhoid Joe was deemed “too sick” to go into the room of whatever patient he came to visit in the hospital, but rather than go home and take some fucking Nyquil, he decided to sit two feet away from me and try to take me down with him. Motherfucker. Of course, I moved as far away from him as I could in the tiny room, but just the sound of his constant hacking is making me feel like I’m hurtling to my premature demise on a bullet train.

  Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.

  I pull my earphones out of my ears and, for the second time since sitting down in this waiting room, bow my head in prayer. Heavenly Father who art in heaven, please, I beg you, stop fucking with everyone I—

  My phone buzzes with a text that makes me open my eyes.

  It’s Jonas. “I CAN’T SLEEP!” he writes.

  “Why, hello, Jonas,” I write, smiling at the screen. “Why can’t you sleep, bro? Could it be... SARAH?”

  “YES!!!!! Today’s finally the day!!!!” he writes—and, of course, I know he’s referring to the fact that today he’s finally gonna take his “Magnificent Sarah” to the top of Mount Olympus, push the poor girl off the edge of it, and ask her to be his wife.

  “What time is it over there?” I type.

  “Almost 4:00 a.m.”

  I look at my watch and do a quick calculation. They’re ten hours ahead.

  “Are you just getting to bed or just waking up?” I write.

  “Been lying here wide awake for hours while Sarah’s been sleeping next to me, blissfully unaware my every happiness hangs in the fucking balance today. FUCK ME! I can’t stop thinking about my big speech.”

  “Your big speech?” I write, chuckling to myself. “WTF. No big speech required, bro. Just say, ‘Will you marry me, Sarah Cruz?’ Easy-peasy.”

  “No, you DUMBSHIT. Any man who says ‘Will you marry me?’ and nothing more when asking the woman of his dreams to be his wife is a DUMBSHIT of epic proportions. Either that, or he fundamentally doesn’t understand what makes women tick.”

  “Jonas,” I write, rolling my eyes. “Don’t make poor Sarah listen to a long, drawn-out speech or she’s gonna jump off the mountain before you push her off just to get the fuck away from you.” I laugh out loud as I press send.

  “I don’t need your advice this time, Josh. I got this,” Jonas replies. “I can’t ask Sarah to marry me without telling her WHY I’m asking her to be my wife or I’d never be able to look myself in the fucking mirror ever again. She’s the goddess and the muse, Josh. She deserves to know that—and to understand WHY.”

  “Dude. First off, the all-caps are totally unnecessary. You’re hurting my ears. Second off, you’re overthinking this. Make it memorable, sure. Sweep her off her feet, absolutely. But too much talking and poetry and babbling about ‘goddess and muse’ shit and she’s gonna think you’ve got a fucking vagina.”

  “Josh, please trust me, just this once I know more about something than you do. SO FUCK OFF.”

  “Testy, testy,” I write. “Okay, okay. I’m hereby officially fucking off. Hey, can you talk instead of texting? My fingers are getting tired.”

  “No. Sarah’s lying on my chest, fast asleep. I don’t wanna wake her. So enough about me and my soon-to-be-fiancée (I HOPE AND PRAY).” He attaches a praying-hands emoji. “How’s everything with you?”

  I sigh, considering my reply. On our flight to Seattle earlier, Kat and I agreed not to mention the Colby situation to Sarah (and therefore not to Jonas, either).

  “Knowing Sarah, she’d drop everything and immediately fly back to Seattle to be with me,” Kat said during our conversation on the plane. “I’d never do that to her—or to poor Jonas. He’s been planning this proposal for weeks.”

  “Agreed,” I replied to Kat. “We’ll tell them both what’s going on when they get home. Hopefully, by then, Colby will be up and around and feeling like himself again.”

  Kat looked out the window of the airplane, her beautiful face etched with anxiety. “I pray that’s true, Josh.”

  I quickly tap out my reply to Jonas’ question: “Everything’s good here.” I give him a quick update on the refurb-job I’m overseeing for our twenty gyms and also regarding the buy-out of our shares of Faraday & Sons. “Oh, and escrow closed on my Seattle house yesterday,” I type. “I’m officially your neighbor. I clocked it the other day and it takes exactly eleven minutes to drive from my house to yours.”

  “Awesome,” Jonas writes. “So when do you think you’ll move in?”

  “Three or four weeks at most,” I write. “Don’t forget to send me a housewarming gift. Patron is greatly appreciated.”

  “Pretty weird you didn’t tell Kat you’re moving,” Jonas writes. “She looked really upset about it at the karaoke bar.”

  My stomach twists at the memory of that horrible night. “Yeah, thanks for blabbing about that, motherfucker. That was super awesome.”

  “How the fuck was I supposed to know you hadn’t told Kat you’re moving? And why exactly didn’t you mention it to her, btw? I’m still not sure I understand your thinking on that.”

  “I just didn’t wanna get her hopes up,” I write, but even as I tap out the words, I know they’re douchey.

  “Well, mission accomplished, huh? I’d say Kat’s hopes are definitely way, way down.”

  I roll my eyes. Does my brother really need to remind me how badly I fucked up with Kat? That’s my job—to remind Jonas when he fucks up with women.

  “Was Kat really pissed at you?” Jonas writes.

  “Worse than pissed. Crushed,” I write, my heart squeezing.

  “Poor Kat,” Jonas writes. “The Faraday brothers strike again.”

  “More like DAD strikes again,” I write. “He’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

  “No shit,” Jonas writes. “I don’t know how either of us is ever supposed to know what’s normal behavior when it comes to women. You, especially. He fucked with your head the most.”

  “My head? No way,” I write. “You got it way worse than me, bro. Ten times worse.”

  “I don’t think so. He hated my guts, but he loved you. Is it better to be told you’re worthless every fucking day of your life or that you’re better than everyone else? Either way, you’re f
ucked. At least I got to escape to the ‘treatment center’ for months at a time over the years. You were stuck there with him, day after fucking day.”

  I stare at my phone. I’ve never thought about it that way. Holy shit. I think Jonas might have a point. I was Dad’s golden boy, his heir to the Faraday throne, and Jonas and I both knew it. All these years I’ve felt guilty to have garnered so much of Dad’s favor and attention—but did I actually draw the short straw, after all?

  “You might have a point,” I write. “I never thought about it like that.”

  “I’ve got more than a point. I’m right as rain. I’m the smart twin, remember? Never doubt me.”

  “You wish.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who didn’t tell my hot girlfriend I’m moving to her city,” Jonas writes. “DUMBSHIT.”

  I scowl at my phone. Jonas knows I’ve got no comeback to that. “Yeah, I fucked up,” I write.

  “So did Kat break up with you when she found out?” Jonas writes.

  “No, but almost,” I write. “I salvaged it. I made her play Scrabble with me until she forgave me.”

  “Scrabble?” Jonas writes.

  “Fun game, as it turns out, if you get creative with your words.”

  “Hmm. I see what you mean. I’m already thinking about all sorts of four-letter words I could play.”

  “There you go.”

  “So everything’s good now?” Jonas writes. “Kat’s happy again?”

  Typhoid Joe coughs violently across the waiting room and I momentarily look up from my phone. Fuck me. I hate not telling Jonas what’s going on with Colby. I never hide stuff from Jonas. But there’s no fucking way I’m gonna throw a dark cloud over the biggest day of my brother’s life.

  “Everything’s great,” I write.

  “Good. Don’t fuck it up again, Josh. Kat’s a great girl.”

  “I’ll do my best. The question is whether I can avoid fucking it up when I don’t realize I’m fucking it up?”

  “I feel you. Just think, ‘What Would Dad Do?’ and then do the opposite,” Jonas writes. “That’s pretty much my true north.”

  “Good advice.”

  “Hey, so what’s up with the MacKenzie deal for F&S?” Jonas writes. “Last loose end. Dying to make that fucker go away.”

  “Dude. I don’t give a shit about the MacKenzie deal or anything else relating to F&S,” I write. “That place can burn to the ground as far as I’m concerned. Sayonara, fucker.”

  “I’d agree if it weren’t for Uncle William. We can’t leave him hanging. Plus, the payday on the buy-out’s gonna be sweet if we set it up right.”

  I pause. Jonas is right. The MacKenzie deal itself isn’t that rich, but we each stand to net close to half a billion in cash in the buy-out of Faraday & Sons by a huge conglomerate if we leave the company on strong legs, everything in place. “Okay,” I tap out. “I’ll work up the MacKenzie deal this week and put it to bed.”

  “Thanks,” Jonas writes. “I’d do it myself but Sarah would kill me if I worked while we’re in Greece.”

  “No. Don’t do a fucking thing. Just get engaged and bang your new fiancée every which way for the rest of the trip. I’ll handle it.”

  “Roger that. Thanks, Josh.”

  “Now get some sleep, bro. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “Today, actually. I’m ten hours ahead.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, get some sleep, either way,” I write.

  “I don’t sleep, remember? Sarah says I’m a droid.”

  “Man, she’s got you pegged.”

  “In more ways than one.” He attaches a smiley-face emoji.

  I roll my eyes. “Try to sleep for a bit, Jonas. You gotta be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when you bore Sarah to fucking tears at the top of Mount Olympus.”

  “I’m not gonna bore Sarah to fucking tears at the top of Mount Olympus, motherfucker—I’m gonna bore her to fucking tears on the shore of the Aegean down below.”

  “Either way, you need to rest up so you can bore her to fucking tears EXCELLENTLY, wherever the fuck you do it.”

  “I sense mockery in that all-caps word.”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Oh man, I’m so excited,” Jonas writes. “I’m about to become the happiest asshole-motherfucker alive.”

  “So you keep telling me, Jonas. Over and over and over.”

  “Sorry. I’m just so happy. It’s a new feeling for me. I don’t quite know how to handle it.”

  I grin broadly at that. “I’m happy for you, Jonas. It’s pretty crazy. I never thought I’d see the day when either of the Faraday boys would ask a woman to be his wife. You’re shocking the hell out of me, actually.”

  “I’m shocking the hell out of myself. It’s awesome! Hey, you think maybe you’ll shock the hell out of us, too? And maybe soon?” He adds a winking emoji and a cat.

  “Hell no. Asking any woman to be my wife isn’t in my life plan, dude—even a woman as awesome as Kat. You’ll just have to represent for both of us.”

  “With pleasure,” Jonas writes. “I can’t wait to call Sarah my wife.”

  I roll my eyes again. “Good night, Jonas. Have fun tomorrow (today). Text me right after you ask her. I’ll drink a shot of Patron in your honor.”

  “I will. Well, actually, I won’t text you RIGHT after I ask her, if you know what I mean.” He attaches another winking emoji and a muscled-arm emoji.

  I chuckle. My brother is such a dork. “Hey, Casanova,” I type. “What’s with all the emojis? I didn’t know you even knew what emojis were.”

  “I didn’t until recently, but Sarah uses them all the time. Funny, right?”

  I chuckle. What has this woman done to my dorky-ass brother? Jesus God. She’s made him even dorkier than ever.

  “Get some sleep, Mr. Emoji,” I write.

  He sends me a thumbs-up emoji in reply and I laugh.

  “Josh.”

  I look up from my phone to find Kat walking into the waiting room, her face stained with tears. I leap up from my chair, instantly twitching with dread. Oh fuck, please God, don’t let Kat be here to tell me Colby’s dead.

  Kat beelines to me and, without saying a word, throws her arms around my neck, presses her body into mine, and loses herself to wracking sobs.

  Chapter 10

  Josh

  I wrap Kat in a tight embrace and hold her to me for several minutes, kissing her hair, rubbing her back, my heart pounding in my ears, dreading whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.

  Finally, Kat breaks away from me, wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she says. She pulls me down to sitting. “I’ve been holding it together pretty well for my mom, but seeing your face made me lose—” She suddenly clamps her hand over her mouth.

  “Kat?” Holy shit. She seriously looks like she’s about to hurl. “Kat?” I ask again, my skin prickling. I’ve never seen someone react to grief by throwing up before.

  Kat takes a few deep breaths and groans like she’s eaten a piece of rancid meat.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, the hairs on my arms standing on end.

  Kat makes a face I can’t interpret and takes another deep breath. “I’m okay,” she mumbles.

  Typhoid Joe across the room lets out a hacking cough and Kat grimaces.

  “How’s Colby?”

  “The tests came back and it was pretty much all good news, relatively speaking. Broken leg, ribs, and collarbone. Ruptured spleen. Smoke inhalation—but not too bad, thank God. He suffered some burns to his left side where the beam was crushing him, but his turnout gear protected him pretty well. Could have been a whole lot worse. No head trauma at all, thank God.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a long road to recovery—lots of physical therapy. But he’s gonna pull through.”

  I exhale with relief.

  “But the baby Colby went back in to save?” Kat says, tears flooding her eyes. “She just died in her mother’s arms in the pediatric unit.”

  “Oh no,” I say so
ftly, my heart dropping into my toes.

  “Her parents came to Colby’s room to thank him for what he did to try to save her. He wasn’t conscious so they thanked my parents.” Tears are streaming out of Kat’s eyes and down her cheeks. “They said they were grateful to my brother for giving them the chance to hold their little angel one last time and say goodbye. Oh my God, it ripped everyone’s heart out, Josh. All of us were crying, even Ryan, and he never cries.”

  I nod, incapable of speaking.

  Kat inhales sharply again and suddenly clamps her hand to her mouth. “Shit,” she mumbles. She leaps out of her chair and sprints to the bathroom across the hall, her body jerking with loud heaves as she runs.

  What the fuck? Kat’s puking again? I’ve never seen someone react to grief by puking before—and this is the second time today (the first time being in the locker room immediately after Kat talked to her mom about Colby). Does she have food poisoning?

  Typhoid Joe coughs loudly again on the far side of the waiting room, jerking me out of my thoughts, and I share a “this guy’s gonna infect us all” look with the young woman sitting across from me.

  After a few minutes, Kat returns from the bathroom, her face pale. “Sorry about that,” she says.

  “Do you always react this way to extreme stress?” I ask.

  “What way—by crying?”

  “No, by barfing.”

  Kat twists her mouth.

  “Do you think maybe you have the stomach flu or something?” I ask.

  There’s a long beat. Kat takes a deep breath and flaps her lips on her exhale.

  “Shit,” she says. She shakes her head like she knows she’s about to say something highly regrettable. “Life is so funny. Before today, I thought I had the weight of the world on my shoulders—I really did—or, I guess, on my uterus.” She snorts to herself. “And now, all of a sudden, my supposedly huge problem doesn’t seem like that big a deal.”

  Wait. Did Kat just say she thought she had the weight of the world on her uterus? I open and close my mouth, but I’m too freaked out to link coherent words together. Does that mean . . ?