by Fields, MJ
My head dipped forward, and my hands rose in surprise. “Really? How did I not know that? That’s amazing. You’d be so good at that. You can totally design my future house.”
He laughed. With his elbow on his knee, he leaned into his hand and gave me his full attention. “What does casa de Leah look like?”
I bit the corner of my lip and thought about it. It didn’t take long. It was something I had actually thought about while daydreaming in Calculus. “It’s a wide ranch-style home. I don’t like everyone on different floors. Luke is in the attic, and I feel like he’s in his own world up there.
“You walk in through the front door, and it’s one big, open room with a kitchen, living room, and dining room. The kitchen has a long island with stools for entertaining and a sliding glass door overlooking the yard. There’s a hallway off the living room that leads to the master bedroom. The closets are huge! At least, mine is. My husband can do whatever he wants.”
“What about the kids’ rooms? Or are there no kids in your future home?”
“Their bedrooms are on the other side of the house. They get their own wing. My husband and I will want our privacy.” I give a wink and continue, “Two bedrooms. One for the boy, one for the girl.”
Adam’s brows were pulled in. He seemed confused about something, or maybe it was impressed. I wasn’t sure.
He grabbed his backpack that was on the bleacher behind us and held it on his lap. “I want to show you something.”
I watched as he unzipped his bag, opened his binder, and took out a few papers.
“I think you’d really like my dream house.”
He handed me the papers, and my eyes shot up when I saw the front elevation.
It was a ranch home with a pitched roof and front porch. The house was broken up into three buildings connected by hallways of floor-to-ceiling windows.
I ran my fingers over the drawing and traced the triangle steeple above the front door.
He leaned into me and took the paper from my hand, revealing the next sheet behind it. It was a layout of the inside of the house.
He placed a hand behind me and cocooned into me as he explained the drawings, “This”—he pointed to the paper—“is the foyer that opens up into the great room. It has a pitched ceiling lined with wood beams. There’s the living room with French doors looking out to the yard. This is the dining room, and that is the kitchen, equipped with an island for entertaining.”
I followed his finger around the room. It was exactly as I had just described to him.
He moved over to one of the glass hallways. “This is the master bedroom with a large closet for me and a bigger one for my wife and also a master bathroom. There are two bedrooms—one for the boy and one for the girl.”
He looked at me, and I tried not to lose myself too much in the way his lips curved with his smile.
He continued to the other glass hallway. “This is the media room. One television in a house isn’t enough,” he explained.
I laughed. If anyone knew that, it was me.
“This is the guest bedroom with a full bathroom, and this room here…I haven’t really decided.”
Adam looked up. I did, too. His dark gaze searched mine. Goose bumps traveled down my thighs.
“We have the same dream house,” I whispered.
“We do.” His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Then, maybe you can tell me what I should do with this room.”
I looked back down at the square room on the far right side of the home. It could be a music room or a playroom. It could be a library for quiet reading or a craft room.
“That’s your office. Your wife won’t want you spending too much time at work. She’ll want you home as much as possible. Dinner will be at five, so you’ll have plenty of time to play with the kids before bed. When the kids are asleep, you can go into your office and get some work done. She’ll bring you a drink and maybe a snack. She’ll give you a kiss and wait in the media room for you to finish, so you can watch some of your favorite Matthew McConaughey movies together.”
He gasped at the last sentence.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Then, I added, “Because he’s everybody’s favorite actor. If your future wife doesn’t love McConaughey films, then I’m not coming over for our Tuesday poker nights.”
“We play poker?” he asked with a wicked smile.
“Yes. The four of us get together every Tuesday. It’s our thing.”
He continued to look at me, the smile gone from his face. In its place was a pensive stare, one that was trying to see into the future. He looked back down at his dream house and then back to me. I just sat there, tucking my hands under my knees, and looked back at him.
His lips parted, and I once again fell into the sound.
“I promise, I will marry a girl who loves Matthew McConaughey.”
“She’s opening her eyes,” a girl’s voice says.
“She’s not in a coma. We knew she’d wake up eventually.” There’s another female in the room.
I know their voices. They’re the two girls I call my friends.
I slowly open my eyes, blink a few times, and look around the room. I furrow my brows and look at the walls, as if the room is new to me; then the television, like I’d never seen such a contraption before; and finally, at the girls, as if they are complete strangers.
I blink again, seeming dazed and confused. “Are you my nurses?”
Jessica’s eyes bulge out of her head, and her hand flies to her mouth. “She has amnesia.”
Suzanne squints her eyes at me. “Do you know your name?”
I feel around on the sheets and look back and forth, searching for an answer. “No.” My voice is slightly frightened.
“Oh my God!” Jessica cries. She leans forward and practically yells in my face, “I’m Jessica. This is Suzanne. We’re your friends.”
Suzanne looks over to Jessica and grimaces. “Don’t you think she’d want to know what her name is?”
Jessica nods. “Your name is Lee-uh,” she phonetically pronounces my name like I’m a foreigner learning a new language.
“Leah,” I repeat. “Who am I? Where do I live? What am I like?”
“You live with your parents, and you manage a bar in town,” Jessica says.
Suzanne chimes in, “You are in desperate need of a dye job, and you have a terrible sense of fashion.”
“I do not!” I yell.
Suzanne smiles.
“You idiot!” Jessica squeals, annoyed, pushing on my leg.
“Ow!” I grab my thigh, pretending I’m in terrible pain.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—wait”—Jessica falls back to her chair and crosses her arms—“you have a head injury. Your legs are fine.”
I shrug and go back to lying on the bed.
Suzanne shakes her head and grins. “Nice to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor. We brought you real clothes.” She holds up a Vera Bradley duffel bag.
My body is still sore, but I’m able to move about better now that I’ve had that second nap. I push myself into a sitting position.
“No one knows a girl better than her friends.” I thank them and take the bag. My pajamas, brush, and makeup are in here. I put the bag at the foot of my bed and lie back on the reclined bad.
The two who are usually boisterous and chatty are unusually quiet. I know they want to know more than what they’ve been told by my mom or Emma or whoever it was that told them I was here.
With my hands clasped in front of me, I open up to my girls. “I thought I was going to die. I’ll tell you all about it, just not today. Right now, I’m trying to focus on the fact that I didn’t die. Adam came home just in time and saved me. Have you heard anything about him?”
They shake their heads.
Suzanne pulls her curly hair away from her eyes and adjusts her glasses. “We just got here.”
I nod and look down at my hands. Jessica places a hand on my leg. I look up to her beautiful
face and sweet smile. Her lips open to speak and then close.
She opens and closes them again before I answer her question, “We’re together.”
She pulls her mouth in. I know what her questions are. She’s just being too nice in not asking them.
I look her in the face and wait for her eyes to look my way. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”
Her head lifts, and I finally catch her eye. She looks at me with a mix of betrayal and understanding.
“The other night at Velocity, when I left early, it’s been official since then.” I don’t say any more.
She stares at me. “I knew. I mean, I saw the signs. I just ignored them. We all knew there was something between you two,” Jessica says. Suzanne nods in agreement. “I get it.”
“I never wanted to hurt your feelings,” I say with the utmost conviction.
She grabs my hand and smiles. Her brown eyes twinkle a little. “I’m happy for you. For both of you.”
I let out a laugh of relief. That went so much better than I had feared.
Suzanne chimes in, “It also doesn’t hurt that Derek from Cincinnati drove back yesterday to take her to dinner.”
My jaw drops. “He drove three hours to see you?” I wave my hands in the air and motion for more. “Okay, details. I want them all!”
I lean back and listen to my friends tell me their stories.
It’s a simple conversation, but it reminds me that my life will go on. My life is good. The Nicos of the world are not going to get me down.
I wake up to a rolling sound in the hallway. Apparently, I am only allowed to take catnaps for the duration of my stay here. I open my eyes as Dr. Ditto strolls in the room with an empty wheelchair.
“Thought you might like to go for a ride,” she says.
There’s something in the way her mouth is rising on the side that lets me know I’m not going for an MRI.
She helps me get up and sit down in the chair. I have my baby-blue pajama top on with matching striped pants. My hair is brushed and pulled back into a ponytail, and I’ve scrubbed off the stank makeup I had on from the bar.
Dr. Ditto rolls me down the hallway and through a set of doors that is only for personnel. She’s just about to push me through a hospital room door when she leans down and says, “I think this will keep you from having any more nightmares.”
We enter the room, and the only thing I see is Adam lying in his bed. His eyes are closed, and he has a large red gash on his face from being hit. Other than that, he looks perfect.
I turn my head back to her. “I thought only family could see him?”
She wheels me closer to his bed. “Magic makes me want to break the rules.”
No sooner does Dr. Ditto leave the room than I am on my feet and leaping to Adam’s bedside. I pull a chair over and kneel on it. My hands are in his hair and on his face, caressing the stubble and the line of his chiseled jaw.
I lean forward and kiss his lips. They’re warm.
I kiss him again because I can.
I kiss him a third time because, up until this moment, I was seriously questioning whether he was dead, and no one had the heart to tell me.
I kiss him a fourth time because one event might give me nightmares, but it’s this man who has been giving me the sweetest dreams for seven years. His dreams trump every evil vision. This man defends all hate.
“I’m starting to think that getting stabbed is a good thing,” he says.
I kiss him some more.
“I had no idea what happened to you. They wouldn’t tell me anything.” I hold his head in my hands and stare at how beautiful his features are.
“Leah,” he whispers, raising a hand to my cheek. “Don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be okay. They got Nico.”
“They did?”
He rubs my cheek. His eyes crinkle as he stares lovingly back at me. “He was in bad shape, so he hadn’t made it far from the house. He’s going away for a long time, and he’s not getting out.”
I laugh and sob at the same time. “That’s the second best thing to happen today.”
“What’s the best thing?” he asks.
“Finding out you’re alive. It’s official; I can’t live without you.”
“That’s a good thing.” He pulls my face down to him and brushes his lips against mine. “I only live for you.”
I bury my head into his neck and weep. Yes, I’m a crying machine, and I can’t control a single emotion.
He kisses my head and rubs my back. “I have another thing to tell you. Victoria OD’d again. Her parents came this time. They’re admitting her to a long-term rehab in San Diego.”
I lean up and bite my lip as guilt stews in my belly.
Adam is looking at me with a mask of confusion. He brushes a stray hair behind my ear and thumbs my cheek again. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“I practically kicked her out on the street. She had nowhere to turn but getting high.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, pulling my forehead in toward his. “I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself again. We’re a team—you and me. We won’t be able to save them all, but we’re gonna try our hardest, and today, a dealer is off the streets, and an addict is getting the treatment she needs.”
I nod and sniffle. I must hit his incision because he hisses through his teeth. His eyes close, and he breathes through the pain.
“I’m sorry.” I try to lean back, but he’s pulling me back toward him.
When the pain subsides, he grabs my hand and kisses my palm. “I don’t care if I’m screaming in pain. I don’t want you anywhere, except right here by my side.”
He pulls me in for a kiss, and my hands rise up to cup his face. This gorgeous face that I spent so long pretending like it wasn’t the one face I wanted to kiss for eternity.
I love this man. Not just because he wants me with him when he’s in agony. Not even because he saved my life and especially not because he concocted a ridiculous scheme to get us to spend time together, which almost cost him a job and me a friendship. I love him because, whether I want to admit it or not, he is my partner. Offense, defense, no matter the position, Adam is right; we’re a team.
He lets go of me to push himself up to scoot over on the bed and turn slightly onto his side. He’s made enough room for me to lie down next to him.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He pats the bedsheet and lifts an arm, willing me into the nook of his arm. I curl my body in, careful not to go near his bandage, and lay my head onto his chest.
His fingers run up and down my arm as his head rests on top of mine. With a deep exhale, he relaxes into me. The cocoon he’s created for me is lulling me to sleep.
I listen to his steady heartbeat in his chest. The rhythm is a peaceful song against the beeping machine next to us.
“My little criminal,” he sighs.
“My corrupted probation officer.” My voice is laced with sleepiness.
“You’re never gonna let me live that down.”
“You wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Twenty-Eight
“How’s your head? Do you need an ice pack? I have your pain meds if you need them.”
My mom has been all over me since I came home from the hospital. As predicted, she’s knitting me a blanket and Dad has a freezer full of casseroles and pies. He even read to me by my bed when I couldn’t sleep last night.
I give my mom a hug. “You worry too much. Besides, if I get better too soon, I won’t have an excuse to go back to the hospital and drool all over the handsome doctors.”
She gives me a gentle pat on the arm. “Oh, behave.”
I walk a tray of snickerdoodles over to the oven and put them on the lower shelf. Luke walks into the kitchen, and if I were still holding on to the tray, I would have dropped the cookies everywhere.
I cover my eyes with my hands and fall back into the countertop. “What are you wearing?” My words are a dramatic shriek.
I pe
ek between fingers and see Luke standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips and a cocky grin on his face. He’s not wearing a shirt or pants, just a tight red Speedo covering his boy junk.
“I’m trying to make Parker as uncomfortable as possible,” he says, putting a foot on the countertop, making his legs spread way too wide for his sister to see.
“You have succeeded in grossing me out, so Parker will for sure think you are the vilest thing ever.”
Luke’s grin widens. “Good. Will you oil me down?”
“Ew.” I push him away with my foot.
He now stands with both feet on the floor and I remove my hands to look at him further.
“We don’t own a pool.”
“I know.” He picks an apple up from a basket on the counter and takes a large bite.
As disturbing as the little freak looks, I do admire his imagination. “You need a feather boa.”
He cocks a brow.
“And boots. Your ski boots would be amazing!” I’m suddenly very into Luke’s Speedo idea.
He widens his grin. “You’re a genius. I’ll be right back.”
Luke runs upstairs, and I wipe down the counter, cleaning up the mess I made from baking. The doorbell rings, and I nearly run to answer it.
When I open the door, my eyes instantly collide with a man’s torso, clad in a tight orange T-shirt that accentuates his muscular chest. He’s wearing cargo shorts and sneakers, and when I look up to the top of his six-foot frame, he’s wearing aviator sunglasses that show my love-struck expression in the lenses.
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.
His hands wrap around my waist and pull me into him. His tongue glides along mine as his lips suck me into an abyss of everything Adam.
He walks us inside and kicks the door closed with his foot. In my living room, he releases me, and I slide down his incredible frame.
“Hi,” he says, placing his forehead against mine.
“Hi,” I say back, looking up into his illustrious glasslike eyes. My hands skim down his torso and over the fabric of his shirt that’s covering his bandaged incision.