Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  Cane is crouching in front of the rear staircase. His blond head bobs with steady movement, as if he’s listening to music. All I hear is the nurse repeating my mother’s critical state.

  “Hey, I need to leave.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder. Whatever he sees on my face makes him recoil. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “My mom,” I mutter.

  Cane nods, knowing enough about my past not to question me further. “Take care, man. I’ll get everything sorted here.”

  “Thanks.” I sound drained, even to my own ears. The battle with my mother is exhausting and gruesome. I barely dredge up the willpower to drag my ass outside.

  The drive to the hospital whizzes by in a blur of static. It’s only thanks to some miracle that I don’t end up in a ditch. I’m not sure how my truck gets parked. The bright blue sky has been replaced with gloomy clouds. How fucking fitting.

  I hold onto these insignificant details, relying on them to push me onward. My boots echo on the scuffed linoleum as I enter the emergency room. A security guard waves me in the direction to a bank of elevators. When I get out on the third floor, another lobby greets me. A woman smiles from her spot behind a cluttered desk.

  “May I help you find something?”

  I blow out a stream of foul air. “I’m looking for Camilla Bowen. She was checked in earlier.”

  The woman’s eyes grow saucer-wide. “Uh, yes. She’s in 313. Very last door on the left.” She lifts an unsteady finger toward a narrow hall.

  I follow the gesture, a sick intuition twisting inside of me. “Thank you.”

  My stride is comparable to a snail as I edge down the long walkway. I watch the numbers increase with nausea churning faster in my stomach. It takes several minutes to reach the correct room. Those three bold digits mock me. What waits for me beyond this barrier? Only one way to see.

  I push the door open with a cautious hand. The space is cloaked in darkness, shades drawn and lights off. Antiseptic and bleach suffocate me. I suppose this sterile stench beats the smell of death. My feet shove forward on their own. The rest of me is trying to process what I’m seeing. I pause halfway to the bed.

  My mother looks so peaceful, frozen in sleep. Only the soft rise and fall of her chest alerts me that she’s still alive. That slow rhythm is cathartic. Relief floods out of me in a cascade and my knees threaten to buckle. I stumble to the nearby chair, dragging it to her side. An array of machines beep and buzz. Tubes are taped along her right arm. There are colorful wires sprouting out from the top of her gown. So much is happening, yet nothing at all.

  I grab her left hand and suck in a sharp breath. Her skin is ice cold. I press her freezing palm between both of mine. We’ve been in this situation before. The similarities aren’t lost on me. But the differences are blaring louder than a foghorn. She’s hardly moving. The ashen hue of her complexion is more pronounced. Her cheekbones jut out to a crude degree. Purple bruising is forming along her jaw. An eerie chill slithers across my scalp. I leave my eyes trained on her still form, waiting for more signs of life.

  Someone knocks on the door behind me. I turn and find a man wearing blue scrubs poking his head inside. He’s older than me by at least ten years. The way he steps into the room speaks of his authority.

  “Mr. Bowen?”

  I squint at him. Being called Mr. Bowen is beginning to skeeve me out. That doesn’t mean I’ll correct him. I’ll take an upper hand if he’s passing them out. “That’s me.”

  He moves closer with an outstretched hand. “I’m Doctor Potter, one of the physicians supervising this floor. You can call me Miles. I’m responsible for your mother’s care while she’s with us.”

  “You’re the one who ran all her tests?”

  Miles shifts to the end of her bed. “I did.”

  I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “And?”

  “May I be blunt?”

  “Please,” I mutter.

  He glances at her before sliding his gaze to me. “Your mother’s health is very poor.”

  “No shit, doc. I’m well aware of her addictions. Tell me something new.”

  “I’m talking about more than her bad habits.”

  A cramp attacks my muscles. “Such as?”

  Miles leans against the mattress, facing me dead on. “She’s suffered from a massive stroke. From what I can tell, there’s irreversible damage to her heart and lungs. Her scans and X-rays are a mess. There’s almost no brain activity. To break it down in the simplest terms, your mother’s body gave up fighting.”

  I hear his explanation, but not really. My ears are packed with cotton. There’s a low thrum pounding into my temples. Rancid bile crawls up my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and force the vomit down. “But she’s gonna wake up, right? I can take her home tomorrow?”

  His sigh is a sinking ship. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Bowen. We’re doing our best to keep her stable, but she’s unresponsive to treatments. She hasn’t regained consciousness since being admitted. Her system is in shutdown mode. The machines are keeping her alive.”

  “So, she’s dying?” The crack in my voice tears straight through me. I don’t bother hiding my wince.

  “Yes, Mr. Bowen. I’m very sorry.”

  I don’t look up to find the matching sympathy in his eyes. The death sentence is a sledgehammer to my ribs. The reflex to wrap an arm around my torso rattles the shattering bones. “What happens next?”

  Miles straightens off the bed, swiping at his tablet. “That’s entirely up to you. She’s not in pain. We’ll continue measuring her vitals as needed. Usually we recommend spending time with her, say goodbye and make your peace. We have a chapel on site if you’d like to pray or talk with a minister. There are a few local grief groups that meet regularly.”

  His suggestions bounce off the bulletproof wall I’ve slammed down. “That won’t be necessary.”

  The silence stretches a mile long. I’m about ready to leap from my seat when the doctor takes a step toward me. “When you’re ready, we can take her off life support.”

  Is anyone ever ready for that? What a fucked up control system. I pinch the bridge of my stinging nose. “Just like that?”

  “Again, I’m sorry there isn’t more we can do. Your mother was very sick, Mr. Bowen.”

  Was.

  He’s already talking about her in the past tense. Fuck. Pressure roars behind my clenched eyelids. None of this should be a surprise. She never took care of herself. If I’m being honest, she was hellbent on doing everything possible to end her life prematurely. All the drugs and booze were bound to catch up with her.

  “Do you think she knew?”

  Miles chews on my question for a moment. “Did she ever mention her health? Not feeling well?”

  I snort. “We didn’t have that type of relationship.”

  He nods, a glimmer of understanding dawning across his features. “A prideful woman.”

  “More like loose cannon.” I scrub over my face, reality beginning to crash down from the ceiling.

  Miles hums. “Well, her charts make no mention of regular appointments or general check-ups. Considering the condition of her organs and the severity of disease, I’d say she was either ignoring the issues or self-medicating enough to not notice.”

  And isn’t that the gist of her existence. Damn. I dip my head, slouching low in the chair. Words stick to the roof of my mouth. What was left to say?

  The good doctor must read my mood. “Please stay as long as you’d like. There’s no reason to rush. Are there other relatives you need to contact?”

  I offer a limp shrug in response. Anything more might break me.

  “If so, feel free to do so now. There’s a nurse station just down the hall. They can call me if necessary.”

  “Got it,” I mutter.

  He pats my back. “I’m very sorry you ran out of time with her. Take comfort in knowing she’s no longer suffering.”

  But is that really true?

&
nbsp; The door closes behind him with a soft click. We’re alone, cocooned in endless silence. The steady beeping from her monitor spikes my own pulse. The urge to run and never return surges into my veins. I can’t fucking handle this. My heart screams for comfort that only one person can give. The phone slips off my clammy palm. I grip the plastic until it’s ready to crack. Mincing words has never been my specialty. With trembling fingers, I type out a message.

  Me: I need you, Sutt. Now. My mom is dying. She’s at Springs Regional. You have to be here.

  24

  Sutton

  Happy something #51: Finding freedom in letting go.

  An indescribable pain rips into me when Grady’s text comes through. It’s as if we’re connected by that electronic ping. Everything he must be feeling pours into my soul. His grief and suffering become mine. Tar pumps into my limbs and standing up is a chore. A tortured whimper quivers off my lips. I struggle to regain a normal breathing pattern. Tears are already racing down my cheeks.

  I don’t bother responding to him. We’ll be together shortly. I spin in two fast circles, trying to get my brain screwed in straight. Other customers inside the diner are turning to stare. Let them look. I couldn’t care less about the hush falling over the small restaurant. Their faces blend into a single mask of intrusion.

  After packing up my shit, I haul ass to the car. The engine rumbles to life with a sharp crank of my wrist. I type in the address and stomp on the accelerator. The drive should take me fifteen minutes. I make it to the hospital in eight.

  My thoughts are a scramble as I breeze through the sliding glass entrance. I scan the lobby with urgency. The thundering in my ears echoes like a frantic pack of buffaloes chasing me. The tiled floor ripples and tilts beneath me. Shit, maybe I need to slow down. But the clock is ticking, each second a swift strike across my frazzling nerves. If I’m this spooked, Grady must be a complete mess. I yank at my hair and dart forward. A woman at the greeter desk takes pity on me.

  “Miss? Are you all right?”

  I’m certain my eyes resemble full moons. “No.”

  She motions me toward her. “Who are you searching for?”

  My legs wobble as I stagger over. “Camilla Bowen.”

  A couple taps on the keyboard follow. A frown twists her features. “Oh, I see.”

  “What?” My voice is shrill.

  She refuses to meet my gaze. “She’s on the third floor in room 313.”

  “O-okay. Can you tell me about her prognosis?”

  The woman is shaking her head before I’m done asking. “Nope. That’s not my job. There will be a doctor doing rounds this afternoon.”

  I furrow my brow. “All right. How about some directions?”

  She prattles off a laundry list of turns that my muddled mind barely comprehends. I nod along with faith that there are proper signs posted. When I stay unmoving in front of her, she quirks a brow. “Is there a problem, dear?”

  I jolt out of my stupor. The troubles are stacking up against me. I don’t bother sharing that. After a timid wave, I take off to the left wing. I follow the woman’s instructions to the best of my ability. The dimly lit hallway on the third floor is something out of a horror film. Overhead lights flicker. The drab walls are barren. My sandals squeak with every inch I cover. This trek is ominous as hell. As if hospitals need to be more creepy. 313 finally appears in front of me and a sob tickles my tongue. The door is slightly ajar. I push the gap wider and peek inside.

  “Gray?”

  I’m welcomed by stilted silence and darkness. The square space is almost pitch-black, only a single strand of sunshine breaks through the blinds. My feet carry me across the room without pause. There’s a slim figure tucked in bed, tranquil and sleeping. Stark white sheets cover most of Camilla’s petite form. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume she’s enjoying a midday nap.

  Grady is there, hunched over the mattress, motionless and waiting. The torrent of sorrow in his green eyes is a punch to my sternum. I choke out a garbled breath. His raw expression showers me with a downpour of emotions. Remaining upright is no longer an option.

  I collapse onto the empty chair beside him. My forehead kisses his. “I’m so damn sorry, Gray.”

  He folds into me, a tremor wracking his entire body. “Thank you for coming. I can’t do this by myself. Not anymore.”

  “Of course, baby. You never have to be alone again. I’ll always be by your side.”

  His arms cinch around me in an unrelenting hold, as if I’ll vanish at any moment. “I don’t know what to do, Sutt.”

  I stroke a palm down his bowed back. “Are there options?”

  A cutting jerk of his head. “Only one. I c-can’t even say it.”

  Sweat prickles along my hairline. “Nothing needs to be decided right away.”

  “Why delay the inevitable?” His haunted tone vibrates my bones.

  “Who found her?” I study Camilla in front of us. “What happened?”

  The heat of his mouth is a puff across my neck. “For whatever reason, the landlord dropped in to see her. She was already unconscious and barely breathing. The doctor listed off all sorts of failures with her body. He thinks the stroke is what caused the most damage to her brain. But she’s been in a perpetual nosedive my entire life. I guess she finally crashed.”

  My chest jerks with a shuddering wheeze. “That’s so sad. I can’t believe it. We were just with her, alive and seemingly well.”

  Grady straightens, those piercing green eyes lasering into me. “Did you know she was sick?”

  I baulk at that. “How could I?”

  He scrubs a palm down his face. “Maybe she mentioned it during your private chat.”

  I allow the edges of my lips to tip up with the slightest hint of a smile. The motion is shaky, but it holds. “All she did was talk about you, Gray. She asked me about your job. What your hobbies are. How long we’ve been dating. Where you live. Your dreams and goals and wishes. She wanted to know what you’re passionate about. What makes you tick. We played a one-sided game of twenty questions. She was a sponge for any drop of information on you. I was also told to keep our conversation a secret.”

  “Damn. I can almost believe she meant well.” He lets a few choice words loose. Moisture collects on his lashes when he blinks. “No mention of not feeling well?”

  “She avoided answering anything about herself. I tried to engage deeper, but nope.”

  His posture deflates. “This is very surreal for me. I don’t even know her. She birthed me, and gave me life. But what else? A bunch of bad blood and toxic memories.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder. “She’s always going to be your mother.”

  Grady’s throat bobs. “I know.”

  “There aren’t many moments I can share about your mom. Before yesterday, I hadn’t seen her since we were in high school. I wasn’t sure what to expect when we pulled in. That trailer park leaves a lot to be desired. A graveyard of broken dreams. But your mom was kind to me, in her own way.”

  “I’m really glad you had that time with her.”

  “So am I. It’s something I can carry with me. Doesn’t hurt to know she approves of us being together.”

  Grady scoffs. “As if she would ever deny you. That trait runs in my family.”

  “Oh my gosh.” If I wasn’t already sitting, my knees would have given out. Fresh tears blur my vision. “I can’t even. You’re so damn sweet to me, Gray.”

  His thumb wipes at my wet cheeks. “I’d be a shell without you, Sutt. This situation would throw me over the edge. Because of you, I’m able to push past the bad. I’ll be okay.”

  I lean into his touch. “We’ll always make it through, Gray. I truly believe that. Today is going to be nearly impossible. Tell me what to do. Anything you need.”

  “Just you, baby. Having you with me for this means everything. My happy something in the pit of sorrow.”

  “I’d never be anywhere else.”

  His lips find mine, sealing
us in an intimate bubble. I hug my arms around him and erase any sliver of distance between us. We get lost in one another, the ache ebbing ever so slightly.

  A soft knock interrupts our tender moment. We sigh in unison and glance over to the sound. The door edges open and a nurse appears. “Is this an okay time?”

  Grady glares at her. “For what?”

  I startle at the harsh whip in his tone. “Easy, Gray.”

  His stare tracks her hesitant steps, as if she’s an enemy about to pounce. She holds up her palms and moves toward us. “I didn’t mean to disturb. This was my next stop. I’m Bianca, the nurse assigned to Camilla this evening.” She gives an awkward wave. “I just need to check her vitals. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Grady continues staring at her through narrow slits. “What could’ve changed?”

  I nudge him in the ribs. “Stop it. She’s just doing her job.”

  Bianca busies herself charting levels from the machines hooked up to Camilla. Grady rips his gaze off her and focuses those green depths on me. My stomach squeezes at the pure agony reflecting there.

  “I’m the one”—he gulps in a breath—“in charge of telling them when to kill her.”

  I hiss out an exhale. Talk about morbid. No child should have to make that decision for their parent, or anyone really. What a horrible position to be in. “Now?”

  Bianca drops her tablet and it clatters to the floor. She scoops up the device, darting across the room and out of sight.

  Grady watches her scurry off. “Not necessarily. When I’m ready.” His eyes roll. “Because that’s a humane option to offer. They’ll keep her heart beating and force air into her lungs until I’m willing to pull the plug. As if that makes it easier to let go.”

  “This will be the most difficult decision you’ll ever make. But she’s in your hands. Think about it as setting her free. We’ll do it together. I’ll be right here with you.”

  A single drop trickles down his cheek. “I’m not strong enough for this shit.”