Rescuing His Heart

by Melanie Shawn

  So, great. He knew all the things he had to do. Now he just needed to figure out how to do them.

  Mentally, he rolled his eyes at himself. Yeah. That should be simple.

  Chapter 28

  “Hey, Gen. Sorry to disappoint, but you got the handsome Valentine brother today.”

  Gen looked up from her computer at the sound of Troy’s voice. She had a meeting with Gavin scheduled, one that was supposed to start in fifteen minutes. They were supposed to divvy up the responsibilities of the expanded committee members and decide who would manage each.

  It was, in fact, supposed to be the last meeting of their “committee of two,” and Gen had scheduled it in her own office, surrounded by all of the hustle and bustle of her co-workers as a way of potentially keeping them on track.

  Now, it seemed that he wasn’t coming. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she struggled with everything in her not to let the sharp pangs of disappointment stabbing at her gut show on her face. That was the last thing she needed, to look like a just-kicked puppy at the idea of not seeing Gavin. To his own brother.

  Yeah, that wouldn’t put ideas in anyone’s head or anything.

  So, instead of wearing her heart on her sleeve she pasted a huge smile on her lips and gestured for Troy to sit down in one of the angled visitor’s chairs that sat opposite her desk. “Hell, I’ll welcome the chance to see any Valentine brother, any day of the week. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this upgrade?”

  She figured her question was probably pretty transparent, but it was better than what she actually wanted to say, which was, “Where is Gavin, and sidenote, what in the actual fuck is going on here?”

  As Troy settled into the chair, he tilted his head to the side and gave her an appraising look. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I was kind of hoping you would answer that question for me rather than the other way around.”

  She drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I was kind of hoping you would fill me in on why Gavin sent me here today. He certainly isn’t very forthcoming on the subject.”

  Gen toyed with how to respond. She was torn. On the one hand, she still felt very strongly that medical issues – anyone’s medical issues – were private. She didn’t have any siblings, but if she did, she certainly wouldn’t want Gavin running to them and blabbing if he happened to find out that she was sick. Telling people – or, more to the point, not telling people – should be his choice.

  Then there was the other side of the equation, though, which was…she really wanted to tell.

  Yes, she knew that wasn’t much justification, but there it was. She was burning with the overwhelming desire to unburden herself and spill everything she knew to Troy. Maybe he knew more details than she did and could set her mind at ease. Maybe he didn’t know anything yet, and giving him the information would set off a chain of events that would really help Gavin.

  Hell, maybe it would just feel really good to get it off her chest.

  She dropped her head onto the fingers of one hand and rubbed her temple. Her brain hurt. Not her head, like a headache. This was her brain. It was being bruised by all the fist-fighting ideas punching each other as they battled for dominance.

  “Okay, so I guess you don’t know any more than I do,” Troy said.

  She made a split-second decision. Play dumb. Why not, after all? It’s how she’d been feeling for a large percentage of the time lately. She could take full advantage.

  “Troy, how could I possibly know why Gavin isn’t here, when you’re the one who told me just now that he wasn’t coming? Up until ten seconds ago, I was under the impression that he was about to come walking through that door.”

  “I get that,” Troy responded, leaning back in the chair. “I wasn’t actually talking about this appointment, specifically. More what’s going on in general. Because something is sure as hell going on, and he won’t say a damn word.”

  “What do you mean, going on?” Wow. It was so much easier to play dumb than she’d ever imagined it would be.

  “Happening. Occurring. Unfolding. I could go on.”

  “Please don’t. I have a thesaurus under my desk if I need synonyms, and they get delivered from the pages with significantly less snark.”

  Troy laughed. “But what fun would that be?”

  “Fair point.”

  “For instance, maybe you can whip it out right now so we can look up all the synonyms for deflection.”

  “I swear on my life, Troy. I don’t know any more than you do.”

  That could theoretically be true, she figured. How would she know how much, or what, he knew? That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

  Troy leaned forward, all the casual joviality of a moment before lost in the now-intense set of his shoulders. “He’s my brother, Gen. I’m just worried about him.”

  She straightened in her seat, taken aback by his words, and his manner. She and Troy had known each other for their entire lives, but knowing someone a long time did not automatically equal knowing them well. They’d never talked to each other about anything real, or serious. Even after his parents had died and he’d moved back here, all she’d been able to think of to say to him was the most standard of platitudes.

  Now, here he was in her office, laying out his worries, and it was clear to her just by looking in his eyes that they were real, and they were deep.

  Shit.

  Far from setting her mind at ease and making her feel less alone because she and Troy were in this whole “worrying about Gavin” thing together, the knowledge that Troy was as scared as she was sent her into a near-panic.

  Dammit, if someone as solid and steady as Troy – not to mention someone who knew Gavin as well as Troy did – was this worried, then it was a good indicator that there was something truly there to be that worried about.

  She gave him a crooked half-smile. “Like I said,” she informed him regretfully, “You know as much as I do.”

  Chapter 29

  Mila’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an ‘O’ as she held a blouse up in front of herself and rotated back and forth in front of the mirror.

  This was the tenth or eleventh clothes store they’d been in during this trip to the mall, he’d lost count around five, and it was roughly the seven thousandth article of clothing she’d held up in front of herself and marveled at. That was a rough estimate on his part, but he didn’t think he was too far off.

  He had to smile, though, watching her. It wasn’t like this was the kid’s first trip to a mall. It was just that she had an inner light of enthusiasm that made everything amazing in her eyes, and it was one of Gavin’s favorite things about her.

  As he was becoming reacquainted with her now, as a young woman rather than a child, he was discovering that his list of favorite things about her was lengthening by the day.

  “You should get it,” he advised. “It looks great.”

  She glanced over at him, a worried wrinkle setting in between her brows. “Are you sure, Gavin? You’ve bought me way too much stuff.”

  He cracked a smile. “Said no teenage girl ever.”

  Her face collapsed into a grimace and she let out a combination groan-laugh, the kind that is only really achievable by women when they’re between the ages of approximately twelve to eighteen. “Oh my God, seriously, though, please do not try to talk like a cool person.”

  “No trying necessary. I am a cool person. When I talk it just comes out that way.”

  “Oh, my God,” she giggled. “You so are not.”

  He slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close to him, keeping the squeeze quick so as not to embarrass her in public. “Seriously, though, kid. Don’t worry about it. I’m making up for years of missing out on shopping with you.”

  She turned her face up to his, a sly grin now touching her lips, and she said, “Well, in that case, I say let’s keep making up for lost time.”

  He laughed. Her quick wit. Another addition onto the list o
f favorite things.

  He paid for the top and a few other things she’d picked out from that store and added the bag to the collection they now had on their arms.

  As they strolled farther down the promenade, Mila said, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  The hair on the back of Gavin’s neck stood up. Even though she’d couched the question as a casual, throwaway comment, it was clearly anything but. The clues were all there. The way her voice was tight and tense, the careless tone she’d tried to infuse just covering that tension like an ill-fitting coat. The stretched-rubber-band set of her shoulders. The way she studiously avoided looking at him as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the display window of the sporting goods place they were passing as if fishing tackle and camping stoves were suddenly the most fascinating things in the world.

  Nope. Clearly whatever she had to say was the furthest thing in the world from “casual.”

  He didn’t want to spook her, though, so he matched her careless tone when he replied, “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Why am I the only one who knows about you being sick?”

  Well, shit. He’d called that one right.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and considered his next words. Finally, he sighed. “Come on, kid. Let’s go to the food court. This conversation requires an oversized pretzel.”

  She looked up into his face then, eyes narrowed, clearly trying to judge if he was taking her seriously or making fun. After a moment, she nodded decisively. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

  When they were settled in across from each other at the food court table, each of them armed with a giant, doughy pretzel and a fountain drink, he prepared to dive into the conversation. It occurred to him that having the food and drink made it easier, somehow. Gave them something to divert part of their attention to if it got too intense.

  It was the teen-friendly version of him and his brothers sitting out on the back deck with the view and a beer.

  He sucked up soda through the straw and said casually, “So, I guess it must be pretty scary being the only one that knows something so big, huh?”

  “Yeah. And it’s not just that it’s big. It’s bad, too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I know it sounds that way—”

  “Is that way,” she corrected.

  He smiled a little. She wasn’t going to let him get away with anything.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. It’s bad. But not as bad as it sounds. I promise.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s a brain tumor. You said ‘growth,’ but I Googled it. That’s a tumor,” she whispered harshly.

  “I know. The words sound so scary. But, I promise you, from everything the doctor has explained to me, it’s not dangerous. Not in any life-threatening way. In fact, it’s probably been there my whole life, and now it’s just grown or moved a tiny little bit.”

  She scrunched her face up, studying him suspiciously. “Really?”

  “Really. I swear. By the time it got big enough to make me seriously sick, I’d be 150 years old. That’s how slow it is. That’s what more than one doctor told me. Including the specialist I just saw.”

  She let out a giant breath and nodded, then dipped her head to try to hide the fact she was wiping tears away.

  His heart tore right in two. This was why he didn’t want to tell people. Look at the pain it caused.

  But, he reflected in sudden revelation, that’s actually why I need to tell them. She’s not crying because of what’s happening to you. Not really. Not right now, at any rate. She’s crying because of how alone she felt, and that she couldn’t talk to you. Which is worse, in a way.

  He shook his head. Crap. He had to go have some seriously not-fun conversations, and it was probably going to suck. But it had to be done.

  Chapter 30

  Genevieve examined the oversized piece of poster board in front of her and tried with everything in her to make sense of it. It contained a rough sketch of Valentine Bay Park, where the Labor Day picnic would be held, with little boxes drawn on it representing vendor stands.

  Gen’s mission (and she had no choice but to accept it at this point because who the hell else would) was to figure out which vendor should be assigned which stall.

  It wasn’t as simple as just putting them in willy-nilly. Even using a system like first come, first serve was a losing proposition. The ideal thing would be to group them thematically so people wandering through would enter different “worlds” as they browsed – food world, artisan craft world, wine world, luxury services world, etc.

  However, the problem she was running into – and it was a thorny one – was that, in a place as small and insular as Valentine Bay, business owners in similar industries knew each other well. And familiarity, in many cases, did in fact breed contempt.

  There were long standing feuds between competitors that went back decades in some cases, and Gen certainly didn’t want some sort of brawl breaking out during her grand festival-coordinating debut because she’d had the bird-brained idea to force Old Man Barbero to spend an entire day standing ten feet away from Mrs. Slakey and they’d renewed their passionate argument about who baked the softest chocolate chip cookie – a fight that had begun in 1978 and only increased in fervor with every passing year.

  And the bakers were the least of her problems. Don’t even get me started on the florists. Good God, the florists!

  Normally, this sort of maneuvering would’ve been dead center in her wheelhouse. It would’ve made her brain tingle with the deliciousness of attacking the problem from every angle, working it and making adjustments until, finally, every piece slid perfectly into place.

  Not tonight, though. Tonight it seemed that the longer she stared at the layout, the less sense it made.

  She’d even packed up all the materials from her office, thinking that in her living room, with a pair of sweats on her butt and a glass of wine in her hand, she could relax enough to focus.

  But, nope. That hadn’t worked, and now she realized that it was because the chatter and bustle of her colleagues hadn’t been the problem when she’d tried to work on it in the office, and neither was her choice of beverage. Or pants, for that matter.

  The problem, whether she was sitting behind her desk or on her couch or anywhere in between, was Gavin. It was always Gavin.

  There was something going on with him, damn it. And she didn’t know what it was. She didn’t know how to help him. She didn’t even know if he was going to be okay, for God’s sake.

  And that? Yeah. That was not okay. Not by a long shot.

  She hopped to her feet and paced around her apartment’s small living room. It wasn’t much of a real “pace” when it came down to it – she didn’t really have the room to work up a true head of steam.

  In fact, instead of helping her work things out and come to some sort of internal resolution on the situation, or even figure out a way to shove it to the side and focus on work just for tonight, it made her even more agitated.

  She stopped pacing and plopped her butt back down on the couch. “Well, that was freaking useless,” she muttered under her breath.

  She popped right back to her feet, unable to sit still, possessed by restlessness.

  She opened the fridge and surveyed the contents. Zip. Nada. Sure, there was food in there. But it was all either green and leafy, or it had to be cooked. Nothing that screamed, “SHOVE ME IN YOUR MOUTH AND FEEL COMFORTED!” In a situation like this, you really needed something more along the ice cream or raw cookie dough line. Quinoa just wasn’t gonna cut it.

  She looked at her wine glass, still clutched in her hand, and briefly considered upgrading to something stronger – until a vivid, full-color replay of her spewing all over Bernice Baxter’s sweater set flashed across her brain.

  So, no. Booze wasn’t the answer.

  She shook her head. She knew what she had to do. Confronting Gavin and telling him that either he was straight with her or they were done was the only way forward.

  She
’d been avoiding it because it was a major crossroads moment, and she was afraid that things might go down the wrong path. The thought of not having Gavin in her life at all, living right here in the same town with him but not seeing him, not speaking to him…it was so foreign that she couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. It seemed empty, and hollow, and it scared her.

  But, hell. This was no way to live, wondering if he was even going to be alive the next time she tried to call and having zero facts to base any kind of guess on. It was causing her imagination to go wild, and she was becoming obsessive. She’d already behaved in some ways that seemed foreign to her. How long until she didn’t recognize herself at all?

  So, yeah. She had to do it. Force the confrontation. If he told her to buzz off, that would be so painful she couldn’t even fully imagine what it would feel like – but at least it would be concrete. Something for her brain to hang on to and understand. At least it would be something she could process, and then (the important part), move forward.

  She grabbed up her phone and dialed Gavin before she could lose her nerve. It felt like a watershed moment. In the imaginary movie of her life that was always halfway playing in the background of her mind, she heard the Rocky theme playing under this “scene” as the triumphant soundtrack.

  “Gavin Valentine. Leave a message, including your number, and I will get back to you. BEEP.”

  “GOD DAMMIT, VALENTINE! You ruined my moment!” she shouted to the room at large. All the momentum in the air while the ringing sounded in her ear had burst like a balloon that had come in contact with a push-pin.

  “If you are satisfied with your message, press one,” came the pleasant, slightly mechanical voice of Gavin’s message service. “To re-record your message, press two.”

  “Oh, shit. Two, two, two,” Gen mumbled as she furiously swiped at the numeral. When the beep sounded, letting her know it was time for her to say her piece, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. She didn’t want her voice to sound crazy. Like, you know…as if she’d just been pacing like a caged animal and then screaming into the empty air. Or whatever.