by Emily Childs
The other visitors seem to have the same reaction—calm, silent admiration. The tree reminds me of a bolt of lightning, with its bright surges forming the magnificent branches splaying in all directions.
Some of the branches grew so heavy, wooden posts had been staked beneath to buoy the weight of the sagging limbs. The branches shade the sunset, and I can’t help but reach out and brush my hands across the serpentine boughs.
“It’s called Angel Oak,” Zac says. “Supposedly one of the oldest trees in the country. I thought it was magic as a kid because I always felt calmer coming here.”
“It is magic,” I say and step up to the base of the thick trunk. Rough, damp bark raises beneath my fingertips. I close my eyes, embracing the peace of the calming place. Fresh, humid air fills my lungs, washing away the burn of anguish from today.
I finish my turn around the tree and meet Zac where I left him. I grin. “It’s beautiful.”
Zac doesn’t look at the tree, but he nods. “It is.”
I stare at him, my heart thudding in my head, but I don’t try to calm it. Not anymore. Zac is the cliché of tall, dark and handsome. And I’ve never allowed myself to look long and hard. That changes now. His eyes are coffee brown, always kind, giving away his true nature. He has every right to dislike me, but he’s here, trying to brighten my night. He’s never spoken down to me, never said cruel things, he’s hardly even brought up the crash. He’s unexpected, and I’ve never been so grateful to be proven wrong about someone.
I slip my fingers into his again, heart racing. Zac doesn’t say anything as he takes us to a bench where we can admire the oak fully.
He goes to buy drinks at a small shop tucked a few yards away. I groan when I take a sip, not much of a soda drinker, but this one is just what I need. “Thanks for this. For making me feel better, I mean.”
Zac scoffs, and glances at the ground. “It was as much for me as it is for you. I’ve never met this Emmitt, but I wouldn’t mind breaking his nose. So, I could use the calm of the tree too.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Three years,” I say. “I gave him three loyal years and he moves on in days.”
“He’s missing a light upstairs, Jo,” Zac insists with such fervor I believe him. “He doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’re making a difference here. Dot tells me every day how you’re a godsend.”
My cheeks heat. “I get it from my dad, you know.” Zac lifts a brow, drawing me to laugh. I’ve never mentioned any family, so I imagine it’s out of nowhere to him. But my smile fades. “My dad is the reason why Emmitt didn’t want me working in family practice.” I hang my head. “I haven’t talked about it in so long.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything you—”
“I want to.” I meet his kind eyes. “I don’t know why, but I want to. If you don’t mind.”
Zac’s eyes brighten. “I don’t mind.”
I take a deep breath and barrel on. “When your mom invited me to your dad’s birthday dinner, I said yes as soon as I found out he was gone . . . because I know how it feels. My dad died two years ago—only there aren’t birthday dinners in his honor. I never get to talk about him, or it usually ends in a subject change, or an argument.”
Zac furrows his brow. “Why?”
“My dad was a doctor—family practice. I grew up visiting his clinic, playing in the waiting room, stealing the suckers and treats for patients.” I smile at the long-buried memories. “I told you there is history connected to family practice that Emmitt didn’t want me to let back in, and I guess he’s right. I fell in love with family practice, getting to know entire families as patients. My dad had children as patients who then grew up and brought their own to him. It was like one big community. I saw how happy it made him and I wanted that too. But it changed.”
“What happened?”
“When I was twelve, my mom left.” I clear the bitterness out of my throat. “I guess she wanted a different life, with different people or something. It’s not like my parents just divorced and shared weekends; my mom didn’t even fight for any sort of custody. She left both of us. All I get now are Christmas cards from her and her new family I’ve never even met. Want to know why I despised this place at first?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“My mom lives in South Carolina now. What are the odds right? She met a guy on a business trip here, decided he was her knight in shining armor, and took off. The first Christmas card was a picture of them kissing on Myrtle Beach.”
Zac rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. That’s . . . I don’t know how to make that sound any better, to be honest.”
I nudge his shoulder, and smiles. “It’s all right. I found a few other things that make this place worth admiring.” Oh, goodness. I didn’t mean to say that. I look back at Angel Oak, praying he wouldn’t see the flush in my face. “Anyway, my dad’s change was slow at first, but after a few years I could see him giving up on life.”
Zac squeezes my shoulders when I pause. He doesn’t press, simply waits patiently. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Dad started drinking—a lot. I tried to help him, but it got worse after I went to college. Eventually, he stopped practicing. He couldn’t keep up with the demands, and he started to wither away. The last time I saw him sober was at my graduation from PA school. It was one of the last times I saw him truly happy.”
My stomach dips when Zac presses a kiss to the side of my head and says, “I’m sorry, Jo.”
I take his hand by my shoulder, and curl his arm tightly around my body, feeling safe, feeling loved. “Two years ago, he died from liver disease. I’d been dating Emmitt for about a year at that point, it was good to have someone, I guess. Emmitt even handled the will for me. His father is a lawyer, and turns out my dad used everything we had to feed his habit. Of course, I didn’t want material things, I wanted my dad. And I was grateful for the help after his death, but Emmitt, well, he didn’t have much compassion for my dad’s choices. He wanted to make sure I was nothing like him, I guess. So, that’s why he was so upset over family practice.”
“Jo—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “It happened, and now it’s done. I couldn’t save my dad, no one could.”
“It’s not fine, Jo,” Zac says. “It’s not fine that you aren’t able to talk about your dad, that you’re encouraged to forget someone you love because someone else looks down on the man. It sounds like your dad made a few mistakes, but it doesn’t lessen that he was your dad, and it sounds like you two were really close.”
Tears burn again. The twilight isn’t enough that Zac won’t notice. “We were close,” I sniff. “He was my best friend. Even when he was drinking, my dad celebrated all my victories, remembered all the important things. He was still my dad, he just . . . got lost. I’m angry at him for falling, because he took himself from me in a lot of ways. Yet, all that is such a small piece of his legacy, you know? He did so much good for people—he had unrivaled compassion for others, but was such an intelligent physician he could successfully diagnose after the simplest exam.”
“Then talk about him,” Zac says. He cups my cheek. “I can’t imagine not talking about my dad, Jo. I know he wasn’t perfect, but remembering the good things is what helps me get through the harder times since he’s been gone. It sounds like your dad was an awesome guy. So—” He settles back against the bench. “What was your favorite thing to do together?”
My eyes blur. I chuckle, a weight off my shoulders. “You want to hear all this?”
“Lay it on me. Favorite thing to do.”
“Okay. Well, there was this creamery we used to go to. Milkshakes bigger than anything you’ve seen. We would always go before going to a movie. Whoever could eat the most ice cream before getting a brain freeze would get to pick the show.” I laugh, remembering my dad usually lost in a dramatic way that made other customers think he was dying. Looking back, he probably let me win every time. “Those were the best nights. What about
you? What did you love to do with your dad?”
“Fishing. Hands down, guys only fishing days. It’s so boring to be honest, but when it was with my dad, we always found a way to make it a blast—usually by ending up in the water, and no fish to show for our day. I can’t go anymore. I tried, but it’s not the same.”
“Maybe you need to find the right fishing partner.”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
Tears dry, laughs come, and I can’t remember a more enjoyable time wading through memories of my father. I hear about Zac’s family. We relate on being an only child with one parent. Zac tells me how his uncle stepped in and has always been a part of his life. I explain how my dad helped me study all through college, even with a drinking problem. We both agree that August owed his straight sutures to the man. I stitched banana peels from age fifteen until graduation. Dad still had the steadier hand, though.
I know I carry open wounds, but by the time we walk back to the truck, I feel a thousand pounds lighter. I always celebrated my dad in my heart, but Emmitt villainized him, made him a failure, a shame. I almost believed him.
Tonight Zac reminded me of the truth. And that was worth everything to me.
When we make it back to the clinic, I don’t want the night to end, but my eyes burn from all the crying. I hop out of the truck, but so does Zac. I’m not disappointed he decided to stick around instead of speeding away. The clinic is dark, only the twenty-four-hour lights are on. It feels intimate, and I dig my fingernails into the meat of my palms when I catch a breath of Zac’s woodsy skin. I’m losing control around the man, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if I want to stop it.
“Thank you, again,” I say once we’re at the silver car. “You helped me cope with Mr. Garcia’s death better than I could have done alone.”
Zac shoves his hands in his pockets. “Not about Emmitt though?”
“Who’s Emmitt?”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Zac pauses, his eyes glinting like dark stars in the lights. “I’m glad to help, but I had a good time too. I liked learning more about you.”
“Why? Does it explain my quirks you find annoying?”
Zac nods and takes a breathless step closer. “It does, but I wouldn’t say you’re annoying.”
I swallow, our bodies close enough I can rest my hand on his chest if I want. “Hopefully, it painted a different picture, for the better.”
Fiery delight floods my veins when Zac traps my face in his strong hands. His eyes are a beacon in the dark, drawing me closer. This man was supposed to be despicable, but somehow he’s found a place in my thoughts. In my heart.
“I’m not sure there is better, Jo,” he whispers. “Quirks and all, I don’t think you should change a thing.”
Unbidden, my lips part. Blood rushes to my head as he wraps an arm around my waist. He leans in, his lips brush mine. I’m frantic, and restless, and terrified. “Zac . . .”
“Tell me to stop and I will, Jo,” he says.
Every limb, the tips of my toes and fingers, tingle in intoxicating numbness. I meet his gaze, tilted in the perfect position. I smile then close the gap and press my lips to his.
Zac’s grip tightens around my waist, his other hand cups the back of my head as he deepens the kiss. Zac’s kiss spins my head, it’s tantalizing. Slow, gentle, yet demanding in a way that tilts my world upside down. Zac backs me against the car, from shoulders to toes our bodies collide. His rough stubble teases my palms. My fingers tangle in his hair, and I cling to his neck.
I’d grown accustomed to Emmitt’s kiss, but this is deliciously new. Zac ignites a deep warmth inside, the kind I forgot existed. Too soon we come up for air, my breaths heavy, his the same. I don’t know how long we stare at each other, two minutes or twenty, but I don’t want to move. I never want this moment to end.
He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead and smiles. “Thanks for not telling me to stop.”
I chuckle and cover my face with my hands. Zac pulls them away, his thumb caresses my cheek, until I smile. “I didn’t expect this when I came here.”
“The best things usually sneak up on people,” Zac whispers against my mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips before taking the dreaded step back.
I brush my fingertips along the edge of his strong jaw, my pulse in overdrive. “I’d better go.”
Zac nods, but he presses me to him again. His grin rife with mischief, and when I think he might kiss me again, he sneaks a hand behind me and opens the car door. “See you later, Josephine.”
“Bye, Zachariah,” I choke out.
What an ironic turn of events. I let out a little squeak when I pull away. I’d crash into his shop a thousand times if I knew it would have an ending like this.
“Ouch!” I glare at Dot who pulls back her fork.
Dot snickers, as do Olive and Jace. Lily has a shift and it’s lopsided without her. I snort at the thought. I act like I’ve been part of these lunches for years. But like everyone else, these women make it feel like we’re old friends.
“Sorry,” Dot mutters. “But your head is somewhere else, I’ve said your name like a dozen times.”
“Sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I zoned out for a second.”
“Jace asked you a question, and we’d all like an answer,” Dot smirks.
“What did you ask, Jace?”
Jace grins rather slyly. “I was curious why—when I drove by the clinic after grocery shopping last night, a certain truck and silver car were still at the clinic. Long after closing time, I might add.”
I bite inside of my cheek to keep my smile from giving everything away. Thoughts of the blazing kiss ignites an inferno of tension. It happened, and I’ve been smiling about it ever since. Emmitt even tried to call. Obviously, I didn’t pick up and didn’t feel a lick of guilt over it. I simply thought of the way Zac kissed me again and again. The way he’d asked about my dad, even hearing the darker memories, he told me he sounded like super dad.
“Oh, Zac brought me my textbook,” I say.
Olive lifts a brow. “Mmhmm. It does take a long time to drop off a book. Be honest now, Jo. What did you do?”
“Olive,” I say, smacking her forearm. “I’m not doing things at the clinic.”
“Why not? You think Dot would mind?”
Dot crinkles her nose. “Uh, that depends. Let’s keep it clean and sanitary for the rest of us, all right?”
I sigh and hide my face behind my hands. “Fine, Zac stayed longer because he . . . walked into an unfortunate situation. Like the decent guy he is he became a shoulder to cry on, I guess.” And kiss—oh, and kiss.
“Are you all right?” Jace asks. “What happened?”
I smile but spill it all. They are like Zac, kind and welcoming. I let them dab tears with me when I talk about Mr. Garcia, and when I describe Emmitt’s phone call, his confession. Then I tear into Zac’s remedy of Angel Oak, and how he healed something in me, how he helped heal everything.
“Your ex is a dirtbag.”
“Pig.”
“Creep.”
Each woman had their own version of Emmitt’s new name. I nod. “Agree to all those.”
“Although,” Jace chirps, tapping her chin. “I must say I’m impressed Zac was the hero of the night. And I really never expected him to open up about his dad to anyone outside his circle.”
“Especially at Angel Oak,” Dot adds. “I think Jo crossed the circle line.”
“True,” Olive says. “That’s Zac’s solitary place. Even Rafe doesn’t go with him when he needs to clear his head.”
“I thought it was sweet,” I insist. “It was what I needed.”
“You’re coming to his party on Saturday, right?” Dot asks.
“Party?”
“Yeah, it’s Zac’s birthday on Sunday. Agatha called dibs on the actual day—I guess since she’s his mother and all she can have it—but we’re crashing his house and forcing him to party with us on Saturday.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, I didn’t know.”
Dot claps her hands on the table and declares like a contract was signed. “Well, you do now. And by the sound of last night if you don’t show up, Zac will pout all night.”
Olive’s feet dance beneath the table, and she shimmies her shoulders. “Oh, this is all so exciting! What if you were the one who hooked Zac after all this time? The lady who pulverized his shop turned the one who took him off the market.”
I flop my head onto the table. “Olive, you are a hopeless romantic.”
“Of course I am. I just got married, girl. Zac might be the perfect piece to my plot on getting you to stay with us instead of going back to the big city.”
I bask in the laughter, but I almost forgot about that sneaky piece. I need to go home eventually. This isn’t meant to last.
And that thought left a gaping wound in the center of my chest.
18
Zac
I startle when a wrench drops, followed by Rafe’s quiet curse. Sweat beads on my brow. The day is scorching, wet, and miserable. Everyone’s tempers are on the brink. Except mine, I guess.
“How about a new lift?” August says through a mouthful of potato chips, his salty fingers stick to the thin magazine page.
I crawl out from beneath the SUV and stretch. “You know, you suck as an office assistant.” I drag the back of my hand over my forehead, slick with grime. “You’re not even wearing the bandage anymore. Now you’re milking it.”
“Are you suggesting I’m faking it?” August gasps in mock offense.
“Yes,” Rafe snaps, and tosses a soiled, balled up towel at his brother.
August sneers. “I was told a week, and that gives me until tomorrow.”
“Good, we’ll be sure to save all the fun for the morning then,” I say. “Now, go away and work.”