by Kathy Lyons
“Ellie, how about you and me get together Monday afternoon? Before your shift. We can—”
“Oh, I can’t,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry. I had to pick up a few extra shifts next week. You know to cover for… Um. It doesn’t matter.”
Extra shifts to make up for the ones she was missing now. When she was supposed to be here with me.
“But I’ll be there for the interviews. I promise.”
“Okay,” Gia said, her tone more thoughtful than perky. “We’ll talk another time.”
“Yes. That sounds good. Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Gia said. “Okay.” She looked to me, obviously expecting me to say something to Ellie. The line was still open. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. What could I say? I couldn’t talk about what was eating me up. Not here, not now, with this audience. And what the hell would I say, anyway? I couldn’t even begin to form the words. And in the long pause, Ellie gave up on me.
“Right. Um, okay. Bye.”
Then the line went dead.
I was still staring at the phone when Pops decided he’d waited long enough. He grabbed my elbow and tugged me away. “Forget about her, son. Plenty of other pretty girls want to be on your arm, right?” he said, winking boldly at Gia.
She gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, sure. Just so long as he doesn’t take up with them until after the end of the season.”
I nodded, hearing the warning loud and clear. Pops didn’t, of course. His attention was on something else.
“Well, fine,” Pops said. “I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.” By which, he meant something to drink.
I thought about fighting him. I thought about putting him through a wall because none of this would have happened if he hadn’t shown up and screwed with my plans. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned to Gia.
“Is there anything I can do to make up for this?” I meant, to make up for screwing up the interview. At least I think I did. Maybe I was hoping for some advice from another woman. Someone who could explain to a clueless guy how to fix a fucked-up relationship.
Whatever I was hoping for, I didn’t get. She shook her head and sighed. “What do you want me to tell Connor?”
Oh, hell. Ellie’s cousin had already slugged me. And that was nothing compared with what he’d do if he found out Ellie was hurting. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. He would lay the blame on me. Along with his very big fists.
But at the moment, I didn’t really care. Pops was already wandering toward the beer stands. Ellie had left me and had refused to answer her phone when I’d called earlier. So what Connor thought really didn’t matter.
“Tell him to pay attention to his own love life and get the hell out of mine.” Then I stomped away to go babysit my father.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ellie
I didn’t tell anyone what happened. Not even Rachel. I needed to find some perspective on what I wanted. Now that I’d confessed my love, how did I want to handle his freak-out? My internet research said dump the boy-child. But my heart kept pulling me into coverage of the All-Star Game and how it pertained to Jake. Not that it really did, since he wasn’t playing, but thanks to Google, I was able to pull up selfies and excited tweets about meeting the hot Bobcat.
At least Connor played great. The interview they did with him after the game was good. And the National team won. Yeah. But what about Jake?
Social media was filled with pictures of him smiling with his mouth, but not his eyes. He hugged the kids, seemed to laugh with whomever was taking the video, but all in all? There was a tightness in his face that was either because I’d bailed or because his father was being a pain. Possibly both.
Which left me where exactly? Undecided. And hiding from Jake’s phone calls.
Except, naturally, the morning after the All-Star Game was over, he showed up at my door with a vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffins. Sure, it felt like the middle of the night for me since I was still on a third shift schedule, but I couldn’t resist looking at selfies of him with complete strangers. How was I going to refuse him entry? Plus, it was chocolate, caffeine, and Jake. That’s a triple threat I was not strong enough to resist.
I pulled open the door and stepped back. My hair was a mess, my sweats ratty, and my eyes bleary. He pressed the coffee into my hand, and I went on automatic pilot. I was drinking long before I recognized that he looked almost as crappy as I did. There were bags under his eyes, and he winced as he twisted to shut the door.
“Ribs still bothering you?” I asked.
“Nah. Just slept funny.”
“Or not at all. How drunk was your dad last night?”
He shrugged. “Not too bad. He calls me a nervous Nellie.”
I had no answer. The signs of daily worry about a relative with alcoholism were obvious on his face. Instead, I gestured into the kitchen. “Sounds like you need some food.”
He held up the bag of chocolate muffins, which I snatched from his hand. “These are for me. You get an omelet.”
He brightened at the thought, and I couldn’t resist smiling. Sometimes men were stupidly easy. Feed them a decent meal between bouts of hot sex, and they’d follow you anywhere. At least, until you stupidly mention you were in love.
That thought soured any warm feelings I felt toward him. I was still smarting from his rejection, and no amount of early-morning coffee was going to fix that. So while he sat at my kitchen table, I cracked eggs with unusual fervor, letting the silence fill the space between us. Then he had to go and poke the bear.
“I got back to our room the next morning and you were gone.” Was there a slight accusation in his tone?
“I didn’t feel like you wanted me there anymore.”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” Definite anger.
“Over 90 percent of communication is nonverbal.”
He didn’t answer, so I started chopping up vegetables to go in his omelet. I’d just started sautéing the onions when he spoke again.
“I have a hot button when it comes to women disappearing on me.”
“Did any of them run out while you were still coming? Forget about afterglow. I wasn’t even done with the good stuff.”
He cleared his throat, and when I looked back, his face was bright red. “That was, um, I was wrong.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“But you could have stayed to talk to me about it. I brought you coffee the next morning. I was ready to talk.”
He had a point. But I was still too hurt to completely forgive him. I’d bared my soul to him and he’d run out like I was ugly Uncle Morty. So I sidestepped into what I’d already decided. “Look, I promised I’d play the part of your girlfriend until the end of the season. And I’ll do that. I’ll be there for the interviews tomorrow, acting as if we’re a happy couple.” I slid the omelet onto a plate and dropped it on the table in front of him.
“Good God, Ellie, that’s huge!” he gasped at the seven-egg monstrosity.
I picked up a fork and neatly split it in half before digging into the section of omelet nearest me. When he looked at me, I shrugged.
“I haven’t done the dishes yet. I figured we’d share.”
“Yeah. Okay. Great.” He grabbed a fork out of the drawer and started to eat as well. He made appreciative sounds as he ate, which soothed my ego some, even though he kept a wary eye on me. I noticed…because I was keeping a wary eye on him, too.
Then eventually, of course, I broke. “How’d it go at the game?”
“We won. Connor and Rob played great. I don’t know why Rob waited until the ninth inning to hit a home run, but it was exciting as—”
“I know about the actual game. How’d it go with Pops?”
“Oh. That.”
Yes, that. I pinned him with a look. “Be honest here, Jake. Do you want to talk to me? Or am I just supposed to sit here and act adoring for the cameras? Just tell me what you want.”
In my family, we talked with one another. Our fe
elings, our anger. Hell, Rachel’s love life was an endless string of drama. But Jake was obviously different. And if I wanted to be with him, I needed to respect his boundaries.
But God, I was pissed at him. I kept trying to tell myself to forgive him. That he’d panicked because that’s what guys do. That he’d come back the next morning. And here he was now, trying to make up with me. But I wasn’t giving him an inch, and that was wrong of me.
Meanwhile, he blanched, then looked down at his food. “It went as it always does with Pops.”
“Awful?”
He sighed, then looked back at me. “We had a good time. Yeah, he got drunk. Yeah, I had to keep him from driving and other stupid stuff. But other than that…” He dropped his forked and shrugged.
I translated that as: it might have been fun if it hadn’t been for the constant worry, the never-ending pressure to keep an eye on him. It was probably like watching a toddler play near a busy street. Who knew when he would bolt and cause an accident?
I touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
He flipped his hand over and squeezed mine gently. I didn’t think he would speak, but eventually the words came out in a rush. “Please don’t disappear on me like that again, okay? I know I was a jerk, but…” He shrugged. “Abandonment issues.”
I arched my brow, putting pieces together. “Your mother?”
He nodded. “And bad girlfriends.”
Oh. Right. So my disappearing on him had probably triggered some bad memories. “Want to talk about it?”
He cringed, but in a comical way. “Are you going to make me?”
“Nope. Confession has to be voluntary. But I’m willing to listen whenever you want to share.”
He sighed. “It would be the mature thing to do, right? I mean, I’m an adult now, so I should be able to share my feelings and shit.”
“Well, you are a guy, so ‘adult’ is a relative term.”
He snorted. “I know that was an insult, but I’m going to take it as an excuse—”
“To run?”
He stopped speaking. I knew he was thinking about it, thinking how he had run first. He knew that if we were going to have a relationship, he would have to open up, at least a little. And I knew that all I could do was wait to see if he would share. If he would think of me as more than just a great lay.
In the end, he shook his head, the motion at odds with his next words. “I want to talk, Ellie. I really do. I wanted to talk at the All-Star Game. You know, before—”
“Before Pops showed up.” Yeah, I’d been thinking about that, too. About the moment he’d said he wanted to try for something real. But that statement had led to my impulsive confession, and then… And then he’d rejected me as thoroughly as a woman could be rejected. So now I was feeling hurt and he… He was still shaking his head.
“I have to go to practice.”
My heart lurched. So no more closeness. Even if we weren’t talking about the L-word.
“But,” he added, “you don’t work until tonight, right? The night shift?”
I nodded.
“So do you want to come to the stadium? Watch me for a bit? Then we can grab something to eat before you have to go to the hospital.”
I smiled. So he wasn’t baring his soul to me, but he still wanted me around. That was something. And how pathetic that I was willing to accept half measures. I ought to have more self-respect, but I was in love. And lovesick women could be stupid.
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said as I looked at the clock. “Do I have time to shower?”
“Will you let me join you?”
I hesitated. It wasn’t a bad idea, starting my day with some great sex. Then, before I could answer, he was scooping me up in his arms and carrying me straight into the bathroom.
…
The rest of the week followed in much the same way. Hot sex. A little baseball here, an interview there. I went to work, I went to bed. In the middle, I had great sex and should have been happy. Hell, I should have been ecstatic. But I wasn’t. Instead, I was getting crankier and more frustrated. I felt empty and abandoned.
Why? Because I was falling deeper and deeper in love with Jake, but I couldn’t tell him. He’d just freak and run again. And yes, eventually he told me about his mother and those stupid girls. He’d spoken in halting sentences and had shrugged the whole thing off, as if it hadn’t cut him to the core. And I’d let him deflect because I understood how badly they’d hurt him. But I wasn’t them, and I wasn’t running.
But I also wasn’t forcing my feelings on him, either. We were just having a good time while I felt more and more disconnected from my own emotions. I was in love with a great guy, but I couldn’t tell him. And every time I stopped myself from speaking, I felt like I was cutting out a piece of my own heart. Though he never said anything about breaking up, there was also no indication that he’d want anything more with me beyond the end of the season.
Double happy on the surface. Growing resentment on the inside. And me, as always, too afraid to say anything.
God, I was a coward.
And then one night at 2:00 a.m., enlightenment hit. I was working, trying to do my job without snapping anyone’s head off. Gone was my sunny outlook. I had no patience, either, and it had been one of the busiest nights I’d seen so far.
Things had just quieted down. I was taking a moment to sit in silence when Mrs. Peedlemire hit the call button. Again.
I knew what she wanted. Hell, the entire ward knew what she wanted. More painkillers. The woman couldn’t get a hangnail without reaching for the Demerol. And for the first time ever, instead of running from conflict, I decided to face it.
So that’s what I did. I walked into her room and told her she’d already had as much pain relief as she was allowed, that any more would make her even sicker. When she started calling me names, I got in her face and told her she was acting like a lonely, attention-starved child. And that if she was nicer to the people who were trying to care for her, she might not be so lonely, because the staff wouldn’t dread looking in on her. Hell, if her attitude improved, she might even get a few visitors.
I’d barely walked out of the older woman’s room when Mrs. Sargent met me with a dark look. She told me in no uncertain terms that nurses were supposed to be understanding and kind. No matter how awful the patient, a nurse had to hold her tongue…and her temper.
And then she sent me home. She told me in a gleeful tone that there would be a review the next day. And that, in her opinion, I should expect to be fired.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ellie
It was too early to go anywhere but home, and yet I found myself driving to Jake’s apartment instead. The bellman offered to let me in, but he warned me that Jake wasn’t there. I didn’t have to ask where he’d gone. There was only one place he’d be this late on a weeknight.
So I drove to Pops’s place. I’d never gone there before, but it was easy to find the address. It would have been smarter to go home and sleep off my pain, then see Jake after I settled into a better frame of mind. But I didn’t want to face the prospect of losing my job alone. I wanted him to hold me and tell me that it would be okay. And then I wanted mind-blowing sex. I couldn’t think of a better way to obliterate panic than with an all-consuming orgasm. And that could only be found with Jake.
I texted him on the way over but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. He was probably asleep or deep in a battle with Pops. Either way, he wouldn’t answer. And I felt guilty for needing to be with him. But not enough to turn around.
And then I was at Pops’s dilapidated house. Someone had mowed the lawn and made a cursory attempt at the weeds. I was pretty sure that it hadn’t been Pops, but didn’t know if had been Jake who’d done it, or his brother. The porch light was on and I knocked on the door. When no one answered, I called Jake’s phone.
He answered with a hiss of pain, mixed with a muddled, “Yeah?”
�
��It’s me,” I said, my voice choking. “Are you at Pops’s place?”
“Um, yeah.” I could hear the concern in his voice. “What happened?”
“I’m standing at the front door. Can you open it for me?”
“What? Hold on.” I heard more muffled sounds from the inside of the house. A minute later, I heard the locks, and then the door opened. Jake was standing there all rumpled and flushed, looking at me with blinking eyes as he set down his phone.
“I’m sorry to bother you this late,” I said, my voice choking.
He didn’t say a word but just pulled me into his arms. I held on to him, and it was the best feeling in the world. Or it was, until I noticed the heat coming off his body and the way he tensed when I squeezed. So I released him enough to look in his eyes and touch his face.
“You’ve got a fever,” I said.
“What? No. It’s just hot.” Then he looked into my eyes. “You’ve been crying.”
“I said something I shouldn’t have to a patient. I’m probably getting fired.”
He blinked. “What?”
I shrugged. “Everyone can have a bad day.” He gave me a quick hug as he pulled me into the house. But he quickly released me, then headed into the kitchen. I watched him closely as he moved. I saw the way his breath hitched and how he protected his side. They were subtle motions, things that most people wouldn’t see because Jake was hiding them. But I’d been watching this man for a long time, and I knew there was a problem.
“Are your ribs hurting?”
“The bed here sucks.”
Maybe, but it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. “They should have healed by now.”
“I just need some aspirin.” As he spoke, he popped open the top of a bottle, flashed me a rueful smile, then threw a few pills into his mouth.
“That’s not the way to take medicine, and you know it.”
He didn’t answer as he filled a glass with water and drank deeply. When he was done, he rubbed his face and looked at me. “Tell me what happened at work.”