In the Cards
Page 13
I should leave, but standing alone in his living room, I’m gripped by an irrepressible urge to snoop. Over the past few weeks, I’ve shared much about my family, Rob, and my friends. Conversely, Levi’s revealed nothing about himself. In fact, aside from knowing that his father’s dead and he hails from Georgia, I know nothing of his childhood or family.
I’m thirsting for knowledge. Mostly, I want to unearth the skeletons I suspect form the foundation of his enormous emotional barrier. My conscience screams to dissuade me but fails.
I survey the room. It’s no exaggeration to say he owns hundreds of books. What’s not surprising to me now is finding them organized alphabetically by title. His preference for order extends to everything. It must be a coping tactic, a way to maintain control of things to compensate for whatever it is he can’t control in his life.
Scanning the shelves and tabletops, I see no evidence of his past or how he became successful. Most people I know boast of their achievements, but Levi never discusses his own. I asked him if he has a broker’s license. He laughed but didn’t elaborate. Self-taught—that’s his basic answer to everything.
More puzzling is an utter lack of photographs. No friends, no women, no family. Not a single snapshot anywhere. It’s as if he’s appeared on the planet out of thin air. After ten minutes, I give up my fruitless search. Like the mysterious island in the TV show Lost, Levi doesn’t want to be discovered.
I check my watch again and decide to leave a note asking him to call me when he wakes. When I open the desk drawer to search for a notepad and pen, I see a strip of photos. Bingo! I immediately recognize Levi as the little boy, and presume the man with him is his father.
He strongly resembles his dad, but Levi’s features are more refined. It’s remarkable how a few subtle differences in one’s nose or jaw alter a face. When I return the strip to the open drawer, I see a handwritten note from his father. It’s wrong on every level, I know, but I can’t help myself. I read it.
It’s vague, but the major points are apparent. My hand clutches into a fist at my heart. Abandonment, neglect, vagabond living. No wonder he’s detached and mistrusting.
His young face smiles at me—an authentic smile. Was he happy despite those circumstances? He was beautiful then, as now. That beauty masks the deep scars derived from such instability. He must consider my trust issues with Rob child’s play.
I’m decidedly unhappy to know his history now, especially the way I discovered the truth. My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat as the magnitude of my gross invasion of his privacy—the abuse of his trust—dawns on me. It’s inexcusable. I strain to remember exactly where I found these items so I can put everything away correctly. He’s so particular; he’ll notice if anything’s out of place.
Crap. I’m so disconcerted, I leave without dashing off a note.
Several hours later, I’m convinced I can hide my deceit. If I confess, he’ll bar me from his house. Despite his having every right to do so, I can’t risk it because he needs my help.
At six o’clock, I return to his dark house. Something’s very wrong. I take the steps two at a time and enter his room without knocking first. He’s out cold, exactly where I’d left him earlier today. When I turn on the lamp beside his bed, I notice the faint red rash covering his chest. I touch his forehead with the back of my palm. It’s burning hot.
“Levi, wake up.” He’s unresponsive to a gentle shake, so I shake harder. “Levi!”
He mumbles something unintelligible while thrashing in his bed.
“Please open your eyes.” My hand touches his damp cheek. “Levi, open your eyes.”
His eyelids flutter and finally open, but his eyes aren’t focused. He’s still half sleeping. Slowly, it dawns on me: high fever plus rash equals infection. Oh, God!
“Levi, can you sit up?” Reaching under his shoulders, I struggle to sit him upright. I can’t possibly carry him to the car if he can’t support his own weight. He’s stammering and pushing my arms away. Even in this sickly state, he’s stubborn. I let him fall back against his pillows and then I call 911.
An ambulance arrives fifteen minutes later. Two young guys follow me upstairs.
“Be careful when you move him. He’s had spinal fusion surgery recently.”
Unfortunately, I’m unable to sufficiently answer the paramedics’ questions about when the fever started, where the rash began, and so on.
The depth of my self-deception chokes me. All this time I’d been playing nurse and housekeeper to keep myself busy. I hadn’t really been taking care of him. I never took his temperature or checked his incision for signs of infection. Levi was right. I’ve been using him to avoid addressing my own problems. If I had been properly caring for him, I’d have caught this sooner.
The ambulance pulls out of the driveway. I run to my own house to get my car. Shaking, I sit behind the wheel, taking deep breaths until I’m sure I’m able to drive safely.
The crowded, noisy emergency room amplifies the chaos in my mind. A mother with a crying infant sits next to me, wedging me between her and an old man with a gash on his arm. Despite all the commotion, I can’t stop worrying about Levi’s fever. My concern for his health is then supplanted by my guilty conscience. I wish I hadn’t snooped, or at least I wish I could forget what I now know.
I sit there immersed in self-condemnation for what feels like hours. After shifting my position several times in the uncomfortable vinyl seat, I wonder if this nightmare provides ample punishment for my despicable behavior.
I start pacing around the waiting room. I need to talk to someone, but not my mother. She wouldn’t be any comfort. It’s after eleven in New York, but I phone Jill anyway.
“Hey, what’s up?” Jill sounds sleepy.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nope, watching Letterman. What are you up to?”
“I’m at the hospital with Levi. He’s really sick, Jill. I think he’s contracted a staph infection. His body is covered in a rash.” My voice squeaks from the strain of speaking so quickly. “It’s really bad.”
“Calm down, Lindsey. I’m sure he’ll be fine now that he’s in the hospital. Did you call his parents?”
“No.”
“Why not? If it’s so dire, shouldn’t they know?”
“No, you don’t understand. His dad’s dead, and his mom . . . abandoned him when he was little.”
Jill’s quiet for a few seconds. “Well, at least now we know why he’s such a jerk.”
Her terse remark slaps me in the face.
“He’s not a jerk. He’s obstinate sometimes, but he’s also clever, observant, and even kind.” Tears mist my eyes. “Listen, please don’t tell anyone about his past. I only know because I poked around and found a letter from his dad. Levi doesn’t know I know anything.”
“Who would I tell? But why’d you spy?” Her tone suggests she’s eager for lurid details.
“I don’t know.” My fingers rub my temples. “We spend so much time together, but he never shares anything personal. I took advantage of an opportunity to snoop while he was napping.”
“Wow, do you like this guy now?” Her sharp tone’s critical. “Guess you’re getting over Rob pretty quickly after all.”
“Levi has nothing to do with Rob.” I dismiss her insinuations. “We’re not involved, Jill. Come on.”
“Lindsey, you’re spending practically all your time tending to a man you proclaim as the most beautiful creature on the planet, you defend his personality quirks, and now you’re panicking over his health. It’s not an unreasonable jump to suspect you’ve developed feelings for him.”
“It’s not romantic. There’s nothing romantic between Levi and me.” As I say the words, I realize some part of me feels disappointed. The recognition scares me. “Trust me, he’s eager for me to become unnecessary.”
“That’s him, but what about you? Are you eager to be free of him?”
“Well, it’s no picnic taking care of him.” An unbidden image of
washing Levi’s hair springs to mind. “But I hope, once he’s recovered, we’ll be friends. I like him. He’s different from everyone I know. Unpolished, but with a unique sense of honor and integrity. Plus, he’s so alone. He needs me. And now, knowing why he’s so detached, I’m more sympathetic.” My voice trails off and Jill sighs.
“Oh brother, you do like him. I hear it in your voice. Here we go again—another ‘wounded soldier’ to add to your ranks.” She blows out a long breath. “Lindsey, he needs professional help with his kind of baggage. You can’t save him. Why do you always try to heal everyone?”
“I do not. I’m not an idiot. I know I can’t heal anyone. Why can’t I care about him, as a person, without you or my mom or anyone else jumping to conclusions?”
“So Helene’s not happy. No surprise there—she loves Rob.”
“What about you? Do you love Rob, too?”
“Rob messed up, but he’s not the devil, Lindsey. Have you talked to him since last Saturday?”
“No. I don’t know what else to say to him now. I don’t trust him. First he cheats, and then he tells me only half the truth about Ava, the slut. He’s really thrown me twice now. I’m so confused. I love him, but how can I be with someone I can’t trust?”
Before we finish our discussion, a nurse enters the waiting room and calls my name. I rush Jill off the phone and follow the nurse to the hospital wing where Levi’s resting. We’re standing outside his door when I unleash my questions.
“How’s he doing? What’s the rash? Is his fever breaking?”
She forces me into one of the chairs in the hallway. Her grim expression offers no comfort whatsoever. “Honey, in all likelihood your friend has contracted a serious staph infection. We’re testing for MRSA.”
“The superbug?” My eyes widen. I vaguely recollect several terrifying reports from a few years ago. If I recall correctly, the mortality rate can be as high as forty percent. My ears thrum. Additional tests are needed to determine whether or not it’s affecting his organs. If I want to see him, I have to wear a face mask, gloves, and surgical dress. Her voice fades in and out as my brain struggles to grasp the facts and circumstances.
“He’s fairly incoherent now from the high fever. But if you want to see him for a few minutes, I’ll show you in.”
“Yes, please.”
I cover myself with the stiff, green hospital gown and cap and snap on the sterile gloves. The nurse hands me a paper mask and then leads me into his room. She checks his temperature and makes some notes on his chart before leaving us alone.
He’s asleep. His skin looks pasty and damp. I feel numb, but eventually sit on the edge of the bed and touch his side.
“Levi, it’s me, Lindsey.”
He stirs but doesn’t wake up. His body’s throwing off heat like a potbellied stove. I wipe his damp hair off his forehead. Staring at him, it’s hard to believe I’ve known this man for only a few weeks. It seems like so much longer.
“Levi, can you hear me?”
Lethargically, his eyes open. I’m not sure whether he recognizes me in my Kermit the Frog getup. At first he seems confused, but then he catches my hand.
“Lindsey.” The outer corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles.
Relief slashes through my fear. I return his smile, forgetting my mouth is hidden behind my mask. Words fail me, so I touch his chest in comfort.
He lifts my hand to his lips. “Go back to sleep, darlin’.” The tender gesture surprises me. Go back to sleep? What’s he imagining we’re doing? He folds my hand under his cheek and turns his face toward me, closing his eyes again.
He looks so weak and helpless. Tears mount in my eyes. I want the cool, confident Levi back. With my free hand, I sweep the hair off the other side of his sweaty face. He’s scorching hot, but his eyes flutter open once more.
“Come here, pretty girl.” He kisses my wrist slowly, sucking on it with his hot mouth while his thumb traces little circles in my palm. Even with the barrier of the prophylactic glove dulling the sensation of his thumb’s rotations, his searing tongue sends my pulse rocketing and creates a gentle ache in places nowhere near my hand.
Oh, God, Jill’s right. I do care for him—very inappropriately. And what of him? Is this behavior an expression of his subconscious desire or simply fever-induced delirium? My disloyal yearnings launch me straight into self-reproach.
“Levi, I’m leaving now. I can’t stay. I’ll visit tomorrow, okay?”
“Stay.” He stops nuzzling my wrist and holds my hand against his chest. “I don’t like it when you go.” Closing his eyes, he drifts back into dreamland, leaving me to wrestle with my response to his words and actions.
“Levi, I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
Gently, I slip my hands free of his. He twitches slightly as he loses his grip on me. He stills again in a heartbeat.
I slink out of his room and run to my car in tears.
I’m amazed I made it home without getting in an accident. I don’t remember a single red light or other car on the road. My mind is still overwhelmed with confused thoughts and desires as I drop my purse on the dining table.
Last week, I nearly ran back to Rob at the first sound of his voice. I miss my home, the energy of New York, my family and friends. If I return now, I could easily slide back into the familiar patterns and rhythms that always worked for me. I could take the leap of faith to trust Rob again. We’d elope and get on with our life. These past few weeks would hopefully fade from memory by Christmas.
But Levi energizes me. He keeps me on my toes. He doesn’t pander to me, or tell me what to do or believe. He shoves me outside my comfort zone. It’s simultaneously terrifying and awakening. And he’s sinfully good-looking. Rob’s handsome, but few men have Levi’s extreme sex appeal.
Regardless of these attributes, Levi doesn’t fit in my life. My parents would never accept him. Plus, the depth of his painful problems is intimidating. If he were interested in dating me—which I doubt he is—it would be too risky anyway.
He’s thirty and unlikely to change. In fact, he prefers life his way. He’s a recluse—no anchors. I can’t get caught up in Levi. Until tonight, he’s never shown any interest in me, and he’s delirious now. Nothing he muttered can be taken at face value.
Stay. I don’t like it when you go.
God, please don’t let him slip into septic shock. Honestly, if he dies, I’ll never forgive myself for not getting him to the hospital sooner.
I crawl into bed with a gigantic glass of wine. I’ve let everyone down: my parents, Rob, my friends, and now Levi. Most importantly, I’ve disappointed myself. How can I be so competent and yet incapable? Quit analyzing everything. Just do something. Maybe Levi’s right, but how do I get out of my own way?
I put the empty glass on the nightstand and snuggle under my blanket. Staring out my window, I watch the moonbeams dance on the ocean until I fall asleep.
“Tell me what you want,” Levi commands me. He pins me against the bed with his body. His husky voice fills me with longing. He kisses my collarbone, causing me to twist my head to provide easy access to my neck.
My hands brush against his bare chest before roaming across the firm muscles of his shoulders and back. His hands tangle in my hair, while his warm mouth slowly, achingly works its way up to my jaw. Levi’s breathing becomes ragged and wanting.
A slight moan escapes from my throat when his hot breath hits my ear. He quickly brings his mouth to claim mine with an urgent, demanding kiss. His tongue expertly slides around my own. Playfully, his teeth gently capture my lower lip before he resumes another deep kiss. Pinning my arms above my head with his right hand, his left hand travels down my neck and around my breast, where his thumb circles my nipple over the top of my T-shirt.
“Tell me what you want, Lindsey.”
I’m falling into a sea of sensual desire as he pulls his head away and searches my eyes for an answer. His hands continue their unrelenting exploration of my body
and find their way under my shirt.
“I want you,” I admit. His eyes gleam with excitement, then he bears his mouth down on mine again with another scorching kiss. My own pulse races as he removes my top.
I awaken alone, a sweaty, frustrated mess. Contrition crashes over me for being unfaithful to Rob. Yes, we’re broken up and, technically, I’ve done nothing. Rob slept with someone and I ran away. But now, mere weeks later, I’m dreaming about sex with a man who doesn’t mean “less than nothing” to me. Really, really hot sex.
I close my eyes again, but there’s no recapturing the moment.
I’m a bad person. A selfish, disingenuous woman. Lindsey, get it together! I’m not about to rearrange my entire life because of this insane infatuation with Levi. The whole point of coming to Malibu was to follow Aunt Sara’s lead and focus on myself, not to agonize over what is or isn’t happening with the two men in my life.
I can get past this infatuation with Levi and move forward alone or with Rob, depending on what I discover. When Levi’s out of the hospital, I’ll pare down my visits. Polite-but-distant neighbors—it’s what he’s always claiming he wants anyway.
It’s only six thirty. Hopefully a long run will clear my head.
CHAPTER TEN
Levi
Mr. Hardy, I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.” The doc’s somber tone sets me on edge. “Your fever’s reduced and the rash is receding, which are positive signs. But we aren’t out of the woods. We can’t risk a recurrence by failing to address the site of the incision and what’s inside. We need to clean the hardware in your spine to eliminate all sources of the infection.”
Doc waits for my response, but I bite my tongue while I digest what’s happening. Jesus, go back into my spine? The potential for a negative outcome with another surgery scares the hell out of me, but so does the astonishing speed with which this infection invaded my body. To top it off, my skin’s itchy and I’m freezing cold.